Tag Archives: blizzard

Snow

Way back in December, I can remember worrying that it wasn’t snowing enough. Emily hadn’t really seen snow and aside from a few flurries, Boston wasn’t delivering.

So there was actually a time when I wished for the snow, if only so Emily could experience it.

And on December 26th, it came. Beautiful, clean snow covered everything, so deep it came up to our knees and waist.

But, seriously Boston, you can knock it off now. There are snowbanks that have been around since that Boxing Day storm. There are icicles hanging past my window that stretch from one story to the next. I don’t even remember what the world looks like with color.

Last week, there was sunshine on the horizon and the temperature crept past freezing. Water ran, for the first time in ages, and we could hear the sounds of ice sliding from roofs, freeing icelocked homes. Dripping water and signs of color showing through; our long snowed-in winter looked to be ending.

But it was a false comfort, a hope that did not deliver. This morning I woke up and the snow is falling thicker and faster than it has in a while, shades of that first storm that came after Christmas day.

We don’t know if the snow will end. Or if Spring will ever come. We don’t know if we will ever see the sun again.

All we know is that the world is made of snow.

Photo by Emily Wachtel

Dylan Charles

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A Long Walk

Yesterday, in spite of the snowy conditions, my work remained open. Since I am committed to my job, I solemnly and stoically prepared for the trip. Gloves, hat, heavy coat: all would be needed to keep the deadly conditions at bay. I made sure that I packed plenty of food. I narrowly avoided starving to death on a similar adventure only a few weeks ago. I vowed that I would not let that happen again.

Emily decided to come along with me, since her bookstore had closed for the day and she had nothing else to do on that fateful day.

We bid farewell to Isaac and left the comforts of our apartment. It was 11am.

We marched through snow that was up to our knees. The blizzard had not quite abated, so snow and wind assaulted us on our long trudge to the bus stop. Unfortunately, our approach was blocked by snow drifts that towered over (Emily’s) head. We would have to walk a block to the next stop, where a clear path could be seen. But there was no bus. So we decided then and there to keep walking. A decision we would both live to regret.

The walk lasted longer than we anticipated. Sometimes…I think we are out there, still walking to that bus stop. I know that, in the darkest reaches of my mind, I am still walking that long walk.

I had vowed to get to work and I would keep that vow, no matter the cost. For forty minutes we walked toward Kenmore Station, all the time checking behind us for the bus. Emily’s spirits remained high, but I worried for both of our lives in this wintery deathland.

But then, our luck changed and the 57 showed up, scooping us up and carrying us along far more quickly than we would have been able to move on our own. It seemed salvation was at hand. Until we saw the police car that blocked the road, so close and yet so far from our destination. Emily and I looked at one another and made the decision to abandon the bus. We and twenty others left: lost nomads walking across white land. We passed a tree split in two by the weight of the ice upon it. Only careful movements kept the tree from falling on us and our lives were spared that day.

By the time we reached Kenmore Station, it was 12:30. By fortuitous fortune, the 60 bus was waiting there and we boarded. So began the second leg of our trip. We were almost there. Or so I thought.

But the driver of the 60 bus received new orders that day and she was told to abandon us at the Macy. She bid us farewell and we headed out into the snow one…last…time.

We pushed through snow that came up to our chests when we walked on the sidewalks. We walked in the road and nearly were taken to oblivion by passing snow plows. Through it all, we never stopped moving. We kept moving forward.

Then there, through the shadows of death, we saw the mall loom. Struggling now against still deeper snow drifts, we pushed on. I crawled on my belly, spitting out curses and hate at this mall that dared make me come in. I rolled down the snow bank, landing in the road. And still I came.

I stood on weary legs, my hands balled into fists.

With hatred in my eyes and fire burning into my very soul, I launched into the air and dropkicked the mall.

We had arrived.

Dylan Charles

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No Snow Days for Dylan

My feelings about snow has always varied depending on where I’m living.

In North Carolina, snow was a magical force for good. If it snowed, even a little bit, you could count on all the schools in the area shutting down indefinitely. There would be panic in the streets if everyone wasn’t too terrified to go outside. This one time, school was cancelled for a whole month.

It was beautiful until the cabin fever set in.

But then I saw the dark side of snow when I moved to New York. New York was willfully stubborn when it came to snow. The city refuses to acknowledge the snow even exists. I once stood in a snowbank for almost two hours waiting for the bus to take me to school. Then another two hours getting to school. I got there around the time they started serving lunch.

Boston seems to have a similar attitude to the snow. It’s not just a refusal to shut down. It’s an adamant denial that the snow is even there. “Hoho! It’s just a smidgen of powder,” they say as their tires churn through a foot of snow. “Not as bad as ’78!” they say as they dig in the snowbanks for their lost children. “Today looks like a nice day to buy a book,” they say as the temperature drops to levels man was not meant to endure.

Point is, Bostonians are crazy and I don’t wanna work today.

Dylan Charles

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