Forty Days and Nights: Love Stories. 23. Snowbuses

The snow was so deep they could not get their car out, or even remember where it was parked. That was a long time ago, when they used to drive their car to the places they had decided they wanted to go. Now the only way to get around the city was in the big buses that drifted up and down the streets. If you needed to go somewhere, if it was time for you to go, you went out and stood in front of your house and in just a minute a bus would come along from somewhere and pick you up. It was the only way they could travel, now in this monument, this amazement of snow. This is how it worked. You stood out in front of your house in the deep ditch that you had carved in the snowfall that was like what your sidewalk used to be. Part of you stuck out the top, more or less of you, depending on how tall you were. When the bus came along you got on quickly and the driver took you to where the bus was going that time. You never knew where that would be. Most drivers didn't decide til they saw you. You might have a destination you hoped for, and most people did, at first, anyway but after you rose the snowbuses for a while, if you did, if you could bring yourself to ride them, you realized this was a good way. To take what came to you and after a time to see that this was what was best, after all. It was what you needed.

It was that or walking.

He stood in front of his house, in the deep sidewalk ditch, with his boys. The youngest was not tall enough to be seen above the banks of snow at all and the next oldest was just tall enough that only his hat could be seen, as if someone had come along and set a red hat down on the snow and walked away. A hat that hopped and zipped back and forth. The rest of them stuck out more or less half way above the snow. They were waiting for a bus, and most of them had hopes about where they wanted the bus to go. Some of them were saying out loud what those hopes were. He kept looking over his shoulder, back at the house, to see if perhaps she had changed her mind, if perhaps she might be coming with them after all. She wasn't happy about the buses now that the snow had come. She hated how it was, with the drivers going where you needed to go instead of where you wanted to go, where you chose. She said she wasn't going anywhere til she could drive again, and she folded her arms and shut the bedroom door. He got the boys dressed without her, but still he looked over his shoulder to see if she had changed her mind, if she might be coming. Or maybe even if she might be at the front window watching them. He half thought he saw her, raised his arm in the beginning of a wave, but the wave faltered and died in his hand, at the ends of his fingers. It wasn't her, it wasn't someone. It was a shadow that crossed between the kitchen and the hall but it wasn't her. He turned and saw the oldest boy looking back too, looking at the shadow that crossed and wasn't anyone. The oldest boy slid his eyes away and then leaned out toward the street. Here comes the bus, the oldest boy said, and they all turned to get ready, to jump on.

Where do you think you're off to? the bus driver asked and the boys laughed, delighted. Tell us! they said. The driver leaned over to the two smallest boys and grinned. Guess, the driver said. The zoo! they guessed, jumping. The zoo, the driver said, that's good. That's very, very good. They all held their breaths while the driver thought. The driver narrowed his eyes, staring out the frosted side window. They looked where the driver looked and there was the zoo. Soft and pillowy under the deep round drifts that muffled all the city sounds. There were the lions playing the game of follow-the-pride-leader, each one stepping precisely in First Lion's paw prints as First Lion led them around and about, leaving a single line of one set of prints; chest-deep leg chimneys in the perfect snow. Tails lifted. Happy cat faces wearing smiles of careful concentration. Follow-the-pride-leader is not an easy game. Lots of people end up getting eaten for being bad and sloppy at it. Cobras and boas were making snow tunnels. Monkeys were throwing snowballs at peacocks. Penguins were making snow angels. You could only see half of every zebra. Hmm, the driver said, the zoo. Yes. That's very, very good. The driver's gaze snapped to the youngest boys and he leaned over toward them. Next time, the driver said, pulling out into what must be the street, next time the zoo. Right now, though, you do not want to miss the mall. As they drove away from the house, as he settled his boys into seats, he looked back once more into the shadowed house, and saw his oldest boy looking back, too.

It was sad, driving to the mall. After all these days of wise buses that took them just where they had thought they hadn't wanted to go, the boys knew better than to complain out loud, but they were sure, completely sure, fairly sure, almost sure, they wanted very badly to miss the mall. The bus driver drove straight across the smooth, endless snow that used to be a parking lot. It was like a speeding boat, a snowboat. Glittering white waves flew up on both sides of them, twice as high as the bus. They left a curving and patterned wake behind. The driver went right over mounds that must be planters, parked cars, little parking lot trees, right over curbs and sidewalks and dropped them right at the mall front doors. Go all the way in, he told them, be sure to go all the way in. They went in eagerly, even the oldest boy laughing and wondering. But the mall was empty. Silent. He stopped, his boys clustered and eddied about him. Nothing. Quiet and echoing. Go all the way in, the next-to-youngest said. The driver told us to go all the way in. So they did. He pulled the boys close as they walked carefully, stepping in each other's tracks, through the shadowed and barren mall. They came to the last possible corner, the last place they could go before they were going right back out again, and the world exploded. Welcome! the man in the top hat shouted down at them. He was impossibly thin and impossibly tall. Welcome to the Winter Circus! We're snowed in, we're wintering over in the mall, and we're in dire need of acrobats! Can you do things? Tricks up your sleeves? Show us what you've got and we'll show you what we've got! We've got equipment! We've got costumes! Cotton candy gratis! Welcome! Welcome!

You must just imagine what a wonderful day they had. Not even the oldest boy looked over his shoulder. Tight ropes. Trick ponies. Face paint. Sawdust. Red noses. Cannons needing human balls. Sparkly ladies. Lion cages. Popcorn. All at mall prices. What a wonderful day, a wonderful, wonderful day.

She stood by the window, or, not by the window, but where she could see out the window from too far back to be herself seen. She waited. She watched the buses go by and she never once wished she had gone with them. It got dark and she blamed him. It snowed and she thought of how he did this sort of thing all the time. It began to snow hard and harder and she thought that was just like him. The house filled with shadows and she told him in her mind how wrong he was to take children out in snowbuses with crazy drivers who bossed you into destinations you never intended. Snow filled the deep ditch that had been like a sidewalk and smoothed it and eased it and she counted buses go by. She counted one hundred and eighty six buses and he did not bring back her children. How can you do this, she asked, how could you do this to our family? Snow sifted under the doors and around the feet of couches and chairs. It's not fair, she told him in her mind, you don't get to do this. Shadows filled the room, blue snow shadows, and she made a complete list of all the reasons he was wrong and she reached out both hands and took hold of a shadow and pulled it over her head.

We're back, he said. You should have come, he said helplessly, it was so great. The boys tumbled around, balloons, streamers, spangles, banners and a top hat. She uncurled from the chair. Why are their faces blue? she said, but it was so much like a scream that it was more horrible because it was not. Cotton candy! the youngest boy said, happy. She turned to him in frozen fury. When will you take things seriously, she said to him. Now I'm going to feed my children some real food. She walked stiffly into the dark kitchen, slapping down the milk, pulling out boxes of cereal so that they spilled. He reached out to her, he dropped his hand. The younger boys were asleep in a sticky, smiling pile on the floor. The oldest boy watched her go and his red balloon slipped away from his fingers, nestled in the shadows against the ceiling.