(no subject)
As I stood outside, my face upturned to watch the first snowflakes of the season fall from the sky, the phone rang. It was Jesspah's grandfather, telling her what we had all expected. We did not speak. It was just the two of us, standing in my backyard, staring at the gray sky and the blue twilight and the sparkling windows of my neighbors and the soft snowflakes swirling down. I was wearing royal blue courderoy pants and a pink tank top, she was wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a Brown University sweatshirt, the black one with BROWN written on it in big white letters. She was gripping my hand, and a snowflake landed on her cheek and melted.
Every time I watch the first snowfall of the winter, I am going to remember that moment.
It is currently 20 degrees here right now, twelve degrees below freezing. It is snowing. The temperature is expected to drop to about 0 degrees later. I can hear the bells of the nearby churches ringing--telling all the people who don't have places to go to come there to spend the night. When the bells ring, the vans also go out, deeper into NYC, to find people and bring them back. I just heard an ambulance, bringing someone to the hospital down the road. I think my thought processes have shut down, and all I am is my senses, being translated into words. The keyboard feels comfortable against my fingertips. I can hear the sirens wailing.
I can hear and see and taste and smell and feel. I can hear the Lewis Oil van driving house to house, helping people turn off their outdoor water pipes so they don't burst. This reminds me of 9/11, somewhat--Jesspah losing her parent, people helping each other, quiet shock settling over me.
I feel like I'm in a story I wrote. Maybe this is just one of my daydreams that I have finally become totally immersed in. I hope so. I would have rather lost all touch with sanity than this be real.
Every time I watch the first snowfall of the winter, I am going to remember that moment.
It is currently 20 degrees here right now, twelve degrees below freezing. It is snowing. The temperature is expected to drop to about 0 degrees later. I can hear the bells of the nearby churches ringing--telling all the people who don't have places to go to come there to spend the night. When the bells ring, the vans also go out, deeper into NYC, to find people and bring them back. I just heard an ambulance, bringing someone to the hospital down the road. I think my thought processes have shut down, and all I am is my senses, being translated into words. The keyboard feels comfortable against my fingertips. I can hear the sirens wailing.
I can hear and see and taste and smell and feel. I can hear the Lewis Oil van driving house to house, helping people turn off their outdoor water pipes so they don't burst. This reminds me of 9/11, somewhat--Jesspah losing her parent, people helping each other, quiet shock settling over me.
I feel like I'm in a story I wrote. Maybe this is just one of my daydreams that I have finally become totally immersed in. I hope so. I would have rather lost all touch with sanity than this be real.