Long Walk to School

“It’s absolutely gorgeous outside right now,” my roommate sang as she trudged up the creaky stairs. I could feel the glaring sun desperately yearning to beam through my closed blinds, and I smiled a wicked grin as I pulled up my wool socks, anticipating a marvelous walk to school. I knew it was going to be cold; I mean come on, it’s winter… in Syracuse. Little did I know just how numb my fingers and face would feel by the time I scuttled into Moon Library to escape the frigid air.

Beginning my expedition east on the Euclid Avenue Expressway, the first blast of cold air that blasted my bare face signaled that despite the beauty of this fine morning, the long journey, seeming even longer now, would end in some very non-responsive finger tips. Baring my teeth and mentally preparing myself, I clambered onward, allowing the melodious and soulful guitar riffs of Gary Clark Jr. to carry me through this dreadful voyage. I pictured myself in his place, jamming on stage, bellowing out the blues with all my heart and soul. If I had been blessed with the lungs and vocal cords of a soul singer, Lisa Fisher perhaps, I would not have been a full-time environmentalist. I would have been a singer who cares deeply about the environment. Fisher’s vocals in Gimme Shelter mesmerize me every time I play that song. These were the thoughts that briefly took my mind off the gripping cold for a few moments before I snapped back into reality.

Pushing my broken dreams of becoming a soul sister to the back of my mind, I gazed down at the pathetic layer of snow that couldn’t even threaten to soak through my boots and taunt my warm, dry socks. The slushy, coffee colored snow reminded me of the coffee ice cream I loved as a kid. The fantasy of scooping up a handful and giving it a taste dissolved as soon as I envisioned a mouthful of grainy, salt laden snow.

My sudden self-induced craving for ice cream evaporated as soon as I spotted a figure walking towards me. It was a boy dressed all in black, with his hood pulled up around his pale face. I looked at him, waiting for his eyes to wander in my direction and acknowledge my presence. His eyes must have been frozen inside his head, because he did not seem to see me. If I hadn't been wearing my protective sunglasses to shield my eyes from the bright sunny reflection radiating off the snow, would my eyes have frozen inside my head just as they had for this poor boy? I smiled at him even though he couldn't see me, mostly in pity. The only person who saw me along my walk down Euclid, on this dangerously beautiful morning, was an elderly woman who reminded me of an old Russian grandmother wrapped up tight as a drum in her babushka. Her smile was so genuine, I could swear I almost started to feel my nose again.

My nose is always the first to complain of the cold, sending streams of mucus down my face in protest of the chilling temperatures.  After a few minutes in this freezing weather, I could barely tell if the tissue I used to soak up my snot was coming in contact with the end of my nose at all. I could only estimate this by watching my hand approach my face. After that I could only hope the tissue was fulfilling its purpose.

Each fingertip screamed in protest as I wiggled my fingers inside my pocket to cram the slimy tissue into my jacket. Today I opted to wear my stylish, fitted brown leather gloves for the long walk to school. My hands were in agony, but I least they looked awesome as I suffered in silence. As much pain as my face and hands were experiencing, it was an absolutely gorgeous morning, just as my roommate had proclaimed. A gorgeous, but potentially lethal morning.

At some point along my winter stroll, I spotted a crate of perfectly edible tangerines resting near a garbage can by the curb. I stopped, looked over my shoulders to see who was watching, and stared at the tangerines for a few seconds. The temptation to pick up that crate was so intense, I could feel my body pulling me closer, even as my mind hesitated. A million questions immediately pulsed through my mind. Who would throw out such a bounty of fresh fruit and why? Have the oranges been manipulated in some way; possibly injected with horrible, body-paralyzing poisons? Is there a psychology student peering from behind a curtain to watch and make note of passersby who notice the orange fruits? Unsure of the life story the crate of oranges bore, I passed them up, hoping I made the right call and wondering if I was a little bit crazy.

Continuing onward, my journey was coming to a close as I approached the edge of school property. I gaped at the big, yellow Syracuse Banana truck as it swiveled around a curve in the road. For some reason I love seeing this truck, mostly because Syracuse banana seems like such an oxymoron. I would love to know where exactly I can find bananas growing in Syracuse. This thought planted an abnormally wide smile across my face, and the tall, skinny girl who brushed by me probably wondered who I just murdered.

Chuckling to myself, I accidentally choked and rapidly inhaled large amounts of air into my supposedly asthma-free lungs. After recovering from my choking fit, my nasal passages burned as freezing air rushed in and out as I worked to calm my breathing. The painfully cool weather, leaving me breathless with a single, powerful gust of wind, reminded me that as cool as I felt stomping along to the beat of the music, I would be way cooler if I were stranded in the Arctic, having froze to death.