by Jon Moray
Tonight was the night, as chilly as it was. The training wheels of Sally’s teenage innocence was about to come off as she clomped along in the fresh snow under a periwinkle sky, through the neighborhood park enroute to her friend’s house where they were to meet their boyfriends. Her stomach rumbled with uneasy, restless jitters. All the nudging, urging, and peer pressure of missing out came to a head, and tonight, she would take the leap.
The walk over was a blur of should I, should I not thoughts until a snowball out of nowhere brushed her shoulder. She shrieked, startled, and spun around to ascertain the origin of the aerial assault.
A young girl wearing a robe that tickled her galoshes giggled and waved her over as she was taking a break from building a snowman. Sally tsked at the young girl and continued on her way.
A few steps along, and she was again pelted by a snowball. This time, Sally stomped over in a rage. “What’s your problem?” she screamed. The young girl was mute and, with a firm demeanor, motioned Sally to make the head of the snowman with pleading eyes.
The girl guided Sally’s hand along a snowball to help shape the head with tender care. Sally grew sentimental as it rekindled her memories of her love of snow when she was younger.
A male’s voice called out for Sally, and she dropped the clump of icy precipitation, bee-lined over to him, and took his hand. They marched towards her friend’s house as the young girl trailed behind at a distance. Sally intermittently glanced back at the girl as the couple ventured on. Gradually, the snow was becoming slush in their path, and the young girl ceased following them.
Sally turned back and saw the young girl sitting on a bench that was still fresh with white snow. The young girl’s head was in her hands as her shoulders shook to combat tears. Sally contemplated the contrast between the slush and snow, and a sudden sentiment disturbed the indecisive battle in her head. “When the moment is right, and with the man I will marry,” she whispered to herself and broke the grip on her boyfriend’s hand. Her boyfriend continued on as she turned back toward the young girl.
Sally seized an opportunity to get some playful revenge, as she scooped up snow and tossed a snowball that grazed the knit cap the young girl was wearing. The young girl shot up off the bench, sniffed back tears, and ran back toward the headless snowman, as Sally followed with echoing laughter.
Together, they finished the snowman with precious patience.
“Who are you,” Sally asked, rubbing the young girl’s chin. The girl tumbled to the snow and onto her back. Her limbs flapped about disturbing the snow around her as Sally looked on.
“You’re an angel?” Sally asked with starlit eyes. The girl nodded like a bobblehead. Sally stooped down and took the girl’s hand. “I understand now. You used the innocence of snow to send me a message,” Sally spoke softly, as tears welled her eyes. “Message received,” she smiled at her little guardian angel. The girl smiled back and rendered a slow goodbye wave as she began to fade away.
Jon Moray has been writing short stories for over a decade, and his work has appeared in many online and print markets. When not working and being a devoted family man, he enjoys sports, music, the ocean, and SCI-FI/Fantasy media. Read more of his work at moraywrites.com
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