Teen vs Snow
The mug of tea steams gently in my hand as I survey the first real snow of the season. A drift of diamonds in the air, tiny determined masses of it, unaware that they’ll all be gone in a few days.
The driveway is about four inches deep as the day creeps toward sunset. Mom, old and creaky, will be walking back home from my sister Liz’s place soonish.
Shovel or no? I already know the answer; the December fall on the driveway that took Dad to the rehab center never to return home means that I’m a little twitchy on the topic.
The questions remaining is who will do it. Considering, I walk by James’s door.
“You asshole!” he snarls.
I pause. He’s been playing his newest game all day with his friends. I’m normally lax on swearing; if I don’t hear it, I don’t care. But he’s broken the first rule: don’t let me notice it. Clear as a bell through a closed door merits intervention.
The snowy driveway presents the solution.
I knock, pause long enough for him to minimize the window on the computer, and then walk in. He sprawls in his chair and gives me a smile with nerves pushing up the corners of his mouth. He knows he’s busted.
I smile, he squirms. “Driveway needs shovelling.”
