Growing Up

By Lexie Sanders

Today, I am no longer a young woman. No. I have not grown up just yet. My hair is still long and curly, tangling beneath a soft pom-pom topped hat. My tongue presses against the blank space where a tooth once was, and I wonder if the adult tooth will look silly compared to the other baby ones. I can hardly move in my snowsuit. It swishes loudly as I try to walk out the door, and I sweat beneath the several layers that will keep me from freezing. The world has been painted blue and white, the golden sun shines its warmth, and the ground glistens and sparkles beneath its genius light. My legs swish as I step down off the front porch, and my fluffy pink boots sink beneath powdery snow. I close my eyes and breathe in through my mouth, tasting the ice in the winter air.

I shift so that my weight is placed mainly on my left leg, then I place my left hand on my hip. I draw my right hand up to my mouth, and my middle finger and pointer finger lightly brush against my lips as I deeply inhale my imaginary cigarette. I hold the icy air in my lungs for a moment, and then I exhale, watching my breath turn white when it meets the winter air. The white puff disappears almost as fast as it appeared, and I smile a rather broken smile while imagining that I looked like one of those beautifully elegant women on TV—like Audrey Hepburn wearing her red lipstick and her sophisticated dresses… but with a puffy pink coat, fluffy pink boots, a smile missing teeth, and a hat with a pom-pom at the top.

“Hey, what are you doing? Stop that! Smoking isn’t funny. What is wrong with you?” My dad asks from the end of the driveway as he shovels away a mountain of snow. His cheeks are pink with cold, or maybe frustration, and his hood is up, protecting his head and ears from the chill. His coat, like a male cardinal, is bright red with one black stripe in the middle.

His eyes pierce me expectantly, awaiting the usual answer. “Yeah, I know.” I sigh, grab the other shovel, and begin shoveling beside him.

He picks up piles of snow with the large end of the shovel and tosses it aside. Then, again, he scoops up another pile of snow and tosses it aside. I pick up a pile of snow from the other end of the driveway and launch it as hard as I can behind me. I excitedly turn and watch as the powdery snow separates from the pile and lands partially on a clear part of the driveway. The other part—the larger part—lands on my dad’s head. My heart stops as he turns and glares down at me.

“If you aren’t planning on helping, then go back inside!” He snaps. Then, he scrapes up the snow I just dropped and returns to his work. I, too, go back to work. I scrape the shovel against the pavement, and the sound it makes is like nails on a chalkboard. The snow falls into a pile at the edge of the driveway. I imagine how nice it will be when I go inside. My mama will have a cup of hot chocolate ready at the table with mini-marshmallows floating at the top. I imagine how my fingertips and nose will feel hot after being so cold, and while I’m sitting there, my mom will gently brush my hair out of my face and plant a kiss on my forehead like she always does.

As I walk towards the front door, shadowing my father, I reach towards a bush filled with small pillows of snow and pull one small branch down. I watch as the branch comes back up, the small pillow of snow falls to the ground, and the branch is left naked.

Suddenly, I am a young woman again. Yes, I have returned, and my hand pulls one small branch down from the same bush as all those years ago. The pillow of snow falls to the ground when the branch comes back up. I sigh as I take a sip of the hot chocolate steaming in my travel cup. My keys jingle in my hand as I walk up to my front door, stomp my brown boots against the rug, unlock the door, and swing it open. I pause before I enter. Grinning to myself, I shift my weight and place one hand on my hip, drawing my other hand up to my mouth. My pointer finger and middle finger brush against my lips as I inhale my imaginary cigarette. I hold it for a moment. And then I exhale while watching my breath turn white in the winter air. The cloud disappears almost as quickly as it appeared.