It’s snowing in Dallas and has been since about 9:00 this morning. People all over the country are likely tired of it, but snow in any appreciable amount is a rarity here, and I’m loving it.
Although this wasn’t my grandson’s first experience with snow–he recently played in the Colorado snow with his cousins–today was the first time I’d get to experience it with him, so I carried him outside for just a minute to experience snow through Tommy’s eyes.
As I watched tiny snowflakes land in his hair, as I felt him gasp tiny breaths when they landed on his skin, it reminded me of a scene I wrote in The Red Kimono about Sachi’s first snow. The scene takes place on the anniversary of the death of Sachi’s father. All day, she’s been trying to escape a voice inside that tells her it’s her fault Papa was killed. Then, snow begins to fall.
Everything was still and quiet, as if the cold air had frozen the world. She hated the quiet, especially today.
What if . . .
There it was again, ramming its way into her consciousness. Unease rippled inside, and she searched for a distraction, a place to hide. But the street was empty.
She started running, as if she could escape the thought. But it was too strong this time. There was nothing to drive it away. It burst into her mind, full force. She stopped. Breathless. Overcome.
If I hadn’t begged Papa to take me to the park, he might still be alive.
Tears burned her eyes. It was her fault.
She covered her face with her hands, hoping darkness would hide her from the bitter realization. Mama had warned them that it wasn’t a good idea to go to the park that day. Papa had probably agreed, but with Sachi begging day after day, he’d finally given in and ignored Mama’s warning.
It was her fault. If she hadn’t dragged Papa there, if she had left when Papa said it was time to go, those boys wouldn’t have found him. If Mama and Nobu blamed those boys, surely they blamed her, too.
I’m sorry, Papa.
Something cold tingled on the top of her head, trickled down her collar. Goose bumps? No. It was colder. It prickled on her hands, too. She opened her eyes and watched white flakes drift all around her. They landed on her eyelashes, her nose, her tongue.
She stared at the delicate flakes that landed on her jacket, lifted her arm to her eyes to see them better, the tiny, tiny crystals, shaped like the ones she cut from paper, each different from the others, but all clinging together.
Snow! Her first snow.
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