Danny
Storm clouds choked out the moon and stars, leaving the countryside in a cover of darkness, black as a cup of coffee. The woods pressed close to the sides of Tokach Road, maple and pine trees moaning and swaying, limbs bare of any leaves. A creek—not yet frozen—ran along the side of the road, ice-cold water racing past rocks the size of garbage cans and over trees that finally toppled after their roots turned to rot. Turkeys, deer, raccoon, possums—all animals of the forest—kept hidden away, nestled somewhere warm, out of the wind and snow.
No signs of life except for the hunched lone figure tromping through the snow, leaning into the biting wind. Danny plodded forward, slow and steady. The wind suddenly changed direction and swept across the road, carrying with it large flakes of snow. They stuck to Danny’s face like pieces of wet newspaper. His cheeks and nose were numb, but the cold didn’t bother him none. He always liked wintertime and the cold it brought with it. The cold always made him feel a little different—not like the heat and humidity summer invited. He could think better and thought that the cold made him a bit smarter somehow. It probably didn’t, but he liked to think that maybe it did. Being smart would sure be nice.
Since he’d been hiking up Tokach Road, not a single car had passed him by. It was pretty late, and most folks were probably already in bed. There were only a handful of houses out this way. Most were dark. Porch lights off. He passed by a house where two miniature snowmen stood in the front yard with carrot noses and knit caps perched on top of their heads. One of the snowmen was missing a coal eye.
Danny smiled with the memory of building his first snowman with his mama and papa. He was probably around five. Before the accident. He could remember a lot of things before the accident. The snow had been powdery dry and too light. It wouldn’t pack right, and the snow fell apart in Danny’s little mittened hands every time he tried to make a snowball. Frustrated tears ran down his small, chubby cheeks, and his papa had smiled down at him.
“Now, Danny-Boy, tears aren’t going to help us none. We’re not going to let a snowman get the best of us, are we?” Danny shook his head up at his father. “Your old man’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.”
He watched his father unspool the garden hose and spray down an area of snow on the driveway. His father winked at him. “Your tears won’t be near enough. Need a little H20 magic.” He turned off the hose and bent down in the wet snow. He scooped a pile of snow into his lap and began to pack and shape a large ball. Tears slowed as Danny sat beside his father and watched his snowman start to take form. His father handed him a snowball about the size of a basketball. “There. We got us one snowman’s head. Got to start somewhere.”
Snow spit into Danny’s eyes and shook him out of the memory of his first snowman. Up ahead, fifty yards or so, he saw Mindy’s trailer. The porch light burned bright, so maybe she was still awake. A rusted blue Volkswagen Rabbit was parked out front of the trailer with a few inches of snow on the hood and roof. Parked behind it, blocking in the VW, a black pickup truck seemed to stand guard.
Danny noticed that there wasn’t any snow on top of the big black truck. The truck looked like a lot of trucks around this area, but Danny knew whose it was. He kept walking anyway.
