Warm Snow

Dawn looked out the window, and wished for the old, cold snow. She turned to her teacher and asked, “Miss, could we please go outside? It’s so pretty, look at it!” The teacher glanced at the glittering white hills that had formed where the playground had been, and shook her head.  “You know we can’t, you don’t have the proper clothing. You kids would get hurt. Play inside; it’s almost time for your mom to get you. She’ll have your gear.” Dawn scowled and turned to her sister.

“Fine, Star, you and me can be smart people, and we’re trying to make it snow. Real snow too, the really cold kind that stays for a long time.” Star shrugged and sat down beside Dawn. She didn’t care as much as Dawn did about the snow, but she was willing to pretend for her little sister. Dawn looked around for someone to join their game, but all the other children were engrossed in their own fantasies. Star watched as her sister sat down and began building her world, then joined her.

They played for a few minutes, until the first wave of parents came to the door. Then, they began putting away their crude, wooden toys as their mothers chatted with the teacher, and wrapped protective gear tightly around their children. “I don’t know how you deal with Dawn at home,” the teacher said, “She’s become so obsessed with snow, and she’s starting to pull the rest of the class along with her.” Dawn’s mother shook her head and sighed. “It’s her grandfather. He’s getting old, and has been telling her stories his grandparents told him, about eating and laying in snow without any protection. Frankly, it’s ridiculous. Neither understands that times have changed, he’s senile and she’s too young.”

The teacher nodded, and smiled as Dawn and Star walked up. Star hadn’t tied her boots properly, and they flopped onto the dirt floor as she shuffled her way across the room. Her mother knelt down to help her, and the teacher stayed by the door. She didn’t want Dawn to make a run for the outside. Star finally got her gear on properly, and joined her sister. They walked out into the hot day, and Dawn wistfully looked at the sky, wishing she was allowed to catch one of the fat, slow-moving flakes on her tongue, the way her grandfather had described. One drifted onto an uncovered part of her face, and she yelped as it sizzled, turned to dust, and blew away.

Her mother smiled at her, “I told you, it’s not the same snow. Do you get it now? Wait here for a second, I need to see what your teacher wants.” Dawn stared sullenly at the ground, and muttered “Fine.” Her mom walked back to the urgently waving teacher, who had a sheaf of paper in one hand. She handed it to her, and asked, “By the way, where did you think of such lovely names? Dawn, Star, they’re just so exotic. Where are they from?” Dawn’s mother laughed, “Those were my concession to my husband, he wanted them to be named from some old book his family passed down to him. I’m not sure what they mean, but they were definitely pretty!” They smiled at each other, and looked at the mountain on the horizon. It spewed more white ash every second, the same way it did every year.