The snow fell softly as Andy Tanaka woke in the morning to the snapping of great oak and maple limbs like some sort of machine gun fire. Three feet of snow in October before all the leaves where off the trees was unusual, and the trees paid the price. Large limbs cluttered the snowscape and fell constantly cracking and whooshing to the ground. Andy watched them from his bedroom window.
The house set on the side of hill looking down at the street below. The view of the snow on the street was magnificent, and every limb that had fallen on the yard and in the street was clearly visible. The snow plows were just pushing the branches out of the way with the snow.
The street was somewhat cleared of snow, but this was a main route. Most of the roads outside the small town and even the smaller side roads in town were probably packed with snow and fallen branches. The snow plows couldn't possibly be winning this time.
One of the enormous orange snowplows turned a corner onto the main road past Andy's house. Its rusted body looked scarred in the early morning light. It stopped moving and its wheels spun. It reversed and then continued forward with increased determination.
School must be cancelled, Andy decided.
His mother was already up and gave a half-hearted greeting as Andy's father worked his way down the stairs.
"Some snow," he said moving a slat of the blind up to get a better look. Andy could hear the blind slapping the wall in agreement upon release.
"You won't be able to get out of the driveway without clearing it first." Andy could imagine his mother sneering a bit as she threw the news in his face.
"I think I can."
"You will get stuck."
"Then I'll call Roger for a ride. He's got that Hummer now."
There was a pause. "No. Do not even go there. You will not waste our money on a ridiculous vehicle."
Andy imagined his father smiling. He seemed to love bringing up Hummers as much as his mother hated them. The conversation progressed to be about Andy and work. Andy hated that.
His mother, Barbara, was insisting that his father, Yoshi, make Andy shovel snow. He wasn't going to school and should do some sort of chores. His father mumbled something about, "let the kid have some fun. I can take care of it tonight." But his mother continued on about responsibility and teaching Andy to be an adult.
Andy groaned. This was not an argument he wanted his mother to win. His dad could do it in no time with the snow blower, and the driveway was an easy 100 feet long, not to mention the sidewalks. Andy didn't hear what the conclusion was. His father was out the door and his mother was calling him downstairs.
Yoshi couldn't get his car down the driveway, even though it was downhill through the snow. The snow high centered the car before it had driven one half car length. He called a Roger on his cell and said it was his turn to drive the carpool. Roger laughed through the cell as Yoshi pushed his way down the driveway, lunging like an animal in the waste deep snow, and was picked up by the Hummer clad friend, and was gone.
Barbara Tanaka came to Andy's door way. She was approaching middle age and looked very old to Andy. She already had her hair done, makeup on and a day dress on. She was the only mother that Andy knew of that wore make up and a dress at home alone during the days. She was also more strict than any of his friend's mothers.
"Andy, get dressed. You're father said you needed to shovel the snow since school was canceled."
"No he didn't."
"Five minutes, or you won't be getting breakfast first," and she was gone in whoosh of perfume.
Andy new better than argue, but it was not fair. Dad had said he would do it when he got home. Andy hid his video games under his sweater.
The twelve years old boy with a lumber jacket coat and light blue snow pants -- Barbara had her son out the door inside of 10 minutes. Why couldn't Yoshi take the initiative in raising this boy. He was so use to having everyone do things for him, it was frustrating. Just a kid. That's no excuse. She was certain that she would practically have to hold his hand the entire time he shoveled or nothing would get done. She busied herself with loading the dishwasher and forgot about Andy for a little while.
Any was happy for the reprieve. He hated this. Here a perfectly good day off from school and he was sent out to shovel walks and the long drive way up hill. It was toooooo hard. There was no way he could do it.
Andy started by shoveling a path from the front walk to the front porch. It took forever. He noticed that a lot of snow had slid off the roof by the porch and was almost deep enough to make a snow cave. Instinctively, he added more snow to the mound as he shoveled and then when it was deep enough started to dig a snow cave right their under the edge of the roof. Andy hollowed it out and snuck in, leaving his shovel by the entrance. He made sure the entrance could not be seen from the front door, and there were no footprints in the snow to give away the entrance. It was right by the shoveled snow going from the walk to the porch.
He had just settled in, laying down and pulling out his hidden game when he heard his mother open the front door. She walked out on the front porch, her shoes clicking like taps of a tap dancer as she paced.
"Andy?"
"Andy!"
She paused. Andy imagined her in one of those black and white movies. She was tap dancing while calling him. He snickered, but she did not hear.
"Where did he go?"
She tapped back to the front door without any idea he was right under her nose, laughing and playing games in his snow cave. He was home free. He could stay there until his father got home and then he wouldn't have to touch the driveway.
Barbara slammed the front door; Andy laughed out loud at his success; and more snow dislodged from farther up the roof. It slid down with a whoosh and thump crushing Andy's snow cave and trapping him in a frozen tomb. The weight was crushing. The breath was knocked out of Andy. He was pinned face down under hundreds of pounds of snow. He didn't know what to do.
He could breath after a moment of shock. It was labored, and he felt that he would suffocate at any moment, but he didn't.
