Creative Writing stories, #2: A Blizzard

A Blizzard

Thursday morning’s exam—Religion 101—“The Old Testament”—had been a piece of cake. Expounding on Genesis, the Book of Job, and the Song of Songs was easy for Jacob Feinberg, a good Jewish boy. After a few notebook pages on suffering and divine love, he found himself strolling out of Wilde Hall back to his dorm, where an empty suitcase awaited him. Once he opened the front door of Wilde he stopped dead in his tracks. He gazed out and noticed snow falling in cottonball-sized clumps on the lawn before him. There was a silence so deep it seemed as if G-d had pressed some grand “MUTE” button. Nothing moved except the snow. Oy vey, he thought to himself. Being from Coral Gables, Florida, he had never seen anything heavier than a snow flurry in person. Inhaling deeply, he donned his new red wool cap—the first one he had ever owned—and strode out into the snow.

He didn’t make it thirty feet before he was on his back, clenching his teeth and cursing the cold. The old, uneven brick walkway was quaint in dry months but under the half-inch film of snow that sat on it, it may as well have been sheer black ice. He clutched his right hip as he clambered to his feet. A pretty girl—a 6.5 if his ex-girlfriend Ginny was an 8—coming toward him had seen. Her body jerked forward as she struggled mightily not to double over from the sight of his folly. They passed each other silently but when she coughed behind him, he was sure it was to contain laughter.

Back at his room, the local TV news confirmed his fears: “Tallmadge County, Virginia is bracing for a potential record snow event as citizens are raiding local supermarkets for bread, milk, water, and firewood today,” chirped the news reader. Flights were being delayed and cancelled left and right from all area airports: Roanoke, Lynchburg, and Charlottesville. His flight was scheduled for departure at 5:55 PM out of Charlottesville. He packed his suitcase deliberately and solemnly, as if he were headed for a few years in prison rather than a couple weeks back home. His cell phone rang—Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” served as his ringtone—and he snatched it off the table. The outer screen read “HOME.” It was his mother.

“Jacob, they’ve cancelled your flight to Atlanta. Your father and I are looking into getting one for you Saturday night out of Charlottesville. Pack anyway, though. If you can get to the airport this evening, go ahead and get a room in a hotel nearby.” Her New-Yawk accent was comforting.

“You know that it’s already snowing here, don’t you Ma?” he replied. His two-wheel drive Honda wasn’t going to be any match for the highway.

“Well then get a ride with someone,” she said curtly. She was a caring but abrasive woman.

“Alright Ma; I’ll call you later. Love you.”

He was stuffing his toiletries case into the suitcase’s side compartment when two faint knocks came at his door. He whirled around and opened it. Before him, as he lived and breathed, stood Virginia “Ginny” O’Halloran. Her black wool cap and black winter coat contrasted with her milk-white skin and red hair. He started sweating.

“I heard your flight was cancelled,” she said. “Nikki Esposito was supposed to be heading back to Florida too and her airline cancelled.”

“That’s right,” Jacob replied. “What are you up to?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. My mother and father are driving down from Charlottesville to get me and they wanted to know if you needed a ride since you’re supposed to fly out of Charlottesville. You can stay at our house tonight if you need to.”

It was an incredible stroke of luck that the O’Hallorans were willing to put Jacob up for a night—he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. They were a solid Irish Catholic family and had liked Jacob well enough when he and Ginny were together, despite his being Jewish. He had sat with them at the Parents Weekend football game that October, chuckling at Mr. O’Halloran’s odd jokes. But when Jacob broke up with Ginny over Halloween weekend because he “didn’t see the relationship going anywhere”—code for “I want to be able to hook up with other girls if I want to”—they would have sided with their precious daughter. This invitation was either an olive branch or a chance for an inquisition.

Ginny continued, “They’ll be here in about an hour. Finish packing.” Four inches of snow were already on the ground.
The O’Hallorans arrived on time in their Chevy Suburban. Mrs. O’Halloran greeted Ginny with a hug and Jacob with an emotion-neutral hi-how-are-you-how-are-your-parents schtick. Mr. O’Halloran shook Jacob’s hand firmly—much more firmly than at their previous meeting, Jacob recalled. They set off for Charlottesville with the snow coming down in white sheets.

