The Black Snow, Indiana, 2021

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Abstract

in his hands. You owe me, b_____d, I say through anxious laughs.We make it all the way to Bloomington, an hour and 15-minute drive, in 2 hours' time. I’m out of breath. We pull into gate 5 at Memorial Stadium and walk through pure white snow to pee behind a pine tree.The needles prickle our faces as we cuss the cold. The snow melts, doesn’t turn yellow. It’s satisfying. We trudge back up the hill and sit in our car to wait for our friend. I’m dreading the ride back. Karron leaves and I tell them to have big fun in little Mexico.The radio is only static until I get to 30 miles out of Indy. The night is dark, cars are smoking on the side of the road, cop cars are blasting red and blue. The snow is gray slush now, but the closer I get to the city, the clearer the roads become.By the time I reach the interstate, it’s smooth sailing. The snow built up on the sides of the interstate is colored charcoal from vehicle exhaust. I pull into the driveway. The snow in the driveway is Lazarus white. It’s been untouched until my car tracks molest the pure coat.I hobble out of my car door and stretch my legs. Even though it’s snowing, the air

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isn’t biting cold. There’s little wind. It must be 30 degrees outside.I decided to take my seat on our concrete stoop and watch the road again, the cars battling the elements in their crusade to reach unknown destinations. Shhfflwwoooop, say the passing car tires.There’s a line of 5 cars coming northbound down the boulevard. Their lights show me the houses across the street as they reach my driveway. Then they stop and turn off their lights.The night turns black. The snow in the front yard, bright white, the night’s only light, turns gray. The cars are sitting there, lights off. The exhaust is pouring out of mufflers like a 19th-century steamboat.The gray snow in the front yard turns to slush. The cars rev their engine. I stand up on the stoop. EUREKA! I yell, arms raised above my head. The gray slush turns as black as the night sky, bereft of stars.Five seats of headlights turn on. They’re pointed straight at me, blocking the street in an even row. 10 lights shine at me. I squint, cover my eyes with my right arm, and yell a command —TURN YOUR D___ BRIGHTS OFF!</article></body>

The Black Snow, Indiana, 2021

Sitting on the stop watching the snow start falling. Karron needs a ride to Bloomington. This day-and-age allows you to see more or less what the weather will be like in a few hours. I refuse to look — selective ignorance, I guess.

Karron’s car broke down earlier. He’s taking a trip to Mexico. I can’t take him all the way to Evansville for his flight. That’s 3 hours south of Indianapolis. But our friend, who Karron’s going to Mexico with, agreed to meet us halfway.

I acquiesce as the snow falls in harmless pure white flakes, then I call him. Hey, I’ll pick you up in 5 minutes. Be out in front of your apartment building on the Meridian Street side.

We’re 20 minutes in. The snow is coming down hard. My little car’s swerving and swaying like it has a moving rug underneath its feet. I’m clutching the steering wheel, knuckles off-white like the snow. F___, I said. I’m so sorry, Karron booms between snorting chuckles, putting his face in his hands. You owe me, b_____d, I say through anxious laughs.

We make it all the way to Bloomington, an hour and 15-minute drive, in 2 hours' time. I’m out of breath. We pull into gate 5 at Memorial Stadium and walk through pure white snow to pee behind a pine tree.

The needles prickle our faces as we cuss the cold. The snow melts, doesn’t turn yellow. It’s satisfying. We trudge back up the hill and sit in our car to wait for our friend. I’m dreading the ride back. Karron leaves and I tell them to have big fun in little Mexico.

The radio is only static until I get to 30 miles out of Indy. The night is dark, cars are smoking on the side of the road, cop cars are blasting red and blue. The snow is gray slush now, but the closer I get to the city, the clearer the roads become.

By the time I reach the interstate, it’s smooth sailing. The snow built up on the sides of the interstate is colored charcoal from vehicle exhaust. I pull into the driveway. The snow in the driveway is Lazarus white. It’s been untouched until my car tracks molest the pure coat.

I hobble out of my car door and stretch my legs. Even though it’s snowing, the air isn’t biting cold. There’s little wind. It must be 30 degrees outside.

I decided to take my seat on our concrete stoop and watch the road again, the cars battling the elements in their crusade to reach unknown destinations. Shhfflwwoooop, say the passing car tires.

There’s a line of 5 cars coming northbound down the boulevard. Their lights show me the houses across the street as they reach my driveway. Then they stop and turn off their lights.

The night turns black. The snow in the front yard, bright white, the night’s only light, turns gray. The cars are sitting there, lights off. The exhaust is pouring out of mufflers like a 19th-century steamboat.

The gray snow in the front yard turns to slush. The cars rev their engine. I stand up on the stoop. EUREKA! I yell, arms raised above my head. The gray slush turns as black as the night sky, bereft of stars.

Five seats of headlights turn on. They’re pointed straight at me, blocking the street in an even row. 10 lights shine at me. I squint, cover my eyes with my right arm, and yell a command —

TURN YOUR D___ BRIGHTS OFF!