Hell Freezes Over

Oh, how we loved you!

February removes any doubt some may have about the beauty of snowfall and ice-covered bare branches.  White pure white snow from December had disappeared with Santa, as did the joy of making snow angels. Now white snow was a brown slush that froze at night and then became cold slush in the morning.

We sat on the back steps with cold butts and red noses because Mom had had enough of us.  She threw us out the door and told us stay out here until I let you come in. We understood why.  We had had ‘flu for a week and puked and puked and puked some more.  When we finally stopped puking, we started fightin’ and racin’ around the house, screamin’ and laughin’.

That was when the back door opened, and Mom tossed us out. So, there we sat with ice covering our sockless shoes, since Mom didn’t give us enough time to put socks on. Mitten less fingers and frozen butts, we were in a world of misery.    We were lucky enough to have coats on.

Robert said, “We’re gonna die, ‘cause I heard Mom tell Dad that she could not. stand. us. anymore.” I nodded solidly, mouth turned down and an icy tear or two on my cheeks. I had heard the same words.

That was when we saw wisps of smoke rising from the garden. Smoke rose and then disappeared. Surely it had frozen in mid-flight.  We saw our salvation there, right there!

Mom had burned trash that day out in the garden.  Everyone burned trash in their frozen gardens.  During summer the gardens were sacred grounds, ‘cause no one, not no one went into a neighbors’ gardens. 

Moms would stand on edges and chat about tomatoes and green beans, pointing out plants. Then they talked about other neighbors and husbands, who was doing what and where they were going and what they were wearing.  We never stuck around but we did not ever step foot in the gardens. 

But today, we were gonna step foot in the garden. Yup.  That’s what we were doin’. We would not die.

A garden in winter was a bunch of twisted brown plants stuck in their own hell of frozen ground. There were frozen tomatoes hanging onto those vines, tassels of corn and twisted plants that died back in November but wouldn’t give up. But there in the garden were the embers of burning trash. We were saved. Thank you, Jesus, we were saved! We wouldn't freeze to death.

Squatting down close to the smoking blackness dotted with glowing embers, we saw in the center of it all, a treasure: Monkey Ward Christmas Catalog.  The stuff of dreams fulfilled, and dreams not fulfilled, the Monkey Ward was there in among the embers.

Burning that catalog is sacrilege to any child, for each page held the magic of a child’s dreams, hopes that someday those toys would leap from the page and find a way to be in their hands.  But there it lay in smoke and glowing sparks with all its promises. 

With a rusted and burnt coat hanger, Robert snagged it and pulled it to our feet.  Oh, to live and hope again for those treasures! We flipped through the gift-laden pages, gasping in delight and joy. This, this one!! See! Oh, there’s one like Santa gave you!  Page after page, quickly then even more so, we fanned those pages giggling.  All our wishes, maybe for another Christmas!

Then, disaster turned Catalog from sparkling embers to a full fire.  Jesus! Help us!

We did what any four- and five-year child would do. Robert used the coat hanger to flip the fiery catalog out away from us, into the brown garden.

Glowing then flaming, it landed smack dab in the middle of the sacred ground, bursting and sending flames.  Fire crawled up the tomato vines toward the round red globes. They exploded, yup, they exploded! Red goo burst and splattered! We jumped and laughed, so glorious, so spectacular!

The fire became a snake, a red snake that curled around green beans. It grasped the corn stalks and wormed its way up to the tassels where they were fourth-of-July fireworks!  We watched with joy, and then it became horror. The fire was embedded in the center and was working its ways to the edges.

Screaming. That’s what we did. Lots of screaming.  What? Where? We are in biiiig trouble!

Robert was an expert in big trouble, he knew it well, being a five-year-old. But, me? What did I, a four-year-old, know about big trouble? He took off to the garage with me in tow. Robert scurried to a place he knew well, the work bench. There was a hole he had made over time, one that could be hidden by buckets and paint cans.  He scooted over just enough for a little girl with a skinny butt just big enough to fit. Our butts were now warm, but the rest of us shivered in fear.

The fire engine siren rang, at first blocks away and then in the garden.  Voices, we heard shouting and more shouting.

Over there, it started over there…Hey, hey…cut the stalks down…bastards, don’t you see that…water, we need more water…grab the hose by the porch…WATCH…it’s heading to the propane tank…dammit! Didn’t hear what I said...That man’s shed, hose it down…Grab that…

The neighbors were there. Every person in the whole town was there.  Some brought buckets and filled from their own houses.  One to another, one to another, they threw water onto the spots that still burned.

We peered through a hole under the work bench. Even Grandma was there with Mom, both watching the fire as it was extinguished. Grandma had that kind of clenched mouth look that meant she was, well, she was, I don’t know what.  But Mom? Mom looked scared, even though her fists were clenched.

One of the men held up the remaining pieces of Monkey Ward catalog and showed it to Mom, who immediately saw what had happened. Her face crumpled with tears. Where are they?  Has anyone see Robert and Susie? 

Neighbors scattered, each heading to places they knew where we would, could be. We were never shy about invading our neighbors’ yards, garages, outhouses, their back porches, bushes, trees, even churches.  Nothing was holy, nothing was sacred, nothing was just theirs. After all, this town had been our kingdom

They called our names, shouted out our names, screamed out our names.

I rested my forehead on my knees and started weeping.  Robert cried in hiccups. We had no where to go, to hide. We’re gonna have t’ leave forever.  

Robert nodded. We can catch the train when it goes through town. They  were kinda slow, and we can jump on one and hide.  I nodded.  But we both knew we were doomed.

Dad’s truck rumbled, we heard the door slam and wrapped his big arms around Mom.  The blackened catalog crumbled into his hands, and he knew immediately what had happened.

That half smile he had when he wasn’t exactly mad showed on his mouth. Robert always hid in that same spot, so Dad walked straight to the garage, pulled the barrier apart, then pulled us out. He scooped us up and carried us to Mom.

I don’t remember much after that.  One moment we were in the kitchen, the next in the tub, and then Grandma was toweling us dry.  We ate hot dogs and corn, and then were in bed. We were worn to a rag.

I heard Dad reminding Grandma about some of his stupid adventures.

Grandma harrumphed and Dad hawed.  Mom said some words we never heard her say before.

Doing something so magnificent is exhausting.