the first snow

i had never been so tired in any life i had known. my feet were lifting and falling as if i were a stringed puppet. movement was hard like sand up to my knees, my eyes were heavy but i couldn't stop. the news had come somehow inside my head - something terrible and crushing had happened to colin but i couldn't find out what it was. he had screamed and then stopped and i had heard it but had not seen it. there was nothing in the paper, nothing on the internet, and every time i saw someone who might know something, they disappeared quickly before my feet could get me there. scalding lead in the bottom of my shoes and the more it cooled the more it hurt, iron shoes constricting in a sudden snow squeezing my feet short and small.

the restaurant looked like a perkins, with green flowerly wallpaper and faux country decor. cheap lacy curtains and factory made scarecrows sitting on shelves on the walls above the booths. it was crowded and bright and smelled like syrup and coffee and butter. the manager on duty was a very large black woman wrapped from head to toe in bright salmon scarves. she had a broad smile and scarred hands and was pleasant as she passed out menus and welcomed her guests.

another woman cut from the same cloth walked in, this one wrapped tightly in white, and the moment her presence came into this place was the same moment everything stopped. the room lost all energy and momentum. conversation stopped. not a breath in or out.

the woman in white shouted to all of us, "do not believe her, I am the priestess, not her!" i could feel the panic and wanted to help so i walked around the room and told everyone that there was just a slight misunderstanding, not to worry, but a surge lifted everyone up at once, straight to their feet and out the door.

i had made my way to the back room and waited for something, i don't know what. when i came back into the restaurant, it was bright bright white - white walls and tablecloths and ceilings and carpet. so clean and bright it scared me. there was no color or texture or smell or distance between one thing and another, and the people seated at the new tables had not come from anywhere. but there they were, faceless and ageless.

as names were called from the front of the room, voices answered sadly and steadily. each voice spoke two numbers. the first number was the age of the spirit they were carrying right now, and the second number was the age of death for that same spirit. the first voice said "9 and 14", meaning in life she was nine years old, and would die at 14. the second said "6 and 21" and the voices went on like this. all so young and none would live to be old.

the last voice said simply and sadly, "zero", and this was the spirit that would never be born and so

would never die.