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The snow falls down in frenzied flurries around Water’s head. It’s not the first time it’s snowed this winter, but it’s definitely the biggest snow they’ve had so far. As far as she can see, the world is blanketed in that cold, muffling white- a blinding white disguise against the cruelty this world can hold sometimes. Water doesn’t care about all that, though. All she cares is that it’s snowing !
It’s finally outside time at Water’s daycare, and after staring at the snow from the warmth of the inside all day, Water is thrilled to finally get out and be able to play in it. And with her best friend, nonetheless!
Well, she thinks of him as her best friend. She’s not sure if the feeling is mutual.
Owen is a hard person to read. Water’s only five years old, but she’s had plenty of practice figuring out people’s emotions. She has to, or else she’ll say something wrong and her dad will get angry and she won’t be allowed to have dinner again. So usually, Water is good at telling how people are feeling. But with Owen, it’s hard. He’s like a blank slate most of the time- the only time he shows much emotion is when he’s upset, and then he cries for hours on end. But apart from that? He just buries his nose in books and reads as much as his four-year-old self can manage, which is more than Water, that’s for sure. She can barely work her way through a single sentence.
“Owen!” Water sees him across the playground as he steps out of the daycare building, arms pulled close to himself in a puffy coat. She runs up and takes his hands in hers, smiling widely. “Look at the snow!”
Water can’t be sure, but she’s pretty sure that a smile finds its way onto Owen’s face when she greets him. He nods, and doesn’t take his mittened hands from her bare ones. Owen cranes his head all around, taking in the white that buries the playground in a layer of magic, eyes wide with a sort of awe Water hasn’t seen there before.
“It’s really beautiful,” Owen says, voice resting at its usual, barely audible volume. Owen’s eyes turn to Water, and his eyebrows crease. “Why don’t you have a coat?”
“My parents don’t have money for one,” Water says, shrugging and glancing away. “Plus, I don’t need one anyway. I’m not cold.”
“Are you sure?” Owen’s concern is nice, and it makes Water warm inside, but she doesn’t need help. She’s not supposed to need help.
“Yeah,” Water confirms, deciding she is done with the conversation. She then changes the subject, letting go of one of Owen’s hands and using the other to guide him into the field. There she kneels, taking some snow in her bare hands and melding it into a ball. It’s cold, and her eyes well with tears at the sting of it, but she does her best not to show it. Showing emotion is bad, that’s what her dad always tells her. It’s the number one rule. “Look, Owen! This is called packing snow. You can make it into little balls.”
Owen drops to his own knees, and due to his thick snow pants, Water’s sure that his legs aren’t as soaked-through and cold as hers in her thin, ragged leggings. He experiments a little, taking the stuff and making it into a rough spheroid, before rolling it through the snow beneath it. The snow gloms onto it, making it bigger.
“Water, do you wanna make a snowman?” Owen’s voice is a little louder than usual, and he makes eye contact, which is good. Water cocks her head, eyebrows furrowing.
“What’s a snowman?”
“It’s when you have three balls of snow, like this-” Owen presents the ball of snow he’d been rolling around “-and you stack them on top of each other, the biggest one on the bottom and all the rest on top. And you put a face on him, and he’s your friend!”
Water’s eyes widen. “That sounds fun,” she says. “Can we make one?”
Owen nods. “I read about how to do it in a magazine at the dentist’s office,” he explains. “There was a whole article, and it was really enlightening .”
“What does that word mean?” Water asks. Like usual, she doesn’t know half the words Owen does. It’s ‘cause he reads so much, she’s certain.
Owen hums, putting a mittened hand to his chin. “It’s… hmm. It means that it made me think and it gave me new ideas.”
“So- so you would be enlightening ?” Water asks, trying out the word. It feels foreign on her tongue. “‘Cause you’re so smart and you always have new things to tell me about.”
To Water’s surprise, Owen’s face bursts into a grin. “Yeah! Yeah, I would be enlightening!” His voice is loud as he continues rolling his ball of snow. “Because I’m helping you learn so many new words.”
Nodding, Water takes some snow into her own hands, hissing involuntarily as the pain of the cold twists down her fingers. She takes the ball and runs it through the snow on the ground, and sure enough, it begins picking up more of the stuff and growing in size. It hurts , though, and before she can make much progress, Water has to massage her hands to her chest
“Water, don’t hurt yourself,” Owen cuts in, grabbing Water’s wrists and keeping her from delving her hands back into the snow. “I can just make it.”
“But I wanna make the snowman,” Water protests loudly, and her eyes well with tears. She crosses her arms and glares at Owen, feeling hurt. “I- I wanna help.”
Owen sighs and stares down at his own hands, conflicted, before he pulls off one of his expensive mittens and hands it to Water. “Here. Only roll the snow with this hand, or else you might get frostbitten.”
“Okay!” Water smiles brightly, sadness forgotten. She doesn’t know what ‘frostbitten’ is, but the way Owen said it makes it sound really bad, and she doesn’t wanna get it. So she follows his advice, and only delves into the snow with her mittened hand. “Thanks!”
Owen nods, a cautious little smile growing on his lips. “No problem.”
In no time, the two of them have a snowman standing in front of them. He’s not tall- just about as high as Water’s chin- and his head is too big, and he’s wobbly. In Water’s eyes, though, he’s completely perfect.
Owen tells her to grab some branches for arms, so Water walks over to the old oak tree and looks on the ground until she finds two perfect, gnarled limbs. She sticks them into the snowman’s front so it looks like he’s reaching out for something. At first, Owen seems dissatisfied with her positioning, but eventually he seems to come to the decision that it’s okay, actually.
They find pebbles for the eyes and the nose, and Owen methodically lines some gravel up in a curve at the bottom of the snowman’s face for a smiling mouth. And for the final touch, Owen pulls the knitted hat off of his head and presses it onto the snowman’s. Water likes the snowman. Water likes him a lot.
“He looks so friendly,” Water remarks, voice hushed with awe as she stares at her and Owen’s creation.
Owen nods fiercely. “He’s reaching out to give us a hug.” Then his face falls, crumpling. “I wish I could actually hug him, but he’d just fall apart. Because he’s not real.”
Something in Owen’s voice is just so heartbreaking to Water. It sounds like he doesn’t get to be hugged a lot, and neither does she. And that’s not fair! Water’s young, but she knows that kids are supposed to be loved and cared for. It’s not fair that she and Owen aren’t allowed that privilege.
“I could hug you,” Water offers, uncharacteristically shy in her offer. “Because the snowman can’t.”
Owen stares at her, and for a moment, Water is scared that she’s ruined things. Scared that Owen is gonna shake his head and walk away, or push their snowman over, or do any one of a thousand hurtful things that would leave Water alone and crying (like she already so often is). But then Owen barrels into her chest, and Water wraps her arms around him tightly, instinctively- holding onto him like he’s the only lifeline she has.
“You’re my best friend, Water,” Owen mutters into Water’s chest, voice muffled by the thin sweater she wears.
Water’s face breaks into a smile. “You’re my best friend too, Owen.”
And she really does mean it.