In 1993, here in my home town of Chattanooga, there was an occurance unlike anything this small town had seen in some time (in most residents' lives, ever). That thing (laugh if you will) was snow. I mean big snow. If I remember correctly, we got three whole feet (again, laugh at me all you northern folk, I care not). I was nine at the time, and oh how we revelled and celebrated!
Needless to say, after the adults all got over the bread and milk buying, and the chains on the tires of the cars most people were too afraid to drive (they had chains though, damn it), there was much outdoor fun had by all the children who got to stay home from school that week. The first day of the snow, I remember going out into my back yard which, save a small court yard-ish area, is a big hill. My brother and I were pretending to be giant snow ants and burrow an efficient farm into the banks of the back yard when this group of strange teenagers came walking down the hill from the general driveway/road area of my parents'. They came, and they came armed to the teeth with various sleds. You can imagine the crazy joy that lept into my third grade heart.
Like a good little girl, I went inside and got my mom, and proceeded with the immediate campaign to allow my brother and I to join them in their sledding, since we were going to be letting them use our hill and all...after much debate, Mom went outside, talked to these mysterious teen folk, and it was on! They had this giant intertube, and sleds and whatnot, and it was wonderful. To this day, it is still one of my fondest childhood memories.
Nowadays I work in this bar that, for many, is very Cheers-esque. We have a lot of regulars who everyone knows and know everyone. There's this one guy, Marc, who I had chatted with a bit over the time that I have worked there. A couple weeks back, he came in and we were particularly slow, so I sat next to him at the bar and we talked for quite some time about lots of things. Conversation led to childhood and talk of things more innocent and pure, and we realized that we grew up not 5 blocks from each other which, of course, spawned lots of discussion about areas that we ran around causing mischief in and hiding and smoking and the like. As it turns out, he used to do some of that on my hill, before they tore down the house that used to be next to mine that was slowly sliding off the tunnels. Back when the house was still there, our hill was a good two feet shallower and had a sort of blocked-off tunnel that used to have trolley cars run through it a long time ago. These were all covered with bathtubs and sinks and other non-environmentally hazardous materials and then covered with tons and tons of dirt, hiding that grand little cave forever. I digress.
The Great Snowstorm eventually flurried it's way into our discussion and Marc began recalling what he did that first day. He told me about walking with his brother and friend to that place they always meandered about when the snow was gone and the ground was dry to find a perfectly unspoiled snow hill, just perfect for sledding, and then, to their surprise, these two little kids playing in the snow just above the hill's crest. Needless to say, my heart lept, and I couldn't help but interrupt him to exclaim, "That was me!"
Chattanooga is such a small, small town, and coincidences with past and present happen all the time, but this was something more special. This was something precious and pure, and to discover, unwittingly, that someone who was really faceless and yet strongly attached to an ovewhelming feeling of wonder and mystery and adventure had turned out to be just as unique and lovely as you'd ever imagined they'd be is truly a gem of past, present, and future. I am simply floored by the concept of it all.
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