A Year Without Snow

-23-

Sunday, 20th February 2012

Just as the sun had made its first appearance in the chilly and snowy winter morning me and grandma walked out of the door and reached for the house next to ours to catch my best friend, who barely greeted us giving us a short nod before his mother closed the door behind him with a warm smile.

All the way there Bryson rested his head against the window of my grandma's car, his eyes closing, but I looked out into the recently born day with excitement and eagerness. Grandma had been suggesting this for years and this time it would finally come true. It was two days until my thirteenth anniversary and we would be making my birthday party on an old storehouse we had in the midst of town. Grandma said that she and grandma had made multiple birthday parties for my dad there back in the day, and now I could have one too.

We arrived there after a while, it wasn't too long of a ride, Bryson especially didn't think so, he still looked tired. After grandma opened the door we headed inside and were greeted by a mess of boxes and old furniture, the space, however, was wide and the only thing we had to do was push the boxes and furniture to one side and clean the floor.

And so the day of work started with me and Bryson moving boxes to the end of the storehouse and the old furniture to the sides, as grandma cleaned the floor and the space around.

By the time noon struck grandma left to grab some lunch for us to eat, as we were moving the last few boxes. I was picking up a big box full of old clothes when I hear Bryson curse from behind me.

I turned around and saw a big mess of papers and photographs splattered across the floor at his feet.

"Damn it!" He said and kneeled down, I sighed and put down my box and walked to him, "This was inside this freaking box," He said pointing to an old Converse shoebox, that looked dusty and almost all torn up, "The bottom ripped when I picked it up."

"Yes, Bryson, we both know you can be very careful," I added and begun picking up the papers.

"It wasn't my fault!" He said looking up at me, as I rolled my eyes.

"Sure, you never-" I began saying but stopped when a picture caught my eyes.

"What? Scared of saying?" Bryson asked but I didn't pay attention as I picked up the photograph.

It was of two boys standing next to each other, the sun was bright in the photo and they were wearing shorts standing on a grassy lawn that I recognized as being Bryson's. I turned the picture around and I couldn't believe my eyes when I read, "Ian and Jimmy, Summer of '84."

"Bryson, look," I said amazed, and passed him the photograph.

I watched him as his eyes scanned the photo, and saw as his face matched the amazement of mine as he turned it around. "That's my dad."

"And mine!" I exclaimed.

"I didn't know they were friends," Bryson said confused, as he handed me the photograph.

"That's my dad..." I trailed and looked closer at him. My grandma didn't have many pictures of my father at home, to not disturb my mom, I supposed, this was the first time I saw a picture of him at such an age.

"Look, there's one more." Bryson noticed and picked up one more. I scootch closer to him and looked over his shoulder.

This one looked like it was taken by a Polaroid camera and they were in what looked like an attic. "That's in my house," Bryson added while he turned it around, and in blue ink that had faded with the year it was written, "1986".

"My dad was..." I said while counting in my head, "Eighteen, I think."

"Did you know that they were friends?" He asked me.

"My grandma mentioned it once." I answered while looking for more photograph in the mess of papers on the floor, "Look! These are letters!" I said while picking up different papers from the floor, "All from your dad..." I trailed as I too was beginning to feel confused.

Bryson looked at me and I think that at that moment both of us realized the same thing, masked by the denial and confusion. Something that would only be proved in the next minutes after we found my dad's old diary, and as we read it alongst with the letter's from Mr. Kanne, and some unmailed ones from my father.