The Snow Globe

The sound of the kettle’s whistle pierced through the asbestos walls. Flickers of white light seeped through the crack between the attic door and the Frame. Gwen could not make out the images in the dark.

Five years was enough time to remember the length of the beds, and the position of the dresser beside the rocking chair. The room did not boast of much. Its rigid rug was as familiar to the soles of her feet as she imagined the horse’s hoof was to the green turf.

It used to be sunny enough to sunbathe in here, until the room lost its windows she thought.

“There’s only one rule,” Gwen said. “Protect the snow globe at all costs!”

“Even when he’s on top?” Ann said.

“Yes fool, especially then.”

“How do you keep still?”

“I imagine the hills and the butterflies and the horses. I ride them in my head.”

“Even when it’s painful?”

“I take a deep breath and then exhale.” She held her stomach. “And then I feel like I’m floating in the river.”

“Teach me.”

Gwen spent the entire summer with Ann. She taught her how to say nothing, how to do nothing, how to wish for nothing. She taught her how she had survived the cold winters and scorching summers. She taught her how she created her own world, far from the one she lived in. She taught her how to be like her. But Ann was too erratic. Too much like the wild horses that could not be tamed.

“Please, remember the snow globe,” Gwen said as Uncle Tom opened the door.

Her frail hands betrayed her. She couldn’t keep still. Tear drops trickled down her cheek.

That day, the cold wind whistled and sent a shiver down her thighs. The moon glowed a warm yellow behind the thick dark clouds as Uncle Tom snatched the unripe fruit from the peer tree.

Uncle Tom was heavy footed, so the house only shook whenever he walked. Gwen lay on the bed. The door opened. She could smell the alcohol. She closed her eyes and the butterflies floated to her. The tall green turf felt soft under her feet while she stroked the golden-brown mane of the stallion. She dove into the river. Ripples formed slowly, then the current grew stronger. She opened her eyes. The bed shook like there was an earthquake.

“You’ve always been my favorite,” Uncle Tom said.

She turned her head, and it was still there. Her precious glass snow globe. The pine trees looked like the one on the hills. Uncle Tom was the one who showed her how to make snow fall with a swift shake.

“Here’s a proof of my love for you little Gwen,” he said. “You’re never going to play with my love, are you?”

“No Uncle.”

“Good girl.”

Christmas used to be her favorite holiday, until her mother abandoned her with Uncle Tom. Now it was the only time she got a change of clothes. She had thought of a thousand ways to end him. In each one, her snow globe ended in pieces on the floor like it had with Ann. She was quick, but he was a giant of a man.

Uncle Tom slammed the door and bolted it shut. She listened till he was snoring.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The ripples had disappeared. The stallion neighed, and the butterflies floated towards her. She exhaled, then she floated peacefully on the river.