Years ago, I wrote a story called "First Snow". I searched my crypt of past writing for a copy so I could post it here, but I have no copy. The only copy of the story resided on a computer system/community that no longer exists called PLATO. (For those who spent time on PLATO before there was an internet to play with, I was lleach/pasrf, lleachie/pasrf, laurie/pasrf, and lauren/pasrf. Also mylovelifeis/cursed). If you're interested in the system that had chat capabilities, advice notesfiles, and serious, unwashed gamers while the Internet slept in someone's dreams, check out this book: The Friendly Orange Glow
I have the choice of lamenting the loss of a pretty little vignette, or I could try to rewrite it like I am doing with Whose Hearts are Mountains.
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Through the years we all will be together,
if the fates allow ...
Snugging up my coat and tightening my scarf with mittened hands, I stepped out the door of the computer lab. I noticed it had started to snow while I stared at the terminal typing to wraithlike friends, sharing myself more freely than I did in real life.
The first snow of the season crunched underfoot as I walked under the streetlamp, surrounded by the old, settled buildings of the engineering campus. I had heard the rumor that the University would tear the old University Fire Department down for a shiny Public Safety complex. I shook my head; the squat, grimy beauty of the current building would be no more. Too many changes. I stepped forward, because there was no way to walk but forward.
The night seemed bereft of people, of noise; nothing except me and the silence. And my thoughts.
My best friends would graduate soon. First, Mike, who would be gone in three days before I could ask him what his family was like. Then Alex would graduate in spring. Others had already drifted away, and I would not hear their stories again. That was the problem with holding people to my heart -- they drifted away, and I would let them go.
The snow fell in earnest, shrouding all familiar landmarks in a coat of white. Street lights and phone poles stood starkly against the billows. My footprints stood in stark relief as I turned around and viewed them, the only footprints marring the snow. Each step was into uncharted territory; each footprint showed that I had survived that part of the journey, but that I had survived it alone.
Alone -- no, not alone. I held the memories of my friends; I held their stories. There would be no new stories when they left, no new memories made, but there would be what I held now.
As I crossed from the campus to the shady streets of Urbana, I stopped in front of the University High School, its Gothic hulk softened by snow. I glanced up at the streetlight -- an old-fashioned globe light -- to see the swirling snow fashion it into a star of sorts, close enough, and I let my husky voice rise:
... through the years, we all will be together,
if the Fates allow --
hang a shining star upon the highest bough ...
And that was what I would do when I got home. I would decorate the tree in my tiny apartment, hanging the star at the top, and drink a toast to memories and to the first snow. Like snow, friendships could melt at a moment's notice, but memories would last.
This is a lovely story!
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