Some say the world
will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
— “Fire and Ice”
By Robert Frost
I.
It didn’t used to snow this much.
That’s what his mother had told him.
It used to start snowing around Christmas, she said, and stop around Easter.
The snow’s born like Jesus, he’d pointed out.
His mother had given him a funny laugh at that, but she’d agreed.
Yes, just like Jesus.
But then, one day, when his mother was little, it started to snow.
And it didn’t stop.
The snow grew taller than people. Taller than houses. Taller than trees.
That was the ground they were standing on now.
Everything was buried in the snow.
He was six years old, and he didn’t remember a time when it wasn’t snowing.
II.
The tops of the tallest buildings still stuck out.
That’s where a lot of people lived now, in the old buildings.
It was warmer in there, away from the wind.
He and his mother had lived in one of those buildings, in a place called Roanoke.
It wasn’t home though. Home was Richmond, where he was born.
But his mother said Richmond wasn’t safe anymore, so they came here.
People in Roanoke said they wanted to go to Richmond though, that it was safer there, with more food.
But his mother still said no.
Then, one day, she said Roanoke wasn’t safe either.
III.
She knew.
They had to leave.
It wasn’t safe there anymore.
The talk around Roanoke had turned more desperate as supplies ran low.
She wasn’t sure where they would go, but she knew they couldn’t stay there.
It was December 14th, 2073.
She’d packed up what food they had, bartered for what more they could get, and stole what more they needed.
They had a tent that once folded to the size of a book with the press of a button.
But it still folded small enough to fit in their pack.
They had two coats for her and two for him. Sweatpants. Thermal underwear.
And she packed the most valuable thing they owned.
It looked like two old smartphones stuck together.
One half a solar panel, the other a petri dish of sorts.
An E-LAM they called it. An Electro-Agriculture Machine.
Electricity from the solar panel turned algae cells into an edible green paste.
In those times the sun broke through the clouds, they would have food.
There had been other food in Roanoke.
Hydroponic-grown crops and livestock.
But such food had been hoarded, rationed out to the “most deserving.”
Somehow, children weren’t high on the list.
They’d starve if they stayed. She was sure of it.
So they left and went the only direction it made sense: south.
IV.
He liked snow.
His mother always laughed when he said that, and said it was a good thing he did.
You could do all sorts of things with snow.
You could dig in it.
You could roll in it.
You could draw in it.
He liked that best.
He would draw pictures all the time.
Pictures of himself and his mother.
Pictures of Roanoke. Of the people there: Mr. Mike and Miss Mercy.
He would draw the sun the way his mother had taught him.
First, a circle. Then a bunch of lines for the sunbeams.
He liked it when the sun came out. Everything seemed happier.
His mother made him put on his goggles when it did.
The snow would glow bright from the sun and she said it could hurt his eyes.
The sun made the food grow in their E-LAM.
He liked it when his mother let him help with the E-LAM.
He would scrape the mush into the bottles where they kept it to eat later.
There were pictures in his books of other kinds of food besides the green mush.
But his mother said they couldn’t get that kind of food anymore.
Not while it was still snowing.
V.
No one could agree.
No one could agree why it had started snowing.
No one could agree when it would stop.
No one could agree who to blame.
No one could agree.
Little more had to be said than that.
She was 30 years old.
All her life she had been told how wonderful it was when people came together.
But had they?
Sure, for moments. Holidays. Weddings. Funerals.
Tragedies were said to unite. and for a moment, it always seemed like they would.
But those were only flashes. Sparks in the cold.
And now it was too late.
The cold was far too great now for sparks to warm.
VI.
He loved his books.
He had six of them.
He’d shared more with the other kids when they were in Roanoke.
But for now, he had six.
He told his mother that was enough.
“Dog Man” was his favorite.
He liked to pretend he was Dog Man and his mother was Li’l Petey.
They would have adventures in the snow.
That was another good thing about snow.
It could be whatever you needed it to be if you used your imagination.
VII.
His mother had books too, and he asked her to read him her grown-up books sometimes.
His favorite was called “The Grapes of Wrath.”
When he asked her to read it to him, his mother said he wouldn’t like it.
But he asked her again and she read it.
She skipped some pages, saying they were too grown-up. He wondered what was on those pages.
But he did like it. It was a story about people on a trip, just like they were.
But instead of snow, his mother explained, there was dust.
He figured he liked snow better.
In the book, they were going to California, where it was supposed to be better.
He asked if they could go to California, but his mother said it was too far.
He liked to think about California. Maybe they’d get there anyway.
His mother also read him the Bible.
That one had neat stories too.
She read to him about Moses and the Israelites.
They were on a big trip too.
But instead of snow or dust, they had sand.
He still figured he liked snow better.
VIII.
They also read about Jesus.
Jesus was a nice guy who went around helping people.
Just like Tom Joad and Dog Man.
His mother told him that Jesus was always with them.
He looked around, but he couldn’t see Jesus.
He must be hiding in the snow.
His mother laughed, but said that, yes, Jesus was just hiding in the snow.
His mother also said that Jesus says we have to be kind.
His mother said that if they were kind and prayed to Jesus, that someday they would get to go with Jesus up to a place called Heaven where Jesus’s father lived and they would live there.
Was there snow up in heaven, he asked.
Only if you want there to be, his mother had explained.
He said he did, and she said then there would be.
VIII.
It was December 24th when they reached the coast.
Even with all their hardship, she had to admit: the sight was incredible.
The ocean was a chasm, dipping what must have been thousands of feet down.
She hadn’t expected that, for the snow level to be so much lower.
It must be the water, she figured.
