The first time I touched snow
I remember the first time I touched snow.
I was 5 years old. I was out with my mother, probably running errands. She was carrying both, me and a tube of candy very similar to M&Ms.
My mother, as new parents tend to do, had covered me in so many layers of clothing that I walked like a penguin. My tiny hands were encased in thick mittens, but the tube of candies allowed me to pop the sweets directly into my mouth, no problem.
Our house, somewhere in the Bronx, was in front of an empty lot, which was covered in snow. On the way back from the store she used to purposefully walk across this empty lot. We are both South American, and for her, snow was as amusing and new as it was for me.
I ran ahead of her as she followed me, laughing. My dad was waiting for us outside the house and my mom stopped chasing me to wave back at him.
I was a few feet ahead of her by now, and I stopped to check why she was no longer behind me. I noticed my dad, and I also happily waved back. Then I lifted my tube of candy to my mouth, but I did it too fast and some pieces fell on the thick, fresh, powdery snow.
I looked down for my missing candy; the bright colored pieces of candy shined like Christmas lights in the white, virgin snow.
I crouched down to reach for my candy, but my thick mittens only pushed the candy deeper in the snow. I tried a few times, but it was pointless. The mittens were a problem.
I stood up and looked at the candy half buried in the snow. I was told by my parents to never take off my mittens when we are outside. What was I to do?
I looked back to my mother and saw her already safely wrapped in my dad’s arms.
I would have to take risky action if I wanted to get my candy back from the grasp of winter.
I took off my right mitten and reached again to my tiny colorful pieces of treasure.
My little hands reached again for the candy in the snow. I would never forget the moment my skin touched snow. It shocked me. It burned my hand. It hurt a little. I quickly pulled my hand back, not knowing what had happened. I knew snow was cold, but this was particularly frozen.
The candy was still in the snow, teasing me, mocking me, daring me to try again.
I reached again for my sweets, a little more prepared than before, but I only managed to grab one piece, which I quickly popped in my mouth. The candy’s cold surface tasted so good in my mouth.
I had three more pieces to go. This time, I did quick motions with my arms, pinching my fingers like tweezers, as if my hand was a chicken picking corn from the cob.
I would pop each salvaged piece of candy back in mouth until they were all gone. Oh the sweet taste of cold victory.
I quickly put on my mitten and ran back to my mom and dad, who were watching me this whole time, but didn’t say anything about me taking off my glove. I figured they knew why I did it, and I felt justified to do so.
