Snow Angels

By Mary Sharry
Sun contributor
If Clyde didn’t hurry, he and Pearl would be late for the Christmas Eve candlelight service. Pearl waited at the foot of the stairs for him. From the top of the steps light from the lamp on their bedroom dresser streamed through the doorway. She called up to him, “Clyde, hurry on or we’ll be late.”
He mumbled something and she heard the rattle and pull of the dresser drawer, then a quick slam of the drawer. In an anxious voice Clyde hollered back down to her, “I can’t find my tie clasp. Where is it?”

“Well, I put it right on top of the dresser along with your tie. Hurry, for heaven’s sake.”
Pearl turned and looked toward the front door. She could see through the white nylon curtain that was stretched taut on rods at the top and bottom of the door. Through the shimmering cloth she saw snow falling beneath the glow of the street light.
If only Clyde would hurry. Christmas Eve candlelight service meant a great deal to Pearl. She loved the solemnity and quiet joy that filled the church, and the faces aglow as candles were lit one by one. She already had on her green wool coat and galoshes. Her black purse was slung over her arm. In it she had tucked in a few extra dollar bills in case Clyde forgot the tithing envelope. She always kept a roll of mint Life Savers handy, too. She might pop a mint into Clyde’s mouth if she thought he was going to tell his old story about when he was a boy on the farm and how he and his brother were chased by the bull. Why he had to keep telling her that same old story was something she could not understand. He never told it to anyone else.
At last Clyde was ready. He patted his lapel pocket where he had placed his offering envelope, put on his overcoat, and followed Pearl out the door and down the front steps to their old Buick parked in the carport.
They slid onto the cold seats. Clyde turned the starter and the car coughed to a start. For a moment they sat in the darkness and listened as the engine warmed. Then Clyde turned on the headlights, revved the engine a bit, At last, they were on their way. The new fallen snow created slickness on the pavement and the tires spun a little as they headed down the road.
“Now don’t drive too fast,” Pearl reminded. “We want to arrive safely rather than not at all.” She hummed a little bit of Joy to the World. Clyde turned the radio on and Pearl pursed her lips. She glanced at his speedometer. The needle pointed to 40. “Clyde, you don’t have to drive so fast.”
“I’m only going 35.”
“You’re going 40.”
The car was on the highway headed toward Traverse City, ten miles to the south. Now the snow fell heavily and quickly and buried their car tracks. Pearl didn’t want to let Clyde know she was afraid that they were not going to arrive in time for the start of the service. She didn’t like to ride with him when he thought he was late for something.
Clyde pushed on the accelerator and Pearl felt the surge of the engine. A pit formed in her stomach. The radio played Silent Night and Pearl hummed softly to herself. Clyde continued the steady pressure on the gas pedal. A deer darted in front of them. Clyde’s foot hit the brake. The back end of the car came up to where the front had been and they faced the direction from where they came and then they faced where they were headed, and then they spun completely around and slid sideways off the road. They came to an abrupt stop in a snow bank.
It all happened so fast. They sat in the front seat, amazed, unable to grasp any words or thoughts to say them. After a pause of dark silence, Clyde stepped on the gas pedal. The tires spun, but the vehicle didn’t go anywhere. Clyde put the transmission into reverse and the tires gave an icy whir. He threw the gear forward and then into reverse as he tried to rock the car out of the drift, but the old Buick just settled deeper and more comfortably into the snow.
Clyde opened the door and stepped knee-deep through the accumulating whiteness. Pearl’s voice scolded, “Just where do you think you’re going now?” He shut the door on her voice and walked to the front of the car. His hands were thrust deep into his overcoat pockets. