This was difficult. I stepped outside and it was not as cold here as my heart desired; the sound of water dripping brought tears to my eyes, the sight of the dark, grey, damp sidewalk, revealed by dying snow, causing those tears in my eyes to accumulate until they slowly began trickling down my cheek. I began to wonder how much longer I could live in this town in which every blizzard, every promising night and day of snow, was quickly followed by days of melting; days of sorrow. I sometimes think that I should just drive away; or even RUN away, knowing that each inch I drive across the snow causes even more of it to melt than if I ran; I could go to Wisconsin, and stay there for as long as possible. As soon as it dawns on me that I have to come back to Boise, I will go out into a field, where there are several feet of snow piled up, and bury myself in it, where no one will ever find me. But then I realize that the snow would eventually melt in several months, and some one will find me, and this cruel twist of irony, I could not bear.
I began my trek. The first sight I see is the same field which was visible outside of my kitchen window (see photo 1). At first the sight of snow--ANY snow--makes my heart jump; I feel good; but the sound of dripping comes to my ears again, and I notice the bare spot under the table, and the trees with their tops bare; not to mention the fact that it isn't snowing. But of course, that is something I have to deal with every day of the summer; knowing that it won't snow for MONTHS; in the summer, I learn to deal with it. It's much harder when one receives the gift, the joy, of snow, and then has it yanked away from them... LIKE THIS...
The rage is uncontrollable at this point. I see a squirrel on a nearby tree (see photo 2). It tries to run up the tree, but in my pure rage, I am too quick for it. I lunge at the squirrel and grab it between my hands; its squeaks fall upon deaf ears; I tear the squirrel and half, screamingly terrifyingly; I throw the two pieces of the former squirrel in front of me blindly, and they land somewhere far, far ahead; and now, realizing what I've just done, I begin to cry; I fall on both knees, asking God for forgiveness. I know that forgiveness will not come. I am damned. I search for the pieces of the squirrel so that I can vainly attempt to put them back together, but find them, I can not.
Despite my breakdown, I decide that my quest must continue. Through photographic documentation--and through writing--I must preserve the lives of the men whose lives have been granted due to this weather. I am talking, of course, of the snowmen--they are my brethren, for they truly live only when there is snow on the ground. Unlike me, however, they tend to live for many days after there is snow on the ground--a bitter reminder. (After the squirrel incident, I find that my writing has become more dash-oriented rather than semi-colon-oriented. This is no doubt a result of a huge emotional shift, but it does not matter--my emotions should come across the same.)
The first snowman I find is in front of the apartments next to mine (see photo 3). The site of this man instantly causes me to break down again; I fall in front of him; I hug him, and kiss his forehead; I want to pick him up and put him in my car so that I can take him to the North Pole and save his life, like in the film Frosty the Snowman. But I know that this is unreasonable; I have school tomorrow, and I have to focus on my studies; after all, I'm double-majoring in environmental studies and biology, in the hope that I can one day figure out a way to stop global warming, and save beautiful snowmen like this one; so full of life, vibrant, and immobile; so snowy and white...
Nevertheless, I overcome my emotions and continue my journey. Of course, I bless this snowman before I continue. Although I am barely able to stand, I manage to walk down the street on which I live. I'm looking back and forth for snowmen, and I have my Buffalo Bills earphones in and I have my song in random order, and this particular song by They Might Be Giants comes on, and, expectedly, I begin to cry. Just then, a Jeep drives by, full of teenagers with short hair wearing tank tops (I have long hair and am wearing baggy pants and a black sweatshirt.) They see my crying, and they jeer at me; "Pussy!" "Emo faggot!" "Crybaby!" they yell, in succession. One throws ah half-empty beer bottle, which narrowly misses my tear-stained face. I begin to run; they try to drive after me, but I duck into an alley and hide behind a trashcan. They drive past, without seeing me. They no doubt would have murdered me. Nevertheless, I will light a candle of forgiveness for them when I get home.
I walk out of the alley, and realize that I don't know where I am. I'm in a strange part of town that I've never seen before. Suddenly, I hear a muffed voice to my left; "Heeeelp meeeeeee." Startled, I turn, and there is an absolutely terrifying snowman right behind me; he is a mutant(see photo 4); he keeps crying "Heeeeelp meeeeee", and my first instinct is to run from this abomination; but I realize that I can help him. There is some sort of obstruction in his mouth and I attempt to pull it out, but it will not come out. It has been glued in by some cruel individual; no doubt a persecutor of snowmen, one of the many who roam this strange street which I do not know. I notice that his sunglasses have slipped down as his flesh has grown soft, tearing through it, no doubt causing him immense pain. He keeps crying, "Help me, help me," and I try to explain to him that I can't; I begin backing away; "You will pay!" he yells at me. "I curse you! I curse you, I damn you forever!" I continue backing away, in horror; I get one last glimpse of him screaming (photo #5)--his arms crutches both literally and figuratively--before I finally have the strength to turn and run.
To where I run, I know not; I am still in a strange part of town. There are strange sights here; strange abominations of snow (see photo 6). I need to find my way home, or I will surely be murdered.
End of Part 2; Part 1 to come soon.
Index of photographs:
Photograph #1
Photograph #2
Photograph #3
Photograph #4
Photograph #5
Photograph #6
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