Sing it soft

Xue zai xia, piar, piar. Chu buliao wai biar, biar. Snow, snow. Drift, drift. Get on home. Swift, swift. Sing it soft, Mom whispers. Whispers so gently I can barely hear her feathery words. Sing it soft and you’ll never be bothered by the snow.

I watch all the other kids as they dance around in the fluffy white, dropping to the ground to make snow children with wings instead of arms. I never get to look at the snow. I never get to feel it fall onto my tongue and drippity-drip down the sides. When you’re older, you’ll spend all the time you want in the snow, Mom says. But for now, stay home and be dry. Stay home and be healthy for another day.

I hate sitting in the house. With nothing but the loud, old heater grinding away. Snoring like an old man. But Mom never lets me out when she’s home. So when Mom’s away, I disobey. Whenever she leaves for work, I would jump into the snow. No jacket. No mittens. No bulky green overcoat that makes me look like a big, mossy marshmallow. I would stay in the snow and make snowmen. I would make children with wings for arms. I would laugh and no one could stop me. I would stay until the snow bit into my skin, painting my fingers with their purple saliva. I would stay even if the wind is extra bitter. I would hear the wind laughing as it purples my uncovered skin. Ffu, ffu, ffu, ffu. Just like that, laughing softly into my ear.

The fun started going away after a while. My head would spin and I would cough. But I would hold it in when Mom came home. It doesn’t feel good to be in the snow anymore. Maybe I’ll stay home. Maybe I’ll stay home and stay healthy for another day.

Happy Holidays