Colorado Night

I almost slipped on the icy iron stairs. Kate leaned away, but Dad caught me. He huffed and cursed when he grasped my arm, the heat of his breath fogging the thin, blue air. I’ve got you, he said. The iron bars and railing were pillowed with snow, sheeted with ice. Kate slid her hand down the rail, the soft powder piling before her hand and falling like meteors, crashing, forming divots in the fresh snow below. Our heavy boots sighed and whined, coats squeaked and zipped as we walked and swung our arms. Our slow breaths joined, drags of smoke, and disappeared toward the back alley dumpsters where fog waltzed with snow beneath lamplight. The light, smooth and warm, awakened the snow, starry, twinkling on the ground where warm liquid leaked from the dumpster and melted the garbage-stained snow.

Our boots dented the ground; we were the first men on the Moon, Colorado. I held the railing as I steadily stepped from the stairs to meet the fresh snow where I placed my boot in Dad’s footprint. The snow hissed beneath my boot, and I took another, more assured step forward into the snowy planes. Where the snow met the sky, the blue night was almost green, the road glowing with crystal salts. We advanced, small beings emerging from the cave of stairs. Away we wandered with labored steps from the motel, from heat into the chilly night, from our stairs to the merging unwalked paths.

The sky retained little light, remains of the day were dying embers in the deepening horizon, and Kate’s black hair mingled with the sky, her unkempt strands like constellations. I walked behind Dad, walking behind Kate, the three of us trudging through the valley of shoveled snow. Kate patted the smooth top of the snow bank and drew a star that glowed. Borrowed light from the Moon and the liquor store sign. She dropped a handful of snow into the path like sowing seeds in the wintry field. I crushed the snow seed beneath my heavy boot as she flung more hands of snow to the path.

Kate tossed a snowball back at Dad and he joked and laughed a little. On this plane, laughs were visible; I saw it rise into the sky, watched it for a while. Kate laughed to and I watched her laugh travel a short distance. Smiles were not more visible, but I could have seen mine.

Across the street was another being behind the register of the liquor store. We were the four of us in sight, though he did not notice our expedition. He coughed and wiped his nose, adjusted his hat. His neon sign buzzed and whirred and cast cool light against the snowy field of diamonds and parkinglot lines. The man leaned back into his chair and turned up the heat; then, like closing curtains, fog concealed the man on the stage.

Then we were three.

The barren strip mall was otherwise abandoned, all home for the holiday. Dark windows and cages, quiet storefronts, and sleeping mannequins bundled in coats like ours. Kate continued throwing snowballs. Dad threw some back at her. The snow shattered against their coats, the falling seeds met the ground, and I stepped on them.

It was just the three of us.