“Between the conception and the creation
Between the emotion and the response,
Falls the Shadow.”
T. S. Eliot
Barbara kicked up a drift of snow and watched the flakes settle through the brilliant winter sun. Her parent’s families had lived in northern New Mexico for 300 years. They had settled next to the Rio Chama back in the late 1600’s. Her father worked as a security guard in Los Alamos. He had a good job and helped out quite a bit with her educational needs. It was his work in Los Alamos that had made him believe that his children could be something someday. He always said, “You can do anything you set your mind to. Learn as much as you can mija and do your best. That is what is important.”
“You can’t just run away, Cedric. You have to stay and prove to them you have what it takes. We all do. That’s our job as minorities, to prove we’re as good as the white man.”
“We can’t win that battle. We’re not white men. We’re the suppressed minority hoping for a handout. The hell of it is, I love science. There’s nothing I would rather do in this world than learn enough to understand physics and maybe someday think of something no one else ever has.”
A slight breeze blew the snow about their feet up into a whirling mist.
Naomi Felenstein put the last touches on Paul’s snowsuit by tying the hood tightly under his chin. She could hear the older children hurrying out of bed and getting ready. Paul, although the youngest, was always the first to rise. He had come into her room excited about the fresh snow waiting for him in the backyard. Naomi opened the door for her two and a half year old and shooed him into the backyard. Paul stood at the edge of the porch wondering how to attack two feet of untouched powder.
“Mom, don’t let Paul out until we’re all ready. O.K.?” Steve hated to miss out on anything. He was five and wanted to be there when the first tracks were put into the snow.
“It’s too late, honey.”
“Ah, Mom.”
“Give me my gloves.” Naomi rolled her eyes hearing Robert’s early morning demands.
“They’re not your gloves. They’re mine. Mommy said I could have them on my birthday.” Elise never lost an argument. At the age of 4 she could easily handle even 8 year old Harold.
Harold was calmly organizing himself for an all out assault on his brothers and sister. He had the experience and know how. Harold was wearing three T-shirts, two pairs of long underwear, a sweater, a pair of down pants, his heavy winter jacket, a scarf, and his ski gloves with an extra pair in his zip pockets.
When all three of the older children reached the back door, Paul was still standing at the edge of the porch afraid to move. Robert crashed through the screen door and jumped head first into the waiting snow.
“Robert, you get right back here and put on your insulated boots.”
“Come on Elise, last one to the fence is a rotten egg,” screamed Harold.
Elise ran through the door and off the porch into the snow at full speed. Two paces later she was lying on her back one step from where Robert had broken the snow. Harold was half way to the fence, blazing a trail by high stepping through the snow. Robert was crashing through the door again even as Paul was taking his first tentative steps where Harold had blazed a trail.
Naomi thought that she couldn’t live without her children. Their joy was overwhelming. Their screams subsided slightly as she retired to the kitchen to start the hot chocolate for their return in a half hour.
Anita Piazza looked into her mirror at a plucky, 5’ 5”, red haired 29 year old from Queens. She was getting ready for a 9 to 9 stint as a maternity nurse at Loyola Medical Center in Mayfield about seven and a half miles from her apartment. The bags under her eyes were reminders of her exceptionally late night partying until 4 in the morning with some old college friends who were in town for the holidays.
“Some bags, but I still look real good. I get a lot of compliments from the husbands’ of the preggers. God, I hate these holiday shifts. I guess I should be grateful that they let me come in three hours late this morning.”
When she was finished with her coffee, Anita put on her nurse’s uniform and left for her day at the hospital. She liked to get there around 8:30, have a cup of coffee and catch up on what had happened the night before.
Anita hated the elevator in this apartment complex. It was incredibly slow. She was the only one getting on at the 16th floor. Most people had already left for work. The elevator stopped on 13. She hated that. Every morning it had to stop on that floor. Why this building had a 13th floor she didn’t know.
Old Mrs. Stenson got in the elevator with her poodle. It had on the usual jacket and jewel studded collar. Mrs. Stenson looked like an alligator purse with ears. She was 97 and walked the dog every day at 8:00.
“Hi Mrs. Stenson.” Anita said. “Taking your dog for its morning walk, I see.”
“Oh, you know me, dear. If I don’t walk Trudy, my day just isn’t the same. How’re you doing this morning, Anita?”
The elevator doors closed and the elevator started its slow descent.
Mrs. Stenson got that worried look and said, ”This elevator scares the hell out of me.”
“Me, too. I’m fine. Think we’ll see Rudy this morning?”
“I don’t know, dear. He’s been on the downhill slide ever since they arrested his brother. Not that his brother didn’t deserve it. That Arny used to scare me so. He had those beady eyes and always made some mean comment about Trudy here.” Mrs. Stenson leaned down and patted Trudy on the head.
“I’ve noticed that, too. I think he’s on drugs. Doesn’t look people in the eye anymore. You know he’s only 14.”
The elevator lurched to a halt on 2 and Rudy got in. His shirt was hanging out of his pants. He wore a torn leather jacket and smelled of old rum.
Looking at the floor, Rudy said, “Hi Mrs. Stenson. Anita.”
Mrs. Stenson said, “How are you, Rudy? I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”
Mrs. Stenson was five feet tall, withered back, totally white hair. Rudy was a big six footer weighing in at better than 180. His dark unkempt hair shadowed his dark skin and red eyes.
“Fine. He deserved it.” Rudy turned away from the women and pushed 1 again.
The door to the elevator closed and the elevator lurched into motion once again.
Klaus looked at Chester forlornly, “It ain’t the same no more Klaus. I seen Harvey walking the street early this morning pushing a shopping cart. Hell, we worked with him in that machine shop down on Madison 30 years ago. He was a good man, too. Drank a little much, but who of us didn’t. Hear his old lady died of Tuberculosis. Took her five years and all his money. He’s been on the street ever since.”
“Couldn’ he get Social Security? I do not feel sorry for his like. He was a mean son of a bitch. Don’ you remember him gettin’ in that fight with that big black guy, Guss? Hell, ‘most knocked his head clean off with that bar.”
Ted and Ruth Cransten started their morning like so many other mornings since their retirement, sitting in front of the large glass windows of their retirement home overlooking Lake Zurich 15 miles outside of Chicago. Their living room faced South Southeast. Both loved to sit in the sun sipping orange juice reading the morning paper. Ted and Ruth worked hard their whole lives to achieve these years of quiet appreciation for the snow covered scene that stretched before them.
Ted looked at roof her weathered face reflecting the golden morning sun and said, “I love you. Mornings like this one remind me of that.”
“Why, thanks. It’s so nice to sit here and not worry about anything. The sun feels good this morning on my old bones. Isn’t that fog lifting off the lake beautiful?”
“Sure is. Look over there.”
Ruth could not see what Ted was pointing at.
“It’s that white owl I told you about. He’s in that large maple tree right by the branch that splits in three. Can you see him?”
“Oh, he’s beautiful. I’m going to get the binoculars.”
