The Snow is Melting

by Teresa Gaudet

The snow is melting. It's March. The end of March. I hate it. Green patches of grass are overtaking the comforting blanket of white snow. The sun is shinning brighter, longer each day taking away the darkness of winter, and making me different from everyone else I know. The other kids on my street and at school are casting aside their heavy coats for their lighter jackets that are always made in those happy colors, sky-blue, mint-green, pink, and the worst of all, yellow. I long to see my friends still hiding from the coldness of winter in their big, heavy, dark coats. Although I am hiding from a different kind of coldness, we are all still hiding from something. I hate to give up my protective layer, but they all relish the shedding of this necessity.
And for some reason everyone becomes so loud, so energized, so full of enthusiasm. They talk louder, laugh longer, make after school plans to run around outside and play. When we all get off the bus they make a game of dodging (or not) the numerous puddles the melting snow has made. And I try. I make myself laugh, I work at appearing happy and gay like them. But I hate them for it. I want to hit and punch them and tell them to shut up. I want them to be cold and quiet and only plan on going home to stay indoors for the rest of the dark winter evening. To at least appear to be going home to a dark place. I always know, in my heart, that the darkness of winter and my darkness is different, but I push that out of my head and convince myself that we are all kind of the same. But I can't fool myself in spring. Our differences are too evident, too overwhelming, constantly being thrown in my face. I hate spring. It is the absolutely worst time of the year.

Teresa Gaudet Copyright 2001