Snow and Memory

If I had had my camera with me today, I could have taken a picture of the first snow. We didn't get it here on the coast, but I drove to Bangor and as I turned inland toward that famous town of Meddybemps I began to see snow on the side of the road. The further toward Rte 9 I got, the more snow there was--enough to whiten the fields, like powdered sugar on the green grasses. The rain drops that pelted my windshield were substantive and looked slightly gelatinous, as if they had recently been snow but were melting rapidly as the temperature warmed up. It did, in fact, become a sunny day eventually. By the time I got to Bangor it was clear and dry. I had lunch with Sherillee after getting a flu shot and having blood drawn at the doctor's (to make sure my medication is not causing side effects). We met at my favorite oriental restaurant, where I gorged myself on everything fried. The lack of Chinese food is about the only complaint I have about Eastport.

As I drove back down State St. to head home, it suddenly seemed to me that I was returning to Parkview Avenue where I lived for so so long. It was almost as if the years had melted away and I was coming back from school at the University. I could picture a houseful of people as I entered through the shed door----Ben Joe barking and leaping up on me, cats on chairs and couches. I saw Alain cooking a gourmet meal for some girlfriend, something involving steamed julienned carrots tossed into a serving bowl with unsalted butter, small potatoes boiled with bacon.....school books everywhere, coats, towels....the light in the kitchen was soft against the (fake) brick walls, and warm. I saw Carrie with Pam and Rebecca climbing the stairs, laughing, going up to her room to talk, listen to music, amidst the posters of Duran Duran. Somewhere mixed up in this vision is Gabe sleeping on the couch under a blanket, Jesse sitting on the counter helping me make pelmeni, Andy watching me bake cookies, his chin in his hand. And Rick slinking through the back door headed for the cellar, his portfolio under his arm.

But at the light by the florist shop I put on my blinker and turned left, toward the bridge and away.