Tag Archives: winter

On the Wire

I’m not the only one that remembers him.

Lisa too saw him, sitting there.

We were watching TV. I remember it was a Christmas special, two Indiana Jones movies and then something only for the adults. Lisa didn’t like Indy and the Nazis and when the screen turned black she laughed, at first.

Dad looked for a torch to go downstairs into the pitch-black basement. Mom found candles somewhere and put them up on the dinner table, but every time she turned around they went out again. Lisa and I just huddled on the couch and watched the snow outside.

Dad found the torch. He went downstairs, guided by that strangely round light of the torch. A flickering light.

“This thing is broken,” he said, while taking careful steps with every flicker.

When he was downstairs he called up for mom to bring a candle. Continue reading

First Snow

A hand reaches down, grabs a handful and throws it into my open mouth.

Cold. A crunchy, nearly sticky feeling. A taste like iron. Like blood.

The taste of snow is mostly the food residue and slime and bacteria and dead cells on your tongue.

I can still see every moment of that day. Play. Rewind. Slow motion. It’s all there, a movie, locked in my head for the rest of my life.

It snowed today. When I saw the first snowflakes, this morning, sitting in my car, I felt a shiver. Since then the tape keeps playing. Keeps rewinding. Keeps playing. Continue reading