"It's always like this," the checkout lady told my mother. "People are insane. They hear snow and they stampede the grocery store. You'd think the Russian's were coming."
By nightfall, the snow hadn't begun. I retired to my bedroom. Bored, I flipped through an old Sport's illustrated Swim Suit Issue before taking another look. I shut my lights off and sat on my perch. In the glow of the streetlights in front of Fernwood, a light snow fell. I was transfixed. Diane's bedroom light broke my spell.
My eyes darted towards the light. Diane studied her reflection in the mirror before lighting candles. Laughing, she looked towards the bedroom door. She disappeared into her walk-in closet. She reemerged in lingerie. Holy shit, I thought. Again she stood in front of her mirror and brushed her golden hair. She sat the brush down, swayed to the doorway and shut off the light. Reflections of candlelight flickered upon the walls. My heart raced. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Lucky fucker, I thought.
I ran through the Rolodex in my mind, trying to figure out who I should be envying. I knew Diane dated, though I never met anyone. Shannie said Diane dated mostly stuffed shirts - she never brings anyone home. The suspense was better than the Super Bowl. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Diane appeared in the doorway, hand in hand with her lover. "What the…?" I said aloud. My focus struggled against the snow and candlelight. At the foot of her bed Diane embraced her lover; they kissed before Diane led Ms. Horne, my algebra teacher, onto her bed.
"Holy shit," I yelled.
"What's the matter?" my mother asked from downstairs.
"You should see her, it snowing. It's a blizzard."
"That's nice," she said - uninterested.
Unfucking-believable; wait till everyone hears about this. I ran downstairs and called Count.
"Hi Flossy, is Count home?" I asked.
"Him and the old man are busy hooking up the plow."
"Can you have him call me when they're done?"
"They'll be out just about all night. Once they get it hooked up they're planning on plowing. They'll be done in the morning."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Get some rest," my dad ordered after I hung up. "You've got some shoveling to do tomorrow."
I closed my bedroom door and rushed to the window. The candlelight provoked my imagination. I fell asleep sitting in my perch, dreaming of happenings beyond eyeshot. Then the strangest thing happened, or maybe it didn't - maybe it was a dream: my father woke me, told me to crawl into bed. Tucking me in he kissed my forehead: "I love you son."