Friday, July 24, 2009

Snow Storm

I cleaned the snow off of her car the way you eat the meat off of a buffalo wing. Neatly, cleanly, obsessively. I took great care not to miss anything that might obstruct her vision. Once the snow was cleared, I scraped away all of the chunks of ice that were stuck to the glass. I cleared the wiper blades, making sure that they were able to move. I removed all traces of ice so nothing could prevent the blades from making perfect contact with the windshield. She tested them. They moved flawlessly. It’s so gratifying when things work properly. All of the glass on her car was clean, and maximum visibility was ensured. There was still a great deal of snow coming down. I dusted off her headlights and tail lights. Then I made one more pass around the car, clearing that moment’s worth of accumulation. I admired my work for a brief moment. It was eight degrees Fahrenheit that night.

As I got in the car she squawked and reprimanded me for “taking so fucking long to clean off the windows!” We had a very low quality Type O Negative live bootleg playing in the dash at that time. The clipping and ambient sounds of the crowd often overcame the sound of the band. This is the hallmark of a poorly recorded bootleg. Her squawking and the bootleg’s hissing were so similar that they might have been mistaken for the same sound. I didn’t respond. I didn’t care. It was good to be in the car. It was warmer there.

She put the car in reverse and backed up. The wheels made a familiar crunching sound as they rolled over the ice and compacted snow. She stopped and threw the car into drive. Slowly we drove off, out of the movie parking lot.

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