|
|
|
|
|
By Maura Madden
When I came out of the subway station tonight there were flakes of white fluff in the air. Yes, it was snowing once again. March 30, more than a week after the first day of spring and it was snowing. But I had been warned, so it didn't bother me. I had my umbrella and I thought to open it, but decided instead to let the big white clumps fall on me for what would hopefully be the last time this year. In fact, it felt pretty nice.
A man walking beside me looked up at the sky and said, "Well, it's not so bad, is it?"
And since I had just been thinking that very thought, I smiled. "No," I said, and gave a faint snort-ish chuckle, indicating my agreement.
"It's probably the last one of the year," he continued.
"Yes," I agreed, looking up at the sky, taking a moment to watch how the wind blows the little white balls in swirling patterns, illuminated by the light from a street lamp. I felt happy to be looking at this sky, white and full of motion.
"Well," he launched in, once again, "if it's not ashes, it's a good thing."
I was stunned. I kept looking at the sky, but now imagined that these flakes were gray and that the air was filled with the sick smell of things burning. I said nothing. And he walked swiftly down the street ahead of me while I slowly trailed behind, watching him as he stopped at a deli to get cigarettes or orange juice or beer or wasabi peas. I walked quickly past the store, turning my head towards the street to avoid the possibility of seeing him.
But I wanted to see him. I wanted to yell at him, "No, it's not automatically a good thing just because it isn't ashes! What if there were toads falling from the sky? Or furniture? Or cats and dogs? Would you be happy with that, too?" I wondered, wishing I could bust through the deli doors and ask him. "And why did you have to say that, sir, why?"
But I said nothing. Because he had ashes on his mind, and so did I, and what can you say that has any meaning at that point besides, "I love you"? But I don't love him, I don't even know him, and anyway, he's right. At this point in time, if it's not ashes, it's a good thing. And there's not a damn thing that is funny about that.
|
