Page 27 - Contrast1965Spring

HOUSE WARMING
WThhe hous.e was strange and not quite home.
v' en I hrst c ame h ome from college for winter
a. catron ,maere twenty-four hours had passed
wSInce the movI.ng van had left. and the house
a~ .a confusion of unpacked b~xes and things
cWomaItIng dto be put away. Now Christmas had
th ~ a~ gone, and the air was heavy with
I e .ee Ing that part of the holiday had been
thost fIn the ru snh, 0 utsride snow fell while even
a e. fir. on the living room hearth burned low
i s u us .che er ha d b een forgotten. I sat curled
n a chair b y a W.Ind ow tryrn. g to read a book.
"Tornm y.'" Father ,.s VOIce rang from the next
yroooumb, cal hlin g to my brother. " Tommy, have
roug t that wood in yet?"
Ttohnee sinfgle wo rd" w h at. ?" fIoated up 1.0' bOyIsh
s .rom the basement and there was a long
pause In t h e conversation. '
w"T ommy' . " came Father's VOIce agaIn. There
"wahsat)a'; hurried t huurmnopilng on the stai•rs and the
ment: s~unded nearer followed by an argu-
Were fIn which "wood" ,re, "fi " an d "h urry "
"eatured on one side and "cold" "snow"
a"nAd wet" on the other. It was con"cluded by
middwl, Dafd'. do I have to.) I' m r'.rg h t I.n th e
Father'se 0 " dOlllg ~omet hln'"g, from Tommy and
Yes, nght this minute!"
PTuhlelreed was a bang as the closet door was
b o?en and the hollow sound of rubber
Iotoriresd beIng d roppe d iIn the middle of the floor.
t\front %concentrate on the lines of print in
The snowflakes drifting past the
windo
nationw I 00 ~d large and wet, and in my imagi-
pane. cou d hear them go plop against the
"Please com" . Gee, my feet are cold! Funny, right now I like
me, and I look e, s~ld a sma 11 voice be side
It was di ed up Into the face of my brother.
in th b1rty as usual. During his "projects"
easement T .
traction for di ' ?mmy had a magneuc at-
my b k rt. I tried to look busy' and drew
00 closer.
25
"Please come," he repeated, pulling at my
arm. "It's cold outside."
"I know," I replied and concentrated on look-
ing comfortable.
"Please come. Huh?"
I was about to say "no" when something in
his expression stopped me. Beneath the grime
he was my brother, and at that moment he
looked lonely. My "no" came out "okay,"
and we headed first for the closet and then
for the wilds of our suburban yard and adjoin-
ing woods.
The snow was dry, not wet as I had expected.
It lay in wind-made waves over the lawn and
piled in drifts against the trunks of trees. No
wind stirred as we trudged across the yard,
feeling the snow sift past our socks and pack
itself in the toes of our boots where it me lred
to form cold little puddles. Other flakes
slipped past the scarves around our necks.
'(I can hardly see the shed," Tommy shouted
as he peered through the clouds of flakes and
ploughed into a drift that reached his knees.
«Oops, that's the wrong way! Duck!" The
snowball, made from damp snow that had filled
the topS of his boots, fell harmlessly behind
me , and we raced with exaggerated steps for
the woods.
"Snowshoes would help here," I laughed as
we passed the shed. Once we were under the
trees we found the snow not so deep. A hush
fell on the scene as we trudged along, looking
for the pond that was supposed to be further
on.
"It's back here someplace," Tommy said as
he was stopped by a thick growth ~f bus~es.
"I'll bet it'll be full of frogs chis spnng.
cold feet."