She looked out the window, the snow coming in little dots of white besides her.

She wished that there was somebody else here to enjoy the sight. Who knows, maybe they’d end up talking about it, before segueing into unrelated topics. But not this year.

She got up, slowly, and made her way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She got the water, the cup, and the tea bags all ready. Then stopped. For something had struck her, a memory from so many years ago.

She and her husband were watching their children play in the snow. Most of them were engaged in the biggest snowball fight she’d ever seen. Off to the side, two were making a snowman together. Her husband had his arm across her shoulders and every now and then would squeeze her right one. It was a gesture he’d remembered from when they were children themselves. 

Then she was back here, all by herself, her tea not even made yet. She looked away with shaky breath, seeing herself in the entrance’s mirror.

Wait, was her face really that gaunt? Her skin so sallow, eyes wide and pupils shrunken? No, it wasn’t supposed to be that way!

She didn’t want to see more, but her body moved closer, morbidly drawn in.

When she could see her whole image, everything became clear to her. The graying hair, the bitten-down fingernails, the limbs thin as twigs. The way years of despair and isolation had remade her into a faded picture of her old self.

A gasp escaped her mouth; she hadn’t been aware of holding her breath. Now the proof lay before her, undeniable. And with that, she screamed.

It went on for an unmeasurable time, a thing that cleaved the past and present from each other.

When it was finally done, she sank onto the floor and wept, trying vainly to cover her face. She wept for her children, and her husband, and their friends, and the world they had all taken for granted.

Soon she ran out of tears and breathed quickly, still huddled on the floor. She took a look at the door before her and stood up, cautiously, reluctantly. Then she made her way to the window, her eyes still on the floor.

The snowflakes were still coming down, in considerably larger numbers than before.

How many minutes had passed since she had sat here, supposedly content in this current life? But she wasn’t happy here. Had she ever been?

That question took her on a journey through memories. There was her childhood, palling around with the boy she loved as their parents enjoyed themselves.

The young adult years, where her relationship with her sweetheart blossomed until it could no longer be denied. Then marriage, and the children, all in quick succession, and the neighborhood, with their fellow suburbans. The cookouts and picnics and visits and school days and vacations and all of those times, those wonderful memories.

How had she lost all of it? The passage of time was one culprit, of course. But there were other things at fault for her current situation. Unfortunately, there were far too many to look over at this moment. So which were the most important?

The disease, which had come out of nowhere, sweeping away so many people she’d known, bringing down so many plans and places. The corruption in the government buildings, politicians and corporations playing with their constituents’ lives, no kindness or empathy in their actions. The violence, destroying everyone and everything unlucky enough to get in its path.

The phone began ringing. She was caught off guard, and just wanted to stay where she was. But as the rings went on, something changed inside her.

Soon she couldn’t stay there anymore. She walked over to answer it.

“Hello?”

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featured image graphic by EMILY STEPHENS