Status: Written for a Contest. We shall see how it goes.
Crystal Patterns
A Frosted 'J'
The snow was finally falling the morning I rose from my bed to the beckoning of my mother. She billowed from her bed, “Natalia!” I slipped out the bed and padded on the cold wooden floor to my mother’s room. She was lying on her bed with her sheets wet with urine and she was blushing.
“Mom, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” I said to her, helping her up and moving her into the shower. “Can you handle this?” I asked, raising a brow.
She nodded and smiled, “My bones don’t hurt as bad today. I think I’ll be fine.” She then began striping her clothes and I couldn’t help but note how thin she was getting. I sighed, knowing that there was nothing my mom could do about her cancer, but she tried to remain happy and brave every day. Once my mom had settled herself in the bath tub, I turned to tend to her bed. I striped the wet sheets and threw them into the bin with the other sheets, and after I grabbed extra sheets and began making her bed.
The bed was finally made and walked into my bed room, plopping down on the window seat and tracing patterns with my nails on the window. I huffed, wondering what dynamic of the window or weather changed and prohibited the creation of the beautiful patterns that used to great me every morning. “Snegurochka,” I heard, echoing in my ear. I glanced around me, surprised at the echo of such an old childhood story.
My mother used to tell me the story about Snegurochka, meaning Snow Maiden in Russian. She was built of snow, with 2 blue beads for eyes and red ribbon for her lips, came to a couple that could not have any children on Christmas Eve. She could not be near intense heat or fall in love. She is one of the most beautiful women in Russian stories and is considered the daughter of Spring and Winter. At the end of the story, she falls in love with a village boy and melts.
When I glanced back to the window, the crystal patterns that I had not seen in years were twinkling in the light of the sun. I traced the pattern as it slowly formed a hook and does various turns and twists. Finally, it finished its constant movement and formed into the letter ‘J.’ Curious, was the only word that came to my mind, but I had longed so badly to see the crystal patterns that I did not let my mind, for once, analyze the letter. In the other panel of the window, the crystal patterns formed the shape of a hand. I stretched my fingers out and laid it next to the hand and a smile tugged at my lips.
“That’s Jack Frost, you know,” my mother said, startling me.
She giggled and walked over, wrapping herself in her rob tighter and sitting next to me. I shook my head at her. “Yes, Mother, that’s what you always say,” I answered with a shake of my head.
“And have I been wrong yet?” She asked, raising a brow.
“Yes, actually, those sorts of things just don’t happen,” I muttered, watching the patterns slowly dissolve away. The ‘J’ looked like a fish hook, the hand a mere circle. She chuckled in response.
“Daragaya, what would the world be without a little magic? What would children look forward to and the people sing about? What would make joy the hearts of people? Do not be so quick to not believe in what you cannot see,” she said, ruffling my hair.
“Mom, you’re being illogical,” I said, standing from my spot on the window seat.
“Why does everything have to be logical with you? Can you not have any fun?” She joked, poking my stomach. “Come, Natalia, let’s go eat.” She said, standing and walking down the stairs. I followed reluctantly and glancing back at the window as more patterns swirled upwards.
“Mom, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” I said to her, helping her up and moving her into the shower. “Can you handle this?” I asked, raising a brow.
She nodded and smiled, “My bones don’t hurt as bad today. I think I’ll be fine.” She then began striping her clothes and I couldn’t help but note how thin she was getting. I sighed, knowing that there was nothing my mom could do about her cancer, but she tried to remain happy and brave every day. Once my mom had settled herself in the bath tub, I turned to tend to her bed. I striped the wet sheets and threw them into the bin with the other sheets, and after I grabbed extra sheets and began making her bed.
The bed was finally made and walked into my bed room, plopping down on the window seat and tracing patterns with my nails on the window. I huffed, wondering what dynamic of the window or weather changed and prohibited the creation of the beautiful patterns that used to great me every morning. “Snegurochka,” I heard, echoing in my ear. I glanced around me, surprised at the echo of such an old childhood story.
My mother used to tell me the story about Snegurochka, meaning Snow Maiden in Russian. She was built of snow, with 2 blue beads for eyes and red ribbon for her lips, came to a couple that could not have any children on Christmas Eve. She could not be near intense heat or fall in love. She is one of the most beautiful women in Russian stories and is considered the daughter of Spring and Winter. At the end of the story, she falls in love with a village boy and melts.
When I glanced back to the window, the crystal patterns that I had not seen in years were twinkling in the light of the sun. I traced the pattern as it slowly formed a hook and does various turns and twists. Finally, it finished its constant movement and formed into the letter ‘J.’ Curious, was the only word that came to my mind, but I had longed so badly to see the crystal patterns that I did not let my mind, for once, analyze the letter. In the other panel of the window, the crystal patterns formed the shape of a hand. I stretched my fingers out and laid it next to the hand and a smile tugged at my lips.
“That’s Jack Frost, you know,” my mother said, startling me.
She giggled and walked over, wrapping herself in her rob tighter and sitting next to me. I shook my head at her. “Yes, Mother, that’s what you always say,” I answered with a shake of my head.
“And have I been wrong yet?” She asked, raising a brow.
“Yes, actually, those sorts of things just don’t happen,” I muttered, watching the patterns slowly dissolve away. The ‘J’ looked like a fish hook, the hand a mere circle. She chuckled in response.
“Daragaya, what would the world be without a little magic? What would children look forward to and the people sing about? What would make joy the hearts of people? Do not be so quick to not believe in what you cannot see,” she said, ruffling my hair.
“Mom, you’re being illogical,” I said, standing from my spot on the window seat.
“Why does everything have to be logical with you? Can you not have any fun?” She joked, poking my stomach. “Come, Natalia, let’s go eat.” She said, standing and walking down the stairs. I followed reluctantly and glancing back at the window as more patterns swirled upwards.