First Snow

The flakes have just started coming down now. Whenever it snows I wish for a blizzard, even if it’s Friday and I won’t get any time off. I just want an interruption.

This morning in Dunkin Donuts these two guys ran into each other in line. They seemed like maybe they grew up on the same block or something. One of them was on his way to a funeral. The other guy cut ahead to join him in line and bought the first guy his coffee. “A small with lots of cream, very, very light.” They were talking about the snow saying, ‘Now I just think, “I’ve got to shovel the driveway.” It’s not like when we were kids, it isn’t exciting anymore.’ For some reason, when I saw the guy in his dark suit I wished I was going to a funeral too. It’s that break in the routine.

It’s like the time I had to go to court. I was eighteen and I got arrested for drinking. I was on the late shift that day and would have to go to work after court. I was anxious in that way where everything I said and every movement I made felt quivery. Before leaving my bedroom that morning I paused and tried to calm my nerves. I stood over my typewriter and tapped out the words “Boy, I’m in for it now.”

My dad told me he wanted me to drive to the courthouse with him. I hadn’t spoken to him since the arrest and I knew he’d ask me questions. Mostly the whole thing was embarrassing. He made me tell him all the details and I couldn’t lie to him the way I lied to my mom. She was a pushover and wanted to believe in my innocence, so the lies came naturally. I’d told her I had nothing to do with it and that I’d never drank before, the truth was I’d been getting drunk every weekend that year.

In the car I told my dad the facts. That we were drinking 40’s and that we’d bought them with a fake ID from a liquor store at St. Mary’s. He assumed that I’d done it before and I didn’t deny it. He was stern and disapproving, but not shocked. We stopped for coffee and I felt sort of relieved. Just doing something different, driving in a car and drinking coffee. I was honest with him and he accepted everything I said. “Why the malt liquor?” he asked, “that stuff is just about the worst thing you can drink.”
“It’s cheap.” I said and he nodded and smiled and understood. Amidst all the awfulness it was sort of a nice moment.