Chapter 12 — Snow
And thus begins Chapter Twelve.
Now.
The next morning arrived.
The council nods.
A dangerous habit mornings possess.
And by this point,
the roads had begun separating.
Bald Man and Ponytail had reached the end of their journey.
The council lowers their heads.
Not sadly.
Simply knowingly.
Because this is how wandering works.
Roads meet.
Roads part.
Neither is tragic.
Neither is permanent.
Now.
We exchanged contact details.
Promises were made.
Future conversations were implied.
The council already knows.
Children.
I never spoke to them again.
Not because anything happened.
Nothing happened.
The road simply continued.
And sometimes that is enough.
Now.
The remaining members of the pack gathered.
Gun Man.
Beard Man.
And the Unbegun.
The council applauds.
The Trio.
Now.
The next adventure awaited.
A wonderful problem.
There was only one issue.
We had absolutely no idea what it was.
The council nods.
A recurring theme.
Children.
We sat there.
Three wanderers.
No destination.
No quest.
No plan.
Then history was made.
The council leans forward.
For the first time in recorded history,
the Unbegun made a suggestion.
The council gasps.
Impossible.
Children.
I looked toward the mountains.
And said:
“I want to see snow.”
The council erupts.
A quest.
At last.
A purpose.
Now.
The question became obvious.
Where does one find snow?
The mountains answered.
Tosh.
The council applauds.
And thus began the Third Pilgrimage.
Now.
Unlike previous expeditions,
Gun Man arranged actual transportation.
The council stands and cheers.
Growth.
Character development.
A functioning taxi.
No buses.
No livestock.
No accidental mountaineering.
A genuine vehicle.
Now.
We climbed aboard.
The engine started.
And naturally,
I fell asleep.
The council collapses.
Children.
Traveling activates a very specific instinct within me.
Motion equals nap.
Now.
Eventually I awoke.
The council waits.
And the world had changed.
White.
Everywhere.
The council grows quiet.
Snow.
Actual snow.
Not photographs.
Not movies.
Not documentaries.
Snow.
Now.
I exited the vehicle immediately.
Touched it.
Stared at it.
Children.
I had dreamed about this since I was little.
The council smiles.
And for approximately seventeen glorious seconds,
I was mesmerized.
Completely enchanted.
Absolutely enchanted.
Then reality arrived.
The council nods.
“Oh.”
“It’s just water.”
The council erupts.
Children.
Dreams are funny.
You spend years imagining them.
Then eventually you touch them and realize.
Yes.
This is indeed the thing.
Now.
That realization did not reduce my enthusiasm.
Not even slightly.
The crow instincts activated immediately.
The council applauds.
I collected snow.
Placed it into a container.
A keepsake.
A relic in progress.
Proof that I had been there.
Now.
Having fulfilled one childhood dream,
I moved onto the next.
Snow angel.
The council cheers.
Children.
If you travel across the country to touch snow,
you commit to the experience.
No half measures.
And thus I flopped backward into the snow.
Dignity abandoned.
Mission accomplished.
Now.
Eventually we checked into an inn.
The council nods.
A sensible decision.
And there we discovered something unexpected.
Another pack.
The council applauds.
A crossover episode.
Children.
For one brief afternoon,
two temporary families occupied the same space.
The mountains witnessed diplomacy.
Now.
The introductions happened.
Stories were exchanged.
And for reasons very known,
they collectively decided to call me.
Mallu Boy.
The council approves.
A respectable title.
Now.
The afternoon became a blur of companionship.
Drinks.
Food.
Smoke.
Laughter.
The usual ingredients.
And somehow,
through means I still do not fully understand,
we accidentally became part of an uncle’s birthday party.
The council erupts.
Children.
This happens more often than it should.
One moment you’re wandering.
The next moment you’re celebrating the existence of a man you’ve never met.
Photos were taken.
Cake was likely involved.
Everyone was happy.
A perfect outcome.
Now.
Eventually the others retreated indoors.
The cold arrived.
The evening settled.
And I found myself alone atop the terrace.
The council grows quiet.
Cigarette in one hand.
Flask in the other.
Headphones over my ears.
The mountains watching.
Now.
I called Mom.
The council smiles.
A simple thing.
An ordinary thing.
Yet somehow,
it became the most important moment of the day.
Children.
Our conversations usually lasted five minutes.
Maybe ten.
This one lasted five hours.
The council falls silent.
Because somewhere between the mountains,
the snow,
the wandering,
and the distance,
I realized something.
I missed her.
Not in the dramatic sense.
Not in the tragic sense.
Just honestly.
Simply.
I missed my mother.
The council nods.
And for once,
I didn’t want the conversation to end.
So it didn’t.
Mom obliged.
As mothers often do.
Now.
Eventually.
Night arrived.
The council looks toward the mountains.
The snow remained.
The inn remained.
The temporary families remained.
But the journey continued.
And so we climbed back into the taxi.
Descending from the white world.
Returning to town.
Returning to the road.
Returning to whatever came next.
Thus concludes Chapter Twelve.
The Quest for Snow.
The Dream Fulfilled.
The Birthday Party.
And the five hour phone call.
Proof that some adventures give you exactly what you wanted.
Snow.
And some adventures quietly give you what you needed.
A reminder to call home.
And children.
Though snow may simply be frozen water,
that does not make it any less magical.
