blogwithvalor

I woke up on a winter morning. My cold body rolled together in three neatly packed balls. My arms were two thin branches sticking straight out on either side. I was given coal buttons, eyes, and smile. My nose was a misshapen orange carrot. The first thing I remember was a young boy being lifted by his father as they put a hat on top my head. When the boy was let down, he ran immediately to his mother, who gave him a warm hug. They all stood there and looked at me. That’s when the boy named me Jack.

Winter was the only season we could be together. Every year they would roll me together and the young boy, James, would greet me with a big smile. “Welcome back, Jack.”

I would watch them every winter as beautiful lights were strung up on their home. James’ father, Drew, would be up on the ladder attaching them to the house. While his mother, Martha, would bring out string after string of lights. I love the look of lights on everyone’s home on the street. It’s like personal constellations, telling the story of every house and family that lives inside. They would twinkle brightly up and down the street until late enough when they all went dark. That’s when the night sky got bright, and the stars got to tell their story.

James got bigger every year. He was like some of the trees in the neighborhood, with how fast he grew. He always gave me his warm welcome, “Welcome back, Jack.”

I wondered what was happening one year, when James was as big as his father. They were talking about James going away for college and I thought that was a good thing, but Martha and Drew both looked really sad. James was always talking with his friends about making great art as they entered the house. I was excited with every bit I could hear. Martha and Drew seemed to have a different opinion though. They’d come outside and argue about trying to get him to choose a better profession. What could be better than making beautiful things? Maybe they thought he wasn’t good enough. But that’s what college would help with, right? Either way, they seemed happy that he was coming back for summer and winter break.

He did come back every year for winter. I would usually wake up to the house already decorated. I think his parents wanted to wait to bring me back so he could greet me. “Welcome back, Jack.”

I want to say James was better for going to college, but he seemed like a new person. There was a little less joy in him. I caught Martha and Drew asking him multiple times about jobs. Apparently, artists had a hard time finding jobs, but he did eventually. It was a couple winters later and James was moving to a place called California. This time his parents seemed to be the happy ones, while James looked sad. Drew told him how proud he was and Martha kept telling him to find a girl that liked seasons and snow. It was something California didn’t have. That must be why he was sad, who would want to live in a world without seasons? That was my last winter for a long time.

The winter I woke up again, I was greeted by a little girl. She was putting my hat on my head and Jack was holding her up. He gave me that same great big smile, “Welcome back, Jack. We’ve made you a friend.”

The little girl was James’ daughter, Mary. She pointed next to me and said, “Her name is Elsa.”

I was surprised to see a snow woman next to me. Elsa was built exactly like me. Three round snowballs piled the same height, coal eyes and mouth, carrot nose, and two branches for arms. But instead of a hat, she had a pink scarf. I’d never had a friend like me before. After James and the rest of the family went inside, Elsa and I stood outside by ourselves. The lights twinkled on all the houses up and down the street. I wanted to say something but couldn’t speak. I wondered if Elsa wanted to say something to me too. As the thought passed through my mind, a strong breeze blew by, and our thin arms shook. I felt the familiar cool air as one of my arms fell. It bent at the spot it was planted in my side and suddenly stopped. Elsa’s hand had caught it. I couldn’t say she had done it on purpose, but something about the feel of our branches entangled there felt warm. I was happy to have someone to share these quiet moments with now. We watched the lights of the houses as they turned off one by one. The street grew dark and the stars in the sky grew bright as we stood there, fingers interlocked.