Finding mist

Down at the frozen pond, Mom says it’s dangerous. Mom said her childhood friend fell through the ice one winter and drown. Mom says don’t go near there. It is winter, kids play hockey, sometimes dads and families play too, there is a lot of hooting and hollering. It feels jovial. Mom is angry. She says it’s about that we aren’t putting our things away or that we aren’t helping out, but we all know she’s just mad because there are kids playing on that damn pond and no one remembers her friend.

I don’t know if she even knows that she remembers, she never talks about them, we don’t even know their name. We don’t know what made them laugh, how she knew them, what their walk was like, or what she liked about them. And I wonder, does everyone have a frozen pond.? We carry around these things maybe secrets that are frozen, dangerous. They are dangerous because we don’t talk about them, they are dangerous because we try to pretend they don’t exist when in truth they are the very thing that could allow us to stare in wonderment as the mist rises from the top of the pond and greets the air, it is as if the mist is the communication between the sky and the pond. Something special happens there.

Do you know what it is?

I feel my heart beating faster, face red and I wonder is someone skating on my frozen pond? I pause here and listen. Hands hot. My pond has to do with the neighbor, it has to do with the way his eyes move to look where he shouldn’t, and the way his words never match his actions. He isn’t the reason why my pond is frozen, but he reminds me.

I hide in the closet now, I can hear his voice in the kitchen with Mom, but no one can see me in here, the clothes press against my body and I feel safe, muffled, held but not seen, not really here. I listen and strain. Jaw tight. The skate marks on the pond make beautiful loops and concentric circles. My chest feels hot and my feet are sinking into the floor.

Is there life underneath the ice? I mean do the fish still swim, how do they survive? Mom says they still swim and they still survive. Mom says that the fish maintain their life unless it is a very shallow pond, and in that case, if it is a shallow pond then the fish die. I think my pond is deep, really deep. Sometimes I can sense the fish moving, sometimes I can imagine their silvery slippery skin glinting in the sun. Their skin is actually a lot like the ice, slippery, shiny, hmm. I like thinking about the fish swimming underneath. I feel my feet warm in my wool socks and I feel my hot breath.

But what makes the pond freeze in the first place? Mom says the air gets cold, and I wonder is that because the monster comes? Does the monster really come or do we just think it's coming, sort of like a storm? Mom says that the monster is not real, my body doesn’t believe her. So I think the pond freezes to try and save the fish from the monster.

Sometimes I get all bundled up and walk down to the frozen pond. I don’t tell Mom. I just sit amongst the tall trees, the snow makes it seem quiet. Snow falls from tall branches with a loud thud, and the smell here is like nothing, it's cold crystal wakes me up inside, my teeth chatter, and my cheeks chap. But I like it. No one is on the pond today, it’s almost dinnertime. The sun shimmers off the snow, looking like glitter, like the homemade cards we made for the new baby across the street. I see a small white rabbit hop across the pond, its feet slipping with each hop, and I giggle. I feel my nose hairs cringe into the cold as the hot air puffs out of me, ha, ha, ha. Clouds of white mist come out of my mouth and suddenly I stop. I see the mist in me, my sky touching my unfrozen pond.