Wistful Pain

In my very first memory, I am looking down towards my feet, but I can’t see them. The snow is up to my waist. My hands and elbows are resting on the white shelf in front of me, and I am just elated… “I can’t see my feeeeet! I yell and giggle at the same time. “Look daddy! Lookit!!! I can’t see my feeties!!” My hands, pat pat patting snow like a bongo drum.

My dad laughed. He had a great, goofy laugh.

I don’t remember how I got there. But I was there, where our sidewalk used to be. Next to where our tiny patch of a front yard used to be, along the busy street where a lot of traffic used to be.

I scooped as much snow as I could in between my hands. They were covered with brown and orange knitted mittens. Hand me downs from my brother, I am sure. I was able to get my hands together close enough to throw a little bit of snow up towards the sky, and laughed again as it came falling down on my face. Like most kids i chomped on a bit and was thrilled as it melted instantly. I tried to take a step towards the other kids but I couldn’t move. I remember being confused, a little scared, but still excited. “I can’t move daddy!” I tried to look around, but couldn’t. Probably due to the mix of my knitted snow hat, scarf snug around my neck, and my snow suit hood tied way to tight under my chin, cuz daddy always tied stuff to tight.

I began to panic. Then I felt two big dad hands grab me over my extremely well padded armpits, yank me loose from the deep bank of coolness. Kicking my legs in complete joy as my dad tossed me playfully onto another fresh untouched spot. I didn’t sink, and laid there for a second looking at the sky.

I can remember exactly how it smelled. The fresh bread and coffee cakes from the Jewish deli half a block away. The smell of diesel exhaust from the street, the smell of winter. I can still hear the sounds. The school bus pulling up, the hissssss of the brakes, the squeak of the bus’s doors being opened. The sound of the other kids trying to run, sound of a car slushing down the street.

My dad scooped me up again, then plopped me down on the first step of the bus. I jumped into the bus aisle to go find a seat. Still laughing, giggling. I didn’t even turn around to say goodbye, because I knew he would be there when I came home. He was always there. I am pretty sure I waved from the window though.

Going into my kindergarten class all wet from the snow melting during that short bus ride was even more fun. We were wet, with melted snow on our mittens, in our hair, on our hats, and snow boots. The classroom was bright, and warm. No one yelled at us for being so messy. Teachers told us to take a seat on our spots on the floor. Our “spots” were actually carpet remnants. Just random pieces of leftover carpeting from who knows where. All different colors and shades. As I took my seat on one of the squares on the floor, someone handed out hot cocoa in brown cups. With my cocoa in hand, the memory faded out.

Zooming back into reality, I stare out into the yard. No, I was staring beyond the yard, to the endless sea of freshly fallen snow where it meets a line of dense trees and bushes.

BZZZZZZZZ!!!! The loud buzzer blasting from multiple speakers high above the yard scared me, and jolted me out of my contemplative state. “Damn!” I said under my breath. Still, to this day, I am not used to hearing the soul shattering sound.

I hear chatter as groups head toward the doors. Some complaining of the cold, some voicing gratitude for the crisp chill in the air. Some complained about how bad breakfast was, some laughed because being out here is their ultimate happy place.

I reluctantly leave my memory behind as I turn to head in the same direction as the crowd.

I hear the crunch of the snow as I take each depressing step forward. I can feel the impression that the bottoms of my thin, worn shoes are making. I shove my hands in the thin pockets of my commissary sweatshirt. I can feel the cold now. Ice cold wind that slaps my skin and proceeds forcefully into my bones. Waking every ache and pain in my spine that owns me. I feel the sting of the wind as it hits the flesh of my eyes. Tears threaten to form. I feel pressure tensing up inside my chest as I beg my eyes to “stop, just fucking stop.” As if they were doing it on purpose.

I wish I was back in that classroom. I wish I could start my life over from that moment.

"I miss my dad."

I look up towards the sky. Half praying, half trying to stop myself from crying. “I swear I would never forget how to be that happy, and I promise, I would do better.” I begged the universe to take me back to that day, The day after the big Chicago blizzard of 1979. Back to my innocent, happy, five year old self. I look ahead, and as I pass through the open, heavy doors I tell the guard my inmate number, She didn’t even look at me as she marked some form on her clipboard. I pass her, and head down the grungy hall, and as hard as I try to push the words back, I tell myself, again

“I miss my dad”

I walked towards my cell, hoping no one is there. I look down at my feet, the snow now dripping off my laces like the tears dripping full speed down my face.