Snow

The fuckin' heat has got me thinking about snow.


Photo albums tell me that I’ve seen snow quite a number of times before I became a teenager. I haven’t seen snow since.

Truthfully, only 2 instances remain in my graying accounts. In 1 of those business trips my mom used to take in her prior corporate life, I remember tagging along, but I don’t recall to where. I was probably 6 or so. We stopped over in Japan, & I’m assuming that this entailed a transfer from 1 airport terminal in Tokyo to another cuz we actually had to step outside.

And there it was: snow.

I don’t remember anything about textures, flakes floating from light blue expanses onto icy surfaces. I remember the color, though: unmistakably white, screaming white; I shielded my eyes from the glare.

“Take a deep breath,” my mom told me, & I did—white vapor emanating from my nose & mouth w/ each exhale. And this is where the memory ends.

The only other snow sighting I still remember takes place on the way to desert land. I think I was 11, it was a couple of days after Christmas, & my family & I were driving from LA to Vegas. Along the way, around the city of Barstow, specks of white peppered the brown, rocky terrain on either side of the road. As is the case in relative-hosted vacations, schedules were nonnegotiable; we did not stop to throw snow balls at each other.

In Vegas, in the back gardens of our hotel, a snowman stood out in the cold, complete w/ top hat & cane. My cousin & I rushed to its snowy side, threatening to start a war. As we bent down to make our little bombs, I broke down in laughter to hide my disappointment.

We were digging our cold fingers into moist speckles of Styrofoam