Snow Day

I grew up on a hill overlooking Puget Sound. Most of the time it rained. Sometimes there was a week or two in July when the sun would shine, and I loved the summers, but the most magical time of the year was in the winter. When arctic air from Alaska would drift south, the rain would turn to snow. The city had no snowplows. They didn’t need them. It would snow for a day or two, then the rain would wash the snow away.

But, when it would snow, the city would shut down. School buses couldn’t take us to school. My Mom would turn on the radio as she fixed breakfast and we would listen to the announcements.

Snow day.

Mom would make sure we had on our snowsuits. They were big and fluffy and I felt like I was in slow motion when I moved. But, before the sun was up, we were outside.

One particularly cold winter, we had several days of snow. Then, it turned cold. Really cold. Everything froze. Our sprinkler pipes broke and watered the front yard for hours before we got up to find magical ice castles growing on our shrubs.

After several days of intense cold, the snow on our hill was packed and iced and perfect for sledding. My brother and I built a snow ramp at the bottom of our hill and began the half-mile trek to the top.

This was it. Epic. The most historic, totally awesome ride. Ever.

I looked at my brother. I could see his breath in the frigid morning air. The sun was just up and the sky was cobalt blue.

Ready?

Go!

I started to run, my brother next to me. You can’t really run in a snowsuit with snow boots, but you can shuffle pretty fast. We held our sleds out in front of us. I reached take off speed about the same time he did. I remember, my sled was airborne and I was attached to it. I knew it couldn’t fly, but the longer I could stay in the air the better.

My sled hit the ground first and then I landed, hard, the impact compressing the fog from my lungs. This was good. The ice was slick. My radio flyer glazed the surface of the road, nearly out of control, picking up speed.

When we hit the steepest part of the hill, I could see the ramp getting closer, faster. I looked left. My brother was right beside me. He was staring straight ahead. His concentration was unbroken. He was going for the record.

Then, I realized. The ramp was only big enough for one of us.

Faster. Faster.

My brother hit the snow ramp at the same time I hit the curb. The jolt shocked my whole body. I could feel it in my teeth as I left my sled behind.

Somewhere, somehow, I could hear my brother whooping. I could see him in my mind’s eye, sailing off the ramp and flying over the rocks and stream of the vacant lot.

Meanwhile, I shot across the icy ground in my snowsuit and hit the rocks in front of the stream. That’s when I got some air.

Not enough.

I landed in the stream, which was mostly frozen. At first, I was too stunned to move. Then I rolled over and sat up in the muddy ice, dazed.

COOL. AWESOME. BAD.

My brother was pretty excited. He must have set the record. I climbed out of the stream.

“Let’s do it again,” he shouted.

I checked myself for breaks. I knew I was going to have bruises. Wiping the mud off my snowsuit, I realized that I was still dry inside. Mom would be proud.

“Okay,” I said. “You first.”