It had taken longer to freeze, so the snow hadn’t been building on it for as long.
But as the sun peeked through the gray sky above, she felt more hopeful than she ever had before.
Sure, they couldn’t make their way down that low. The drop was incredibly, terribly steep.
But just the difference in view, of having a different sight beside them than the endless waste, inspired her to keep moving.
And she figured that they had a better chance of meeting up with other travelers if they followed the coastline than they would walking blindly through the white.
There were other settlements. There had to be.
She just hoped they would find them soon.
IX.
It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
His mother had called it the “coast.”
That was a neat word.
And down there was the ocean.
It used to be water, she said. Like the water in his books.
It was the color of his blue crayon, she explained.
Ocean color.
Now it was just more white.
But it was still the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
X.
They’d celebrated Christmas each year back in Roanoke.
People had exchanged gifts they’d made, or shared goods other families had needed more.
The settlement leaders would slaughter livestock for a feast. Use the rations of salt and sugar.
They would hold Mass and speak of better days before, and better days yet ahead.
But each year, such talk felt more and more fleeting.
They’d had everything they needed there. Warmth, food, shelter.
As they walked along the coast, ten days out, her mind told her they should have stayed.
That they should turn back.
But there were gangs and factions forming in Roanoke.
Desperation.
That was no place for a child.
Was she making the right decision?
She didn’t know.
They kept heading south.
XI.
His mother said it was Christmas Eve.
He knew what that meant.
It was Jesus’s birthday.
Well, almost.
It also meant they got to eat yummier food.
But his mother said they didn’t have any ham this year.
Or carrots or potatoes.
He’d been a bit sad about that. He really liked those.
They tasted much better than the algae.
But his mother promised they would have that food again when they found a new home.
He asked where that new home was.
His mother said it was south.
He’d asked where south.
She said in the direction they were going.
He asked what their new home was called.
She said she wasn’t sure. There were a lot of new homes.
It would be a surprise, she said.
That was good. He liked surprises.
XII.
They read the Bible that night.
He knew the story they were going to read.
It was the story of Baby Jesus.
His mother let him read the story, helping him with some of the bigger words.
But he knew the story even without reading it.
He knew how Baby Jesus was born in a manger.
He knew a manger was a box for animal food.
And he knew that Mary and Joseph had to put Baby Jesus in the manger because they had to stay in a barn.
He knew they had gone all over looking for a place to stay, but they couldn’t find one.
So they stayed in the barn.
He told his mother that they were just like Mary and Joseph.
They were walking all around looking for a place to stay too.
She’d smiled and told him he was right.
He asked her if they would find a place to stay like Mary and Joseph had.
She said they would.
He asked if he would have to sleep in a manger.
She laughed and said no. He was too big to sleep in a manger.
He would sleep in a bed, she told him.
He said he wanted to sleep in a manger to see what it was like.
She laughed a lot at that and said he was silly.
A bed did sound better, he had to admit.
XIII.
They read about the star that the Three Wise Men had seen.
They had walked toward the star to find Baby Jesus.
Sometimes he and his mother could see the stars.
Usually the sky was all clouds, but sometimes there were stars.
Maybe they should follow the stars, he said to his mother.
Then they would find Jesus.
His mother reminded him that they already found Jesus.
He was with them in the snow, remember?
It would be better if he was with them in a barn, he told his mother.
She smiled and said she agreed.
XIV.
The next morning, when he woke up, his mother wished him a Merry Christmas.
He wished her a Merry Christmas too.
It was snowing hard, so his mother said they would stay in the tent for a while.
He noticed his mother looked sad and he asked why she was sad.
She looked at him funny and sniffled.
She said she was sad because she didn’t have anything to give him for a Christmas gift.
He thought about that for a second and told her that was okay.
He didn’t have anything to give her either.
He looked around after that and tried to think of something, anything he could give her.
But she laughed a funny laugh and said that was okay.
Then she hugged him and told him he was the only gift she needed.
And he hugged her back and told her she was the only gift he needed too.
XV.
She was tired.
And she was scared.
And she was angry.
She thought to herself: Wasn’t that being a mother?
Wasn’t that being a parent?
No.
Being a parent is having a child that you can tell everything is going to be alright.
Life is anger.
And fear.
Parenthood is happiness.
And hope.
Parenthood is having this little soul, pure and white.
That knows nothing of hate.
And sees wonder in a breeze and a snowflake.
An innocent flame, burning in the darkness.
It will dim.
They always do.
But you have the gift of watching that flame burn bright as long as it can.
And to be the hands that cup it against the wind as long as you’re able.
In a way you can do with no one else.
We always talk about what we want.
What we need.
But is there anything we could want more than the smile of a child?
She thought of the Nativity, and what was the greatest gift the world had ever known.
And the angel said unto them
Fear not: for, behold,
I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
XVI.
When it stopped snowing, he helped his mother pack up the tent.
They kept walking south, next to the coast.
His mother said they should sing Christmas carols.
He liked that idea.
He liked those songs because he knew a lot of the words.
Jingle bells.
Jingle bells.
Jingle all the way.
Deck the halls
with boughs of holly.
Holly was a green plant with red berries, his mother explained.
Fa la la la la.
La la la la.
He liked that part and sang it a couple times.
But then his mother said she wanted to teach him a new song.
It was called The Little Drummer Boy.
She said it was her favorite when she was little.
He liked it because he could sing the rum pum pum pum part.
I played my best for Him.
Pa rum pum pum pum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Then He smiled at me.
Pa rum pum pum pum.
Me and my drum.
Me and my drum.
Me and my drum.
Me and my drum.
THE END