The landscape was a white apocalypse—every mile or two there were cars at all sorts of angles on the sides of the road with their flashers on. Others had glided clear off the highway and down onto the median snow-smothered grass. Mr. O’Halloran was singularly fixated on the road, silently guiding the vehicle forward at a quarter of the speed limit. Mrs. O’Halloran, who was by no means a quiet woman, said nothing from the other front seat. Perhaps she was remaining quiet so her husband could concentrate on the road. This, Jacob decided, was a pretty hopeful notion. Ginny was seated to Jacob’s right, behind Mrs. O’Halloran. She was engrossed in a Nicholas Sparks novel, which she read by the light of her cell phone. Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young” came on the radio. Jacob saw Mr. O’Halloran’s eyes widen sharply in the mirror as he fumbled for the knob and switched the station to NPR as Billy Joel yowled, “Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait...”

After nearly three hours on the road, they arrived at the O’Halloran residence. Breaking her silence, Mrs. O’Halloran said a weary “Welcome,” as they opened the door and snow tumbled off their coats and onto the rug. Sitting in a chair in the living room, reading the family Bible, was Mary Jane O’Halloran, whom Jacob feared above the rest of the family combined. Though they were quite similar in stature, Mary Jane had not been blessed with her younger sister’s pretty face. She was plain, and it was clear that her plainness was a chip on her shoulder, for she held any boy Ginny dated in great disdain, especially a shyster like Jacob. And because sisters always tell each other everything, Jacob knew Mary Jane’s deepest ire was reserved for him, the Florida Yid who’d taken Ginny’s virginity. “Hello Jacob,” she said with a face that rivaled a gargoyle’s for stolidity.

“Hi Mary Jane,” he replied. “Home for the holidays from Cambridge?” She was a senior at Harvard and damned proud of it.

“Yeah, working on my thesis on a couple of Shakespeare’s problem plays, All’s Well That Ends Well and Measure for Measure. I heard you’re staying with us tonight.” If looks could kill, Jacob thought. All he could do was nod.

Not ten minutes after they shook the snow from their shoes and set about warming up, the power went out. The wind had picked up from nothing to a breeze and then a gale—G-d’s own breath—likely sending some weary pine tree across a telephone pole to the ground. Everyone groaned in dismay at the darkness. Mr. O’Halloran dispatched his wife and daughters to find candles.

Jacob was now alone in the darkness with Mr. O’Halloran. The silence was a burden too great to bear for long. Jacob had the neurotic feeling that Mr. O’Halloran was staring straight at him, praying to Jesus for the destruction of the kike who had sullied his daughter’s good soul.

“Thank you kindly for letting me stay with you all tonight,” Jacob said.

“You’re a good kid, Jacob. We’re happy to help out a friend of Ginny’s at a time like this.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Halloran.”

“I trust you will be nothing but a perfectly respectful guest in this house tonight.” His voice was just above a whisper, but Jacob caught every word.

“What do you—yes sir,” Jacob replied. Though the house was beginning to take on the chill from the snowstorm outside, Jacob was sweating, his skin clammy.

“Good, good. Girls, any luck with those candles?” Mr. O’Halloran called into the darkness in the direction of the kitchen.

Mrs. O’Halloran emerged holding a large, short cylinder candle that had just been lit. Her daughters followed behind her, each holding in one hand a red glass candlestick and steadying the white candle inside it with the other. They flanked her like maids assisting an ancient queen during a sacred ritual. Slowly they walked to different tables and placed the candles there, illuminating the room in the familiar, haunting amber color of firelight.

From the drawer inside the table in front of the couch where he sat, Mr. O’Halloran produced a deck of cards with a miniature picture of the Last Supper on the back. “Let’s play a while, since there’s little else to do,” he said.

“I’m going to go read in bed with a flashlight,” said Mary Jane, and she slunk off, though not before giving Jacob the stink-eye. Hateful shiksa.

“Always studying, that one,” whispered Mrs. O’Halloran after the beam from Mary Jane’s flashlight had disappeared around the corner. “I hope she finds some time to have fun up at Harvard.”

“I’m sure she does, Mom,” Ginny said airily. It was the first time she had spoken in a great while.

