Big Snow: A Morning

I want to say it was a dream, but my hangover is telling me otherwise. At least I think it’s a hangover. I can’t be sure. I haven’t slept much either. I don’t feel very good. A day in the city, three days in Jersey, three nights in the city and now what? Where am I and why is it so cold? I can’t move my arms. My shoulders are being pushed together between the wall and… what are you? Metal? Oh wait, a bedframe. I know where I am. Hallelujah! Light bulb moment!  I’m at a Fairfield Inn in East Rutherford New Jersey. I’m not just in Jersey though, I’m in the crevasse between Gracie Warner’s bed and the wall. For the love of God why is it so cold? This hotel should sponsor the Game of S.N.O.W. next year because this air conditioning has got to be industrial in here. Oh yea, the Game of S.N.O.W. I did come here for a reason. How did that all start? Three days ago, if my memory serves me.

Three days ago, I felt good. As I descended down the escalator to the main floor of the mall, the air rich with the smell of pizza, soft pretzels, and all things capitalism, I saw what everybody had come out to see. I saw two virgin brackets waiting to write the weekend. Two brackets and 32 boarders. The brackets were empty. They reminded me of the storyboard for a movie that exists only in idea. The characters are there, technically, but they haven’t been called into place yet. In fact, they don’t even know what their place is. Heroes, heroines, villains, and champions, all unaware of which category they will fall into. At that present moment, they merely just existed. Whether they came to win or simply party in the city was irrelevant because the goal was the same, survive.

Ok pause. I’ll spare you. I know it’s October or November or, at the very least, not August. I know that to write a story in one magazine about the events put on by another some three months after it happened takes a lot of chutzpah. So, I won’t. I never was known for my bravado. I can also assume that if you’re reading this magazine, you were either at Big Snow, you watched the games, or you’re my parents. So, what now? Well, I think I’ll keep telling you about my morning, the same one we started with. How’s that sound? Ok, sorry for breaking the fourth wall, is it still the fourth wall if it’s literary? I don’t know but I’ll stop now. Where was I?

Oh yea, the floor. I’m so cold. T-shirt, shorts, no blanket. All that exists is me and the space that I’m slowly freezing in. My phone buzzes. What time is it anyway? I pick up my phone, six in the morning. Jesus. Two texts, one from Sierra one from Lolo. Jesus.

Text from Sierra. We just got back from the city and Lolo is piiiised. Skoot was asleep in her bed lol.

Text from Lolo. Dude I’m so pissed. We just got back from the city and fucking Skoot is asleep in my bed.

I’m paraphrasing, but the point remains, I’m too cold for any of this. Then, like a gift from God in Heaven herself, Gracie wakes up. She has to catch a flight. She leaves and I take her blankets. When I open my eyes this time it’s eight in the morning. Time to go.

Even outside of the mall there’s no escaping the juxtaposition of climate. I walk out of the icebox known as the Fairfield Inn and entered the hot and muggy Jersey dawn.

After the previous night, the humid morning was making me sweat.  

The morning heat is drawing liquid from me like an artist. I walk to the Dunkin’ across the street and get the same order I’ve been getting since I was a child: everything bagel toasted with butter and a French cruller. They go down quick, and I don’t feel very good. I want to go home. I’ve had enough. I need a long shower and a good shave. Unfortunately, they’ll have to wait. My grandfather’s 92nd birthday party is this afternoon in White Plains. It’s time to leave. I call an Uber and bow out of East Rutherford with a style and grace that can only be found in a Nissan Rogue.

Thanks Jersey, till next time.

Words and Photos by Norm