boutique and leave the “closed” sign up, and sew together. Ma would catch me up on the week’s episodes of
General Hospital
and
Days of Our Lives
—she kept a little TV on in the sewing room at the store—and while we sewed, we’d fret over the villains’ latest antics and pity the victims as if they were real people. But I didn’t tell Winnalee any of this, because how could someone who went to Woodstock find any of that ordinary stuff interesting?
“I’m glad things got better,” Winnalee said, and her eyes fluttered closed.
I lay watching her sleep in moonlight that crawled over my shoulder and lit her like a princess. Kissed by the soft glow, the bends in Winnalee’s curls glistened like they were dusted with freshly fallen snowflakes, and suddenly I was ten again. Sitting in the Bel Air with Uncle Rudy, while Aunt Verdella ran into the IGA for a few things.
It was early November, and a wintery mix was falling. Uncle Rudy must have gotten tired of listening to the
whump, whump
of the windshield wipers, because he shut them off and stared ahead. I thought he was watching people push carts to their cars, but he wasn’t. “Lookie this, Button,” he finally said. He pointed to a snowflake that had just touched down on the glass. “Watch what this little guy does.”
I stared hard at the snowflake, which quickly started tomelt. “See? There he goes. Slippin’ right across the windshield to join up with this other partially melted snowflake that’s hurryin’ to meet him. Now watch …” I scooted to the edge of the car seat as Uncle Rudy’s finger followed the wobbly trail of water gliding down the glass. “See that? They’re picking up more snowflakes as they go.”
Then he told me to watch a raindrop. I folded my arms on the dashboard and leaned closer. When a fresh raindrop landed where I stared, I got excited. “It’s doing the same thing, Uncle Rudy. Look, right here,” I said, yanking my mitten off and bending my fingertip against the glass. “And here’s a raindrop going to meet him.” And sure enough, as they made a little stream and traveled down the glass, they converged with nearby raindrops. I watched another raindrop. Then another snowflake. Then another raindrop and snowflake. And not once did a raindrop join with a snowflake, or vice versa. I shared this marvel with Uncle Rudy, as if it wasn’t his observation in the first place.
“Yep, that’s what I’m seeing, too,” he said.
We were still watching the glass when Aunt Verdella opened the door, letting the cold air in. She prattled about the good sale on Maxwell House coffee as she shoved her bag into the backseat and slipped in next to me,
brrrrrrr
ing. She took off her crocheted hat, shaking it, sprinkling my skin. “Oh, I’m sorry, Button.” She giggled as she dabbed at my cheek with the cuff of her wool coat. When I went back to staring at the windshield and she saw that Uncle Rudy was doing the same, she leaned forward and looked out, asking what we were looking at. I told her, and she sat back. “Hmm, I always thought opposites attract. That’s what they always say anyway.”
Ever since that day, when I met somebody new, they’d be talking, or smiling at me, or someone else, and I’d quickly determine if they were a raindrop or a snowflake. Because if they were a raindrop like me—colorless and soft, so ordinary thatno one could pick them out of a crowd—then that could mean that maybe we’d join together and slip down the halls, two drops in the same stream.
I stared at Winnalee as she rolled on her side and curled her legs up. She was a snowflake for sure. Intricate and sharp, sparklingly beautiful. So unique you’d never mistake somebody else for her. So I was confused. How was it that we—a snowflake and a raindrop—could defy nature as we were doing, melding together—twice—to slip down the same path?
“It feels the same, you and me,” I whispered, and Winnalee stirred, and murmured,
General Hospital
and
Days of Our Lives
—she kept a little TV on in the sewing room at the store—and while we sewed, we’d fret over the villains’ latest antics and pity the victims as if they were real people. But I didn’t tell Winnalee any of this, because how could someone who went to Woodstock find any of that ordinary stuff interesting?
“I’m glad things got better,” Winnalee said, and her eyes fluttered closed.
I lay watching her sleep in moonlight that crawled over my shoulder and lit her like a princess. Kissed by the soft glow, the bends in Winnalee’s curls glistened like they were dusted with freshly fallen snowflakes, and suddenly I was ten again. Sitting in the Bel Air with Uncle Rudy, while Aunt Verdella ran into the IGA for a few things.
It was early November, and a wintery mix was falling. Uncle Rudy must have gotten tired of listening to the
whump, whump
of the windshield wipers, because he shut them off and stared ahead. I thought he was watching people push carts to their cars, but he wasn’t. “Lookie this, Button,” he finally said. He pointed to a snowflake that had just touched down on the glass. “Watch what this little guy does.”
I stared hard at the snowflake, which quickly started tomelt. “See? There he goes. Slippin’ right across the windshield to join up with this other partially melted snowflake that’s hurryin’ to meet him. Now watch …” I scooted to the edge of the car seat as Uncle Rudy’s finger followed the wobbly trail of water gliding down the glass. “See that? They’re picking up more snowflakes as they go.”
Then he told me to watch a raindrop. I folded my arms on the dashboard and leaned closer. When a fresh raindrop landed where I stared, I got excited. “It’s doing the same thing, Uncle Rudy. Look, right here,” I said, yanking my mitten off and bending my fingertip against the glass. “And here’s a raindrop going to meet him.” And sure enough, as they made a little stream and traveled down the glass, they converged with nearby raindrops. I watched another raindrop. Then another snowflake. Then another raindrop and snowflake. And not once did a raindrop join with a snowflake, or vice versa. I shared this marvel with Uncle Rudy, as if it wasn’t his observation in the first place.
“Yep, that’s what I’m seeing, too,” he said.
We were still watching the glass when Aunt Verdella opened the door, letting the cold air in. She prattled about the good sale on Maxwell House coffee as she shoved her bag into the backseat and slipped in next to me,
brrrrrrr
ing. She took off her crocheted hat, shaking it, sprinkling my skin. “Oh, I’m sorry, Button.” She giggled as she dabbed at my cheek with the cuff of her wool coat. When I went back to staring at the windshield and she saw that Uncle Rudy was doing the same, she leaned forward and looked out, asking what we were looking at. I told her, and she sat back. “Hmm, I always thought opposites attract. That’s what they always say anyway.”
Ever since that day, when I met somebody new, they’d be talking, or smiling at me, or someone else, and I’d quickly determine if they were a raindrop or a snowflake. Because if they were a raindrop like me—colorless and soft, so ordinary thatno one could pick them out of a crowd—then that could mean that maybe we’d join together and slip down the halls, two drops in the same stream.
I stared at Winnalee as she rolled on her side and curled her legs up. She was a snowflake for sure. Intricate and sharp, sparklingly beautiful. So unique you’d never mistake somebody else for her. So I was confused. How was it that we—a snowflake and a raindrop—could defy nature as we were doing, melding together—twice—to slip down the same path?
“It feels the same, you and me,” I whispered, and Winnalee stirred, and murmured,
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