He tried to get up, but the position he was in and the weight of the snow would not allow him to get his feet or legs under him. He had no leverage. He could barely wiggle his fingers or toes. He was stuck.
Andy had forgotten entirely about his game, and decided the snow cave was a bad idea. Snow was in his coat by his neck and down his boots. He was starting to get cold.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't get out of the snow. It was too hard for him. He would wait and mom would rescue him. She would figure it out. She always knew what he was up to.
He waited.
After what seemed like forever, the front door opened and Andy heard the faint taps of the shoes. It was his mother. He screamed for help, over and over and over, and the tapping got fainter and was gone until all that was left was the unnatural silence in the fallen snow. Tomb like silence. And that was when it dawned on Andy. Mom would not find him. He was going to die.
Andy lay there shivering in the snow in his now wet coat and wet snow pants. He cried at first. He didn't want to die. He was sorry. He was sorry. He was sorry that he didn't shovel the driveway. Only old people die, and him. It wasn't fair.
Andy shivered and waited to die like that kid in the story his father had told. The kid went out in a blizzard and was lost in the woods. He wandered and wandered until he gave up. He got so sleepy that he laid down and fell asleep in the snow and died. His parents sent out search parties and they looked in the woods all winter and never found the boy because he had been covered by the snow. In the spring the snow began to melt and they found him. He had died in the snow by the back porch of the house, just a few feet from home, because he had given up when he could have made it home.
Here Andy was, just feet away from home, and he was going to die just like that kid in the story. He didn't care that he was 12. He cried some more. This wasn't fair at all.
We waited to get sleepy, but just shivered, wet and cold and miserable.
After a while, he heard distinct, but close, the sound of boots on the front porch. It sounded like the mailman who was a woman. She must have walked right past him. He didn't hear her until she began to climb the steps onto the porch.
He tried to yell for help, but she couldn't hear. No one could hear him. He was going to die. It was too hard.
The doorbell rang. She must have a package.
"Oh. Hi. What's this?"
His mother spoke somewhere on the other side of the snow. In the living world. Away from him.
"A package for Yoshi Tanaka."
He screamed again, but no one heard. He shivered waiting to die.
"Okay, I'll sign for it."
He didn't want to die.
"Is that all?"
Oh, God. I'm going to die. He screamed.
"No."
I don't want to die.
"Can I just show you this?"
Please don't let me die, he sobbed.
"What?"
Please don't let me die.
"Look at this path."
He sobbed.
"Now look around you."
He fell silent listening.
"Yes?" His mother spoke not knowing what to look at.
"You are the only ones who were nice enough to shovel me a path. I just wanted to thank you so much."
They must have been standing right by him, but they couldn't see him. They couldn't hear him. Was he going to be found after the snow melted in April?
"Oh, don't thank me. My son did it."
"He must be a very good boy."
"Yes. I'm very proud of him. He can do anything he puts his mind to."
"Well, please thank him for me."
"I will. Good bye."
"Bye now."
Faint taps played on the porch and the front door shut and there was silence again. He was feeling warmer now. He would feel sleepy soon and it would be over.
His arm cramped up and instinctively he threw his arm out straight in front of himself to stop the pain. He jerked his leg at the same time. Convulsing.
Andy had moved. He felt a slight forward motion toward the place the cave entrance had been.
He tried to replicate the same jerking motion. He wiggled and he squirmed and struggled. He didn't seem to move forward, but he was sure the first time he had. He kept trying.
Nothing.
The snow was so heavy. He was out of breath. He was exhausted.
Andy passed out. He didn't know for how long, but he work with a jerking motion, that started his his forward motion again. He kept at it.
His left had broke through. He was doing a slow army crawl back out the way he had come in. He could see light ahead. He could breath again, and he stopped to catch his breath.
He felt his left boot coming off. Soon he lost his hat and snow was getting down the back of his coat.
Soon his struggling paid off and he fell with a plop on the shoveled path to the front steps. He couldn't tell what his mother's thoughts were when she saw him crying with out one of his boots and no hat and looking horribly cold, but soon she had him dry, warm and with a hot cup of coco between his hands warming him from the inside out.
"Don't worry about the drive," she said after she had calmed down. She had thought of taking him to the hospital, but the car was stuck. He seemed much better now, so she was feeling better herself. Still, she kept one eye on him watching for any problems.
She dug his hat and boot out of the snow, and didn't see any point in sending him out again, even though his things were drying by the radiator.
"I'll finish the shoveling. I should have done that anyway." He said it with an unusual conviction.
Barbara looked him over. She accepted his statement. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe Yoshi was right.
When Yoshi got home, it was plain the drive had been shoveled by hand. Three feet of wet snow, seven feet wide and 100 feet long, plus the sidewalk and a path. He tried the math in his head. Was that over a ton? He was 12, Yoshi thought he was correct.
"You did this all by yourself?" He asked Andy.
"Yes."
"Mom make you?"
"She asked me to."
Yoshi looked out the window at the drive. He looked at his boy and turn back to the drive surveying it in silence. He nodded.
As Andy collapsed into bed that night, he felt sore. He felt good. He felt he had left something out in the snow. He fell asleep trying to decide what it was.