Snowing like madness
I’m staring out my window, watching snow fall through the white glow of a streetlight, listening to the Smashing Pumpkins’ 1979, which always makes me think of senior year of high school, driving around back roads in the truck I borrowed from my parents, with Bethany, Paul and Deanna. The streets were so quiet, we were so bored that the mere act of driving around was exciting, everything was half-built — subdivisions sprouted identical houses in the middle of farmland.
I used to love watching snow fall through the streetlight in front my house, wishing so deeply for a snow day, carefully calibrating my snow-dar and sending all my wintry prayers into the clouds. Everything was more exciting. Driving to Janelle’s house was heart-stopping. The fastest route took me down a one-lane road through wide-open fields, with deep ditches on either side. Deanna’s house was nearly unreachable sometimes, down a long gravel lane. And if we were lucky, the snow kept going, on into the morning, and my little sisters and I waited, in our pajamas, with our plastic yellow boom box as the AM news station announced the school closings. Also, this happened once (written in ’02… I think this happened in 2000):
Pol and I were driving in icy ski country a couple of years ago. We’d just inched up a steep hill in his Jimmy, and found ourselves on an empty, slippery road with nowhere to go but forward. We slid and fishtailed slightly, and I got really scared we were going to end up in a ditch. I had no concept of what it felt like in a ditch, if we’d roll over, if it’d hurt. But then we started to slowly glide diagonally across the road. Suddenly I was resigned to it. I braced myself, but it was out of my hands. Imminent. We just ended up at a 45 degree angle, unhurt, and flagged down a truck to tow us out.