January Thaw | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: January Thaw | Previous Challenge Entry
By JoAnne Potter
01/09/08
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Snow melted and dripped lazily from the garage roof onto Ann’s head as she broke up the last islands of ice in the driveway. This January thaw, so rare in a usually deep, frigid Wisconsin winter, gave her an opportunity to clear away much of the snow and ice that had piled up since November. More snow would inevitably fall before spring came for good and the work she did now, while a pale, almost-warm sun blessed it, would make later shoveling easier.

Her ice-breaking this day conformed to Ann’s pattern, her habit of keeping one vigilant eye on today and the other on an easier, well-ordered future. Her regular daily activities usually reflected this disciplined prudence: scheduled medical screens that catch illness early, oil changes in her car every 3000 miles to avoid engine problems later, or the purchase of food staples on sale before she needed them. As she worked, Ann mentally walked through her life’s resulting ease. In living this way, she had reaped good health, trouble-free transportation, and food enough for unexpected guests. Carrying the shovel back to her garden shed, she smiled.

Inside, a cup of hot chocolate warming her hands, she stood at the window looking at the careful result of her work. All appeared well and in order, but, just for an instant, an unfamiliar tug took hold. She felt something grab her, then the tidy scene before her shifted and faded, shedding its contours, separating into two dimensions rather than three. Suddenly flat, the carefully piled snow took on new features, replacing the white, icy hillocks with lighthearted faces opened in wide laughter. It took Ann a moment to recognize them as the children who used to come to sled while she shoveled. These faces wore the same inviting grins whose play she’d repeatedly refused until invitations eventually stopped coming.

As the faces faded, the tug gripped her again, this time harder. Another vision swam up. This time, the vacant passenger seat in her perfectly operating car yawned in an empty echo. Again, a hard, twisting pull grabbed her and she remembered night after night of empty chairs around her plentiful table, and shadows of guests never invited.

She reeled as from blows. Nothing looked familiar any more. Neat piles of snow searched for joy. Safe transportation reached for heart. Uneaten meals cried for love. Ann felt a final wrenching kick just below her ribs and her cup crashed to the floor only a moment before she did. At last, her visions, her plans, her ordered, easy life, melted into unquenchable flame, finally tasting eternity.

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