The four of them played Hearts. Ginny was partners with Jacob and Mr. and Mrs. O’Halloran comprised the opposing team. Mr. O’Halloran was a competitive man who wasn’t above the occasional passive-aggressive jibe. “Played that jack of spades a bit early there, eh Jacob?” he chuckled after a particularly decisive hand. But when Ginny and the Jew successfully shot the moon a half dozen hands later, Jacob beamed but did not dare look Mr. O’Halloran in the eye. Ginny squealed with delight and mussed Jacob’s hair across the table. It was the first acknowledgment she had given him all evening. Back when they were together, she would often tousle his hair when she was pleased with him. Now, he blushed a little bit. Luckily it was too dim for anyone to see.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Halloran decided to call it an evening at around 8:30 PM. Mrs. O’Halloran searched out another candle and showed Jacob to the guest room—clear on the other side of the house—where the bed was made and ready for him. Thanking Mrs. O’Halloran, Jacob followed her back to the kitchen for a glass of water. Ginny was nursing a small glass of grape juice and nibbling at a ginger snap at the table. Jacob sat down across from her. The candle burned to his right and shone upon her hair. It reminded him of the third date they had had, at a fancy restaurant in town at school. After seeing a movie, they returned to campus and made love, both for the first time, in his bed. He smiled at the memory as he sipped his water and he glanced at her. She seemed to be recalling the same experience, given the smile she too wore.

Tracing the rim of his half-empty glass with his index finger, Jacob wondered why on earth he had broken up with Ginny. She had never been disloyal or bitchy, shared his sense of humor, and was great in bed. He had become accustomed to her and had grown stupidly jealous at the relative sexual freedom of many of his buddies, who would share stories of getting drunk at parties and hooking up with this girl or that. He had made the dating-rookie mistake of taking his woman for granted and going off in search of new blood. He hadn’t even so much as kissed another girl since breaking up with Ginny. What a schmuck, he thought. In the orange glow of the candle between them, he decided to set about getting her back as soon as possible.

Mrs. O’Halloran cleared her throat and announced that she was going to bed. Ginny dutifully followed both upstairs and both bade Jacob good-night. Having placed his glass in the sink, Jacob took the candle from the table and made his way back to the guest room. He blew out the candle and settled into bed in the darkness as the wind tossed the snow-laden trees’ limbs back and forth outside.

A couple hours later, Jacob was awakened by a kiss on the cheek. She whispered into his left ear, “Jacob, I need you. I have to have you.”

His reply: “Here? Now? In your parents’ house? Are you crazy?”

“Do you want me or not?” she cooed. She nibbled at his ear. This was a stroke of remarkable, almost unreasonably good luck. It seemed she wanted him back as much as he wanted her. He would not waste this opportunity. Crazy shiksa, he thought to himself.

“Come here,” he replied, full of desire.

Her hands moved over him and she slid into the bed, already naked, in the pitch-blackness. Ginny certainly was crazy, but in a very, very good way; that side had been unleashed after they had had sex a few times. He felt the familiar smooth skin of her back under his fingers and could not resist her. When they were finished, she put her nightgown back on and slunk out the door. Exhilarated, Jacob returned to sleep. She was his again.

The electricity returned and the snow tapered off by morning, leaving twenty-two inches over Charlottesville. The O’Hallorans and Jacob shoveled quietly, extricating the Suburban from the drifts. The roads were still slow going, but a call to the airport confirmed that Jacob’s new flight, the 12:55 PM, would be departing on time. When 11 o’clock rolled around, it was time to leave for the airport. Mr. O’Halloran offered to drive Jacob himself. Mrs. O’Halloran, Ginny and Mary Jane saw him off. He hugged Mrs. O’Halloran and waved awkwardly to Mary Jane—that plain, hateful girl. As he embraced Ginny in turn, he whispered in her ear, “Last night was incredible. Thank you.” She furrowed her brow. He shrugged it off.

As he climbed into the front seat of the Suburban, he looked in the side view mirror and saw Mary Jane beaming and biting her lip, her eyes burning. She waved excitedly, her smile broadening. “Only the Good Die Young” was on the radio again. Billy Joel sang, “Ah but they never told you the price that you pay/For things that you might have done...”
Jacob went as white as the snow outside.