Footprints in the Snow, Part Two

As with most holiday seasons, Christmas Eve was upon him before he knew it. It wasn’t because he was busy or had family and friends to see. It was more because time passed differently these days, each day blending into the next. 

He woke up on Christmas Eve to a few snowflakes falling outside. They said the first snow of the season would be a Christmas Eve and Christmas Day storm. He had already stocked up on bread, milk, peanut butter, and more frozen dinners. He was ready for the snow. But that morning as he got out of bed, there was an unsettled feeling that weighed on him, a tugging that couldn’t be ignored.

He thought of the girl.

It would be her parents’ first Christmas Eve without her. He knew the feeling of loss often hurt more around the holidays, felt his own ache increase with each day. He hadn’t had the energy to celebrate in so long. But this morning he wanted to do something. It was an unusual feeling these days. As he slipped his slippers on, he looked outside. The snowflakes were fat, the ground already coated with a thin layer. Of course he was going to go out today of all days.

He was experienced in driving in the snow, but he was rusty. His Buick slowly coasted down the street, the tires gripping the roads as he turned. He was grateful he had decided to put the snow tires on this year. 

Soon, he was leaving the city, crossing the river, and driving toward the farm that he had gone to so many times before. It had been years since he’d seen it, but he didn’t hesitate. It felt as if someone else was driving the car.

For a moment he panicked, worried that the farm no longer existed. But as he rounded the last turn, he soon saw the worn sign and Christmas trees dotted along the fence set next to the road. He pulled into the gravel parking lot and got out.

“Morning,” one of the young men said to him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You still let people cut down their own trees?” he asked.

The young man hesitated as if surprised, and then nodded. “You need any help with that, sir?”

“I’ll be all right,” he said, grabbing his own saw out of the trunk.

The young man looked as if he was about to say something, but then nodded. “There’s a tractor that comes by that’ll bring your tree back from the field!” he called as the man walked toward the trees.

Snowflakes fell into his eyes and the path was slippery, but he managed to walk down row after row, sizing up the different shapes and forms. Nothing too tall, nothing too wide, nothing with needles that would shed too much. Finally, on his fifth row, he spotted it—the perfect tree. It reminded him of the ones that used to be in his home, trees that lasted the entire holiday season, not hastily purchased on Christmas Eve.

He got to his knees slowly, careful not to cut himself on the saw. The blade was still sharp and it didn’t take much for the tree to come tumbling down. He grabbed the trunk and dragged it behind him. There was no sign of the tractor, so he walked, a path of evergreen needles trailing him in the snow.

“You get that all by yourself?” the same young man asked when he made it back to the parking lot. 

“Sure did,” he said, trying not to sound out of breath. “Would you mind tying it on though?” 

“Of course,” the young man said.

He looked around as the tree was tied on top of the Buick. There was a trailer nearby for the workers and several wreaths propped up against them.

“It’s half off today,” the young man said once he was done. “Being that it’s Christmas Eve and all.”

“How much for a wreath?” he asked.

The young man looked over at the trailer. “Heck, I’ll throw one in for free.”

“You sure?”

The young man nodded. “Which one you want?”

“How about that one with the plaid bow?”

“It’s yours,” the young man said, walking over to get it.

“Thanks,” he said, once the wreath was in his trunk. He paid the young man and slowly backed out of the empty parking lot. The snow was really coming down.

“Have a safe drive home!” the young man called.

His knuckles were white the entire drive home, but he made it back across the river and into the city without any issues. The roads were mostly clear of traffic which helped.

He barely made it into the driveway before realizing that he wouldn’t be able to get the Christmas tree off of his car. He looked at it, snow covering the branches, and laughed.

“Well, I still got a tree,” he said to himself. “Even if it’s just on top of the car.” He smiled, got the wreath out of the trunk and started walking down the street.

The snow was already several inches deep as he walked down the sidewalk. The wreath’s fresh scent filled his nose. His heart fluttered as he walked by the turquoise door, stopping at the steps one house farther down. 

There were lights on inside and a car in the driveway. He still didn’t know their names, probably never would, but he remembered their daughter, knew a bit about the pain they must be feeling. He took a deep breath before walking up the steps, the wreath suddenly cumbersome as he held onto the railing. He thought about ringing the doorbell but then thought better of it. Instead, he propped the wreath up against the door, its plaid bow a deep red that cut through all of the white. He didn’t want to linger, didn’t want to run into the girl’s parents, so he quickly walked back down the steps. They would hopefully see the wreath before morning.

As he walked home he noticed his footprints on the sidewalk, tiny stars from his boots already being filled in by the snow. They weren’t unlike those footprints from years ago, walking from one house to another. This time though, it was his own footprints that were going back home. He spotted the tree on top of the Buick and smiled, brushing snow out of his eyes. 

Soon he would be back inside wearing his slippers and drinking tea. Maybe he would listen to Christmas music as he watched the snow fall. Soon, his footprints would be covered, tiny stars disappearing under freshly fallen snow.