Snow Globe

The following tale is my entry into the CAW #14 Writer’s Challenge on our Sex Stories Forum. It is a romance that spans a half a century. Much of the story is set during the winter holidays in a little town in northern Pennsylvania. This is a work of fiction. While the town is real (Google is your friend), and the family names of the characters are common names in the area, any resemblance to any events or to any person(s) living or dead is unintentional and purely coincidental.



“You’ve been collecting snow globes for as long as I’ve known you, Mary. You don’t have one like this.”

I picked it up again from the shelf where it was displayed with some old cast-iron banks. “It’s not in perfect condition. See that big scratch? You know I’m fussy. This is beautiful, but I wish it were in better shape.”

The flea-market stand holder came over to us. “I see you have good taste, madam. That’s a rare one. It’s patterned after a real town in Pennsylvania. It must be a lovely place.”

My friend June touched my arm. “Didn’t you meet David in some little hick town in northern Pennsylvania?”

“Wellsboro isn’t a hick town. It’s more like a time machine. If you pulled the cars off the streets today and replaced them with antiques, Ozzie and Harriet would fit right in. David worked at the diner. My boyfriend at the time wanted to get a burger after the game against their high school one Friday night. We stopped there. By the time David brought our tab, I was trying to come up with an excuse to break up with the boy I had dated for six months. I called the diner from home the next day and said I lost my scarf. They actually put David on the phone to talk to me. I told him my tale and gave him my phone number and address in case he found it. He knew I was lying.”

“That was a long time ago,” June said.

“It will be fifty years in January. There was light snow the night I met David. It looked just like this snow globe. He proposed to me four years later when we took a walk, Christmas Eve. We crunched though the snow past those gas lights to the park. He got all wet when he broke through a frozen puddle kneeling next to the Wynken, Blynken and Nod fountain, and we made snow angels together after I said yes. We got married in that park the following June. His parents weren’t happy. No one but hippies and outlaw bikers had outdoor weddings back then.”

“Isn’t he buried up there, Mary?”

“His family lives there, and they all own plots in the same cemetery. When I go see his relatives I visit his grave. His mother still remembers me, even better than she remembers him. Sometimes she thinks I’m her daughter, but I don’t argue. That woman was more of a mother to me than my own.”

“Buy the damn thing, or expect to get it from me for your Christmas present,” June stated.

The stand holder took the snow globe from my hands. “The scratch will polish out. I have this new glass-restore stuff my son-in-law the big world traveler schmuck found. I tried it on some junk glass. Works like a miracle. I’ll give you a couple sample tubes. In fact, I’ll give you the works. Snow globe, polish, boxed and ready to go in two minutes. A nice lady like you should have this if it brings you memories. Happy Hanukah to you both. The wife, she doesn’t understand sentiment. Wait just a minute.”

That night, I examined my new find more carefully. I put it on my desk and turned on the desk lamp, hoping to see the scene inside more clearly when the imitation blizzard subsided. The detail was like nothing I had ever seen in a snow globe, especially when I put on my “reading glasses” that I use for my crewel work. The gas lights in the center of the boulevard almost looked like they were lit. There were decorations on the store-fronts, and the Penn Wells hotel looked just the same as it did the first time I saw it. A fresh coating of snow covered the village time forgot.

Buried under Styrofoam peanuts, small boxes of chocolate covered peppermint sticks, and business cards for the antiques stand and a deli downtown, I found some tubes of polish. Even with my glasses, I couldn’t read a thing on them. Everything was in a language I didn’t recognize in an alphabet I couldn’t decipher. Great. Well, how hard can it be?

I rummaged in my rag box for a piece of one of David’s old flannel shirts. The nicer ones went to charity years ago, when I came to my senses and realized keeping his stuff wouldn’t raise him from the dead. The red scrap I chose came from the shirt I bought him one autumn when we visited his parents. A picture I took that day is on my night-stand. David had leaves stuck to this shirt and in his hair, the result of a leaf-pile dive when we helped his dad rake the yard. The following summer David had his first cancer surgery.

The cream in the tube was an odd color, and it seemed to change as the air and light hit it. It smelled of wood smoke, hot glazed ham, and pies baking. I squeezed a little onto the cloth and gently rubbed at the scratch on my glass snow globe. Nothing seemed to change, so I rubbed harder. After some effort, I was amazed to see the scratch disappear completely. Not only that, but the scene through that part of the globe seemed much clearer and more life-like, even through the snow squall inside.

I squeezed more polish onto my cloth and worked outward from the clear spot. I have no idea how long I rubbed that scrap of David’s life on the snow glove, but the repetitive motion relaxed me almost like a long soak in a warm tub of bubbles. My mind wandered, as it always does, to David.

I remembered the first day I drove to Wellsboro to meet him alone. He called me the day before and told me he found my scarf, an obvious lie, since I lied about losing one in the first place, but the fantasy gave us an excuse to talk. When I hung up, I knew I would have trouble sleeping that night.

Nice girls didn’t pursue boys. We dropped hints, big ones if necessary, but we let the boy make the first move. Both thrilled and terrified by my audacity, my night was a series of dreams about possible bad outcomes for the day. An hour before my alarm was set to go off, I gave up on my bed and treated myself to a bubble bath. As I dried off, I looked in the mirror critically, appraising my proportions and wondering if David would like me if he ever saw me this way.

My blue eye-shadow went on perfectly, and I spent extra time on my hair and eyebrows, anxious to make a good impression. I wanted to feel as feminine and pretty as possible, but as I prepared myself all I felt was nervous and flustered. Now, that teenage angst seems silly. We were so right together, from the start to the end.

