Snowfall clenched the world in a tight, slippery fist. Tight enough to keep cars and trucks from escaping, but slippery enough that people could escape, usually with minor injuries. There were plenty of wrecks throughout the city, I heard, where cars slid along the sheets of ice compacted and refrozen throughout the night.
As for us, we just so happened to have a houseful of family and friends over, singing carols, snarfing food, and smooching in dark corners when they thought no one was looking. Someone was looking. Someone is always looking.
When time came to leave, around 11:00 pm, the crews of two different groups of cousins and two different groups of friends piled together into their four respective cars and started out of our neighborhood. And that’s as far as they got. We live at the top of a hill. The road that descends from that hill was pretty near to brand-new, nice and smooth and ready to be sledded down at the first snow. But the first sleds weren’t designed for sledding. They were cars. The four cars, in fact, of our four groups who left our house in high spirits, waving and blowing kisses and leaning heavily on Uncle Buster.
I wish I could have been part of the fun that must have been that inaugural slide down our house’s frozen hill. Instead, I was shuffling my feet around the kitchen while Sara put the last of the sugar away. Dad’s phone rang, right about when he and Mom thought no one was looking, and I answered it.
It was hard to hear through the wind, but it sounded like Aunt Mina slurring through a request for help. Mom tried to keep her away from the eggnog, but with Aunt Mina, that’s pretty hard to do.
I gave the phone to Dad, and he figured out what was going on about the time that Mom’s phone rang, and our groups of friends (mostly Sara’s friends) related between panicked breaths that the second and third sled rides down our hill were probably not as fun as the inaugural had been. In other words, Flavio had crashed into the traffic light at the base of the hill, and Ann-Jeanette had been in the middle of tweeting her terror at the slippery roads when she ran into him. On the bright side, her video tweet of the incident was her most popular ever, even being featured the next day on local news.
It is still a mystery to us how Uncle Clint and Aunt Gabriella, who split their years between Hawaii and Jamaica and treated snow like the eleventh plague of Egypt, made it down the hill and across the other frozen streets to reach their hotel without so much as swerving.
Whatever happened to them, it was clear that the rest of our guests were not getting anywhere that night. Tow trucks would not be dispatched until the sun rose and started melting all that ice. So Dad and I hopped into our truck and started to leave the neighborhood. By that time a trio of cop cars had climbed up the reverse road and were perched lengthwise across the dangerous downhill road. I saw a fourth cop car parked at the base of the hill, trying to keep Flavio from tongue-lashing Ann-Jeanette within an inch of her life.
Dad told the cops he could make it down the hill, driving on fresh snow and using our trusty four-wheel-drive. They let us pass, and we made the slow, boringly steady drive down the hill. First we had to pick up Aunt Mina, Uncle Buster, Aunt Charlie, and the twins. Aunt Mina laughed a lot when she saw us, and so Dad had me help her to the truck and climb into the back. I think that was so he and Uncle Buster could film the process. She only slipped twice, and nearly knocked me over. I had sense enough to open the tailgate before trying to help her climb up. I lost count of how many times either of us slipped and nearly broke our rumps. The video that circulated in the family’s Facebook group the next day (unattributed) kept a running tally of fifteen, but I’m almost positive Aunt Mina had a couple more.
The twins were both eerily quiet and eerily compliant. They slid out of the back of the minivan and slipped up into the truck bed without a sound. Uncle Buster helped Aunt Charlie in while Dad crossed the street to tell Flavio and Ann-Jeanette what was up.
I jumped in the bed with everyone else. It was filled with snow, so as we sat on it, it all melted and seeped into our pants, leading Uncle Buster to make a joke about icicles that I didn’t understand. Whatever it meant, Aunt Charlie smacked him good for it.
We deposited everyone, and me, at home, and Dad went back for everyone else. Mom and Sara had been pulling out blankets and sleeping bags. Mom took me to the upstairs bathroom to change my soggy, freezing pants, and the relatives took turns changing into the various-sized pajama pants that Sara pulled out of the Chest of Ancient Clothing in the basement. I was glad to get my own warm and comfy pants, which fit fine and didn’t smell like moths.
Dad came back with everyone else in the bed, also complaining about soggy britches. Almost everyone, I guess. Ann-Jeanette had worn a skirt with leggings.
Mom sent me around to light differently scented candles in different parts of the house. Depending on where you stood, it smelled like pumpkin pie, apple pie, candy canes, or vanilla. There was one place between the vanilla and apple pie candles where you could stand and close your eyes and imagine you were at a picnic eating pie and ice cream. In pajama pants.
While I lighted the candles, Sunny followed me around. He asked why we had to light the candles, and I said, “so it’ll warm up.” But mainly I think Mom wanted to cover the moth-smell of everyone’s pajama pants. The candles did give every room a warm glow, though.
In the end, there were nine visitors with us in the house, standing around in pajama pants that were either too big or too small. Well, Aunt Mina was sitting on the couch, giggling a little to herself. Sometime in all our moving stuff around, all the mistletoe got taken down and stowed somewhere. They gave my bed to Uncle Buster and Aunt Charlie and the twins, who went to bed as soon as Mom had it ready. Sara was allowed to keep her room. I though Ann-Jeanette and Manny (Sunny’s sister) would stay with her, but they took their sleeping bags to the loft. Flavio took the couch in the living room, after Mom picked Aunt Mina up off it and led her up to her and Dad’s room. She said Sunny and I could set up wherever we wanted to, but Dad pulled me aside and said that I had to assume the role of protecting my sister’s honor. Whatever that meant. He said I’d understand when I was older.
So I set up my sleeping bag outside Sara’s door. Sunny joined me, looking around at everything as the lights started to turn out, and the candles slowly burned down. The loft glowed blue, and every so often I heard one of the girls laugh.
“Why are we here?” Sunny asked me.
“For my sister’s honor,” I said.
“Oh.”
“Just try to sleep.” I leaned against Sara’s door. My eyes were getting heavy when I looked over at my door and nearly jumped out of my jammy pants. The twins stood in the doorway of my room, side by side, not doing anything in particular. I looked to Sunny for help, but he was already asleep.
“Do you need something?” I asked.
They shook their heads in unison.
“OK. Uh, good night.”
Lucky for me, they didn’t say good night in unison. They just nodded and turned around and went back into my room. It took me two days of checking every last corner before I felt safe in there again.
I didn’t sleep very well because of the twins and the honor thing, plus the girls in the loft had a snickering fit somewhere around what must have been two in the morning. But after that, they settled down, and I could finally forget about the twins and drift off myself. Till sometime around four when Sara stepped on my face on her way to the bathroom.
See if I ever guard her honor again.