Staten Island, New York ,January 6th 1996

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Staten Island, New York ,January 6th 1996

Submitted: July 08, 2010

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Submitted: July 08, 2010

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Staten Island, New York ,January 6th 1996
 



Before the blizzard of 1996, the clouds looked like flattened cotton candy floating in the sky. Painted behind the clouds was a color blue only a god could have created. The temperature was fluctuating between thirty-two and twenty-nine degrees; perfect weather for snow. The weatherman was preparing us for this day. The schools had already warned us about the storm and were expected to be closed the next day. My sisters and I waited patiently to see the first snow flake fall. As the sun began to set the streetlights turned on, illuminating our view of the street. We stayed up late and waited by the bay window in the front of the house; we hoped to get a glimpse of snow. We waited until our mother said it was time for bed. Soon, those dreaded words were spoken and we were off to our rooms. I went to sleep with tears in my eyes that night. I was praying to God, “Please give me this day, and I will never ask you for anything else.” It looked like the weatherman was wrong this time, no snow was in sight.
The next morning I woke up to my sisters screaming bloody murder. They were jumping up and down yelling: “Oh my God! Snow!” the yelling was a mixture of high-pitched screams with giggles in-between. I jumped out of bed and looked out my window. If I had not restrained myself, I would have screamed at the sight of snow too. My mother and father got up soon after the girls were done yelling. My mother made some coffee while my father read the newspaper. I could smell the coffee from my room and I knew my mom was going start cooking breakfast. I rushed downstairs to the breakfast table already dressed. I was wearing long thermal underwear, extra large socks, Adidas windbreaker pants, two tee-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt I was ready for some fuel because I knew if I didn’t eat breakfast, I wouldn’t be able to go out, so I finished my eggs and bacon and didn’t leave a single crumb.
As usual, my sisters were right behind me, following my every step; my job was to guide them into the snow and protect them from any harm, like an older brother should. We put on our snow boots and rested our warmest jackets on our shoulders that we got from the front porch. The front door swung open, letting the crisp cool breeze rush into the house. The sun was shining bright and the snow seemed to make it even brighter. We walked outside with squinty eyes and our hands over our foreheads trying to block out the winter light. The cold air found its way through the layers of clothes I had on. The snow was high, higher than we have ever seen. We weren’t used to this much snow; they reported three feet of snow that day. Snow covered the entire block. All you could see was the windshields and side windows of the parked cars lined up and down the block. There was an empty feeling on the block, it felt deserted, like we were the only ones there; I felt free for the first time.
My sisters and I have never been this close. I can’t remember the last time we played like we did on that snow day. We built and destroyed at least six snowmen, we invaded each other’s forts a dozen times, and even caught a couple of snowballs in the face together. We played until the sun disappeared. The darkness crept up on us, and before long, the street lights came on, looking brighter than usual. The snow crystals sparkled in the untouched snow across the street underneath the street lamp. A patch of snow with its own spotlight, it looked beautiful. My sisters and I sat on the snow in front of the house. We reminisced about how much fun we had that day. We took turns reciting the silly words we said throughout the day. Mother called us in for dinner; alas, the day had to end. She greeted us with hot chocolate and the TV was playing our favorite show, “The Fresh Prince of Belair.” This was a memorable day, every time I see snow or feel a cold breeze on my warm skin I think about the blizzard of 1996.


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