The glass polish and cloth in my hand now almost smelled like Bal A Versailles, my first adult cologne. Taking a break to rest my wrist, I let the snow inside the globe settle. Half the glass was completely free of scratches and blemishes, and the scene inside was incredibly clear. What skilled hand had crafted these buildings and painted the scenery? The delicacy of the detail was amazing.

My glasses weren’t enough. I found the old magnifying glass David used on his stamp collection and moved another lamp near the desk. Then, I could see there were a few people on the sidewalk. One of them wore a red and black plaid wool hunting jacket and matching cap with ear-flaps, just like David had when I first met him. Seeing that miniscule figure on the tiny sidewalk in front of the miniature movie theater made my heart ache.

It was late, but curiosity got the better of me. More polish, more rubbing. More repetitive movement. More relaxation.

I rested my chin on my hands on the desk. The globe was clean, completely clear. The snow had settled, and my lights glistened on the roofs of the buildings and the narrow strip of white dividing the short boulevard. The smell of the polish was headier now, but it had changed to a mix of wet wool coats, wet cars, and vintage English Leather after-shave. It was a scent of comfort, and I was suddenly very drowsy. I sat back and got comfortable, losing myself in the scene before me.

A tan VW beetle putted down the street and parked behind the hotel. I got out and walked around to work the kinks out of me after my drive. The car was my combination eighteenth birthday and Christmas present. This was my first drive in it in snow, and I was scared green, but Dad told Mom I would be fine. He equipped me with a blanket, a flashlight, some highway flares, an Army surplus “entrenching tool, folding, one each” (shovel), tire chains, and a roll of dimes for pay phones. “Remember what I taught you about winter driving,” Dad said. “I know you’ll be fine. These cars are great in snow.” He leaned through my open door and kissed me on the cheek, and then walked back in the house.

My memory of riding with my now ex-boyfriend helped me understand the directions David gave me. We agreed to meet behind the hotel at noon, since parking near the diner was hard to get that time of day. I was early, and it was cold, so I settled back in my little car to wait, my breath fogging up the windows. A few minutes before noon, I got out and spotted David walking across the lot behind the movie theater.

“Mary?”

“Hi, David!”

“Do you want to get some lunch? I know a great place.”

I laughed, and David offered me his arm. We walked to the diner, David always staying on the street side of the sidewalk to help protect me from slush cars might throw. I barely remember the walk itself, not even a city block long. All I recall is the feel of David’s bulk next to me and an intoxicating manly smell of Brylcreem and after-shave. His presence made me blush because of the warmth it created deep in my feminine parts.

We waited in line outside like everyone else. The snow had stopped, giving way to a cold, crisp day. When I shivered, David closed his arm on my hand and pulled me closer. “Do you want to go in through the kitchen? It’s warm in there.”

“How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait?”

“Cora’s in charge today. She keeps things moving, and she doesn’t have a problem with telling customers to eat up, pay their bill, and make room for someone else. With today’s crowd, less than five minutes.”

“That’s not too bad. Is it always like this, David?”

“The crowd is this large today because it’s January White Sale weekend at Dunham’s. The diner is the most popular spot in town. Everyone eats here. The food’s good and the prices are cheap. Everyone knows all the employees since they grew up with them or their kids did. My mom, both my sisters and my brother all worked here.”

A severe looking woman with the name tag “Cora” on her ample bosom greeted us at the door. “David Hudson, do I have to speak to your mother about your manners? Are you going to introduce this poor, frozen girl or not?”

“Mrs. Cora Morris, please allow me to introduce Miss Mary Shepherd,” David said with a slight bow and an impish grin.

Cora looked me up and down, like a prospective buyer at a livestock auction. Then she smiled. Her mouth didn’t turn up much, but her eyes twinkled at me. Not looking away, she said, “David, treat this one right. I see things in her that a boy your age doesn’t notice. Be a man like your father is. She’s worth it. Madge saw you in line, so I have that booth for two ready in the corner.” She grabbed two menus and hustled down the narrow central walkway, her heels loud even over the din of the crowded place.

As David helped me with my coat, I saw a package on the seat on his side of the tiny booth. “Look! Someone forgot something.”

“Yes, Mary, you did. Please, sit down.” He put the box on the paper place mat in front of me. “Open it.”

Inside was a handmade knit scarf with a cap and mittens to match. “Oh, my,” was all I could think of to say.

“Are they okay?” His brow was furrowed, like he was very concerned.

“They’re beautiful! But, why?”

“You lost your scarf, remember? We’re going to have a good lunch, and then we’re going to walk it off. I want to show you around. You’ll need a warm scarf and maybe the cap and mittens too. Look. There’s a little bit of gold fleck in the blue yarn, just like your eyes.”

“I don’t know what to say! Thank you! Where did you get all this?”

“My Grandma Bailey makes them. She can knit or crochet anything. Everyone says she’s the fastest and best in this part of the state. I told her there was a special girl who needed a new scarf so she made these things yesterday.”

He called me a special girl. Thank goodness I wore a well-structured padded bra. I would have died if he saw what those words did to me. I felt myself melting in ways I hadn’t with Roger in the six months we went steady.

David seemed oblivious to the color in my cheeks. “What are you hungry for? Chet’s in the kitchen, so I’m having the western omelet and a side order of bacon.”

“That sounds good.”

“Coke, tea, milk, or Hawaiian Punch?”

“Iced tea with lemon.”

A pretty, buxom girl filled our water glasses and took our order. David spoke for me, which was just as well. The girl barely glanced at me, and when she did, I had the impression she hated me for some reason.