Shattered

Snow falls, each crystal unique; they are individuals.

I like the sight of them falling around me, covering the earth in a blanket of white, giving everyone….

A freshness is given when it snows. When spring comes, it's a rebirth of the patterns we once knew. Different leaves and a different bald patch in the yard where the grass didn’t come in that year. The new patterns are welcomed by all. My mom waits with anticipation to see which lilies will bloom when the sun shines right. My dad can’t wait for the ice to melt so we can catch a big trout. Every year he goes on, and on about the spring of 2014, the year he got the biggest trout you’d ever seen. His passion is fishing; he loves it. He's out on the lake almost every day in the spring and summer. In the winter, when he can’t go on the boat, we sit on the ice and watch the snow fall so he can feel closer to the water. I am going to miss hearing the way he talks, “the biggest trout you’d ever see”.

I am going to college in the spring, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I’ve heard of an off year to discover yourself. I think I wanted to do that, too late now, I’m enrolled. My mom says an off year is worthless and for worthless lazy people, a business degree is better than nothing.

If I had a choice, I would. I guess that's the thing. I don't know what my path would be if it were up to me. I feel like I should just do nothing, that's what I do now. Nothing. Days filled with nothing. I talk, and it means nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Maybe I'll watch the snow melt into spring, watch dad catch a trout, feel the air leave my lungs.

I like to sing. I like rhythms and beats, but "there's no future, unless you are talented,” which my mom never forgets to remind me. She says I’m like glass, much too fragile to take a risk. Following my dream would shatter me, “lots of people can sing”. Instead, I should get my degree, singing should stay my hobby.

I sit letting the snow cover my sight, experiencing what I'm sure the earth feels. This time alone. I am cold and everything goes dark. I like it. I'm sure this is the peace the earth feels, knowing that come spring a new pattern will be formed. Small marks will wither away with the cold and something else will come in its place. The lilies will bloom, and the boat will be set in the lake.

They are individuals. The snow. Each one is unique but they all end at the ground. They blend together and you can’t even tell which one was which. Some help the snow cover more, they are large and take up more space they will take longer to melt. Some are small, barely contributing; they melt at the slightest heat. When they all mix together, you can’t tell which one I reached for. The one that didn’t make it to the ground, and even with its absence, the ground still gets covered.

Sitting here, I listen. I do really like to listen to sounds it's my hobby. I’m frozen in the sounds. I hear the wooshing surrounding me. There's crackling above me like the sound a branch makes. I can feel the thumping of footsteps as they approach me.

I’m like glass, that's what my mom says. I would have been shattered by this world. A small snowflake, I’m not all that unique. My impact on the ground would have been small; they truly don’t need me. Come spring, my mark. If I leave a mark. It will be filled by something new. My dad will try to catch a bigger trout and my mom will watch as her lilies bloom in the sun. I will melt, like a small snowflake.

The ice shatters like glass. I can see. My dad grabs me from under the ice, I can’t look away; my eyes are frozen open. He looks at me. This is the first time I have really felt seen by him. The blood from his sliced hand warms my skin. I listen, I listen to his tears, I listen to his broken voice as he calls for my mom. She stumbles at the mercy of the ice. Her feet slip, and she falls. She is stronger than most. She didn’t let the fall stop her, like a big snow flake, she doesn’t melt for anything. This is the hardest I’ve ever seen her try to reach me. I wanted to stay under the ice to watch my dad catch a bigger trout in the spring and feel the sun thaw me. I can’t look away. She stares, our eyes mimicking each other, both frozen like ice. I’ve never seen her cry. When my grandpa died, she didn’t cry. When our dog Papi died, she didn’t cry. Even now, she has nothing but emptiness on her face. I can’t look away as she stares into my eyes. She isn’t a confused woman; she knows more than me about most things. But now, as her eyes stare into mine, I can tell she will never understand me. They hold me. I am frozen. I am glass. I know they love me, but this will all pass in the spring.

Darkness. I can only hear. I hear footsteps approaching. I hear my dad as he talks to my uncle about the price of his boat. Silence. I hear my mom, as she takes the stage like a big snow flake. She says she loves me, and her voice is shattered like glass. I feel. I feel lilies laid on my chest, and the warmth of my mother squeezing my hand and her lips as they touch my forehead. I feel. I feel a tear as it hits my face. They warm my face. This is the closest we have felt. I hear. I hear the people who never knew me say goodbye.