January 2023

A year after the snow day that changed her life forever, Anna finds a wounded bird On Tuesday morning, a sheath of crystalline white over the bedroom window obstructed Anna’s view of anything else outside. Snow day, she thought, and without explanation, a feeling of dread crept over her. School would be canceled, she knew, and the fact was confirmed by her mother at breakfast. Anna stared out the kitchen window, which the snow had somehow bypassed. The trees sagged, deposits of heavy whiteness weighing them down. Beside the window, an evergreen dropped a load of snow suddenly and then sprang back up, splattering white powder over the glass windowpane. What was there to do if school was out? Anna wandered listlessly around the house, did some simple extra-credit homework from her fourth-grade class, and finally sat down with a book and tried to focus. But her mind kept wandering away from the lines of print on the pages, and her mother, taking notice, said, “Maybe if you go outside and play, you’ll feel better.” Inside, Anna disagreed. Her mother couldn’t possibly understand what she was thinking, what the snow was reminding her of. But Anna obeyed anyway, slowly tugging on her big boots and throwing a jacket around her shoulders. She didn’t want to go out, even if staying inside meant doing nothing at all. Because last winter, on the first snow day of the year, Anna had done a terrible thing. Girl with Birds She didn’t want to think about it. Slowly, perhaps because the boots were half a size too big, Anna trudged outside into the snowdrifts that greeted her on the front doorstep. She shut the door quickly so that cold air would not invade and displace the natural warmth of the house. It had snowed just a little more than a foot last night, and the texture of the snow was just right for shaping snowballs or rolling up a gargantuan snowman. It should have been a perfect day. But it wasn’t. Anna tried to have fun. She had piled up about fourteen snowballs before she realized that there was no one to have a snowball fight with. She had rolled the three individual sections of a snowman before she remembered that she could not stack up the sections by herself; they were too heavy and bulky for her to lift on her own. So after exhausting her efforts, she collapsed onto the soft snow. The impact of her body on the ground was gentle, and a spray of clean flakes drifted onto her face, refreshing and cooling. Still, something was wrong. It was too . . . quiet. The front lawn was so empty. And Anna knew why, although she didn’t like to think about it. If Sharie were here, she would have broken the silence that kept Anna forever trapped in her head. She would have let loose her storehouse of silly jokes, filled the frigid air with her ringing laughter. She would have chattered away about starfish and robots and the books that they both liked. Except Sharie wasn’t here, and the only chatter Anna could hear was that of the birds. And it was probably her own fault. *          *          * One year ago . . . “Bye, Anna,” came the voice from the other end of the telephone, and then there was the click of that person hanging up. Anna put down the phone too, then called loudly to her mother: “Can Sharie come over and play today?” She crossed her fingers, then waited for a response. “There’s no school today, so I don’t see why not,” was her mother’s answer. “I’ll check with Sharie’s parents first.” “I can do it,” Anna said hurriedly, because she already had done it, calling Sharie’s house beforehand because she knew her own mother would say yes. This way, Sharie would be able to come over a few minutes sooner, and they would have a few more minutes’ worth of fun. A few more minutes meant a lot more than it sounded. Anna waited anxiously by the door in her coat, hat, and waterproof mittens. When her friend’s familiar car rolled up in front of the driveway, she threw open the door and ran out, yelling. Sharie was there, bundled up in a snowsuit and smiling, as she always did. Anna’s mother came out too, exchanged some quick words with Sharie’s father in the driver’s seat, then took one of the snow shovels propped up against the side of the house as the car drove away. (Sharie’s parents always seemed to be in a rush, Anna had realized some time ago, but she also knew it was scarcely their fault.) But that didn’t matter now. Now, it was time for them to have fun. Anna and Sharie played joyfully in the snow together. They tried to see how high they could throw the snowballs into the sky, instead of at each other, shouting “We’re freeeee!” until crabby Mrs. Rayley from next door yelled at them to stop. They accompanied Anna’s mother in shoveling snow from the front walk, although they soon got distracted before making much progress. They built a snow fort, and even when it collapsed, they didn’t mind. Except Sharie wasn’t here, and the only chatter Anna could hear was that of the birds. And it was probably her own fault. “Let’s have a snowman contest,” Anna suggested, after the two of them had taken a short break from play, lying on the ground and sprinkling snow on each other’s heads. Sharie giggled and nodded enthusiastically, and immediately set about finding a hard chunk of snow to roll around. Anna looked for one too, though it took her a while to find a good piece. When she finally found an icy lump, she packed it over with snow and rolled the snowball over the front yard, around and around. This took quite a