Snapshots

A silent, snow-swept ridge, empty save for a large brown dog, old and moving stiffly now but still full of repressed glee, and a girl, dodging slowly in her winter farm gear but still running. Everything is muffled—the cows stare out from the sheltering pines, boggle-eyed and too astonished by the spectacle to make a sound from their forest shadows—and even the dog’s low-pitched whuffs and the girl’s high fox-yips seem to fade before they reach the tree line. C’mon, girl! They flip snow at each other and struggle forward through the drifts, until they reach the fence-line and cross.

The girl crouches beside a thick log wall, wire strippers and an outlet her hands. It is dark outside in the snowy woods, but in this open room, covered with sawdust, boards, and pieces of tile, it is warm. The iron stove in the corner glows with heat, and adds its flickering light to the glow of the work lamps. She is singing under her breath, "It's a marvelous night for a moondance," loving the way the sound echoes in here, and mixes with conversation from upstairs where the others are laying tile, a job she will complete tomorrow. She finishes twisting the copper wires together and wraps the ends in electrical tape, screwing the completed outlet into the wall and moving on.

The girl stands behind her father, hands on his shoulders as he runs an electronic debrider in the large, infected wound. She’s hungry, and wishes she could blame her dizziness on the faintness that always accompanies low blood sugar, but she can’t. It’s amazing, what her father’s hands can accomplish, but as the blood makes a quick trickle down the skin, she feels a sweep of vertigo. The anger doesn’t help—why is this happening? I don’t understand—and she feels a surge of shame. Her life will consist of this, so she grits her teeth and focuses. Surely I can control my own mind...and her hands relax as the dizziness fades.

She sits in the half-light glow of an empty half-finished house, next to the window whose frame she’s just sealed, and stares out at the dark and snow. The cat in her lap curls deeper into the tan work coveralls that are pulled down to snug around her waist, and pushes her head into the girl’s stomach as the absent-minded petting ceases momentarily. But there is so much to think about, so much to worry over. She feels her soul shrink a little more every time she thinks about the work she could have put into the past semester, and didn’t. I am ashamed. And she worries even more for a sister who can’t seem to see that a failure to give everything she has, now, is going to keep her from realizing the future she has planned. She worries about money, and about her future and her past. Her faith in herself is almost gone—and she wonders how giving your worries to God actually happens. She needs to know.

The couch is almost too small for the people piled on it, but it doesn't matter. The girl shifts to accommodate an elbow in her ribs, and continues crocheting the soft red yarn in her hands. She laughs and sends back a quick retort to her cousin's jibe about empty ring fingers; and then the girl indulges herself in doing what she does best. She fades back into the couch and watches everyone around her, stepping outside of the talking and laughing to simply enjoy the picture and the feeling of family. It is a beautiful thing and tugs on her heart so hard that she almost can't stand it--so she takes the unfinished hat in her hands and plops it down over the back of her tall cousin's head, turning him into a Jew with questionable fashion sense and adding to the joy.

The girl darts into the house and up the stairs, shedding snow and clothing. Once she warms her fingers under scaldingly hot water, she reaches for a brush to attack the icy dreadlocks gently clinking against her frozen ears—and then stops. She leans forward intently, one hand lightly touching the mirror, and really looks. For months it’s been, You look tired. You need to get more sleep, and stop worrying so much. Are you all right? But now the eyes looking back are glowing, clear green with a golden center, brilliant and alive in a laughing, rosy face. She leans back with a surprised chortle, thrilled beyond belief.  I guess I woke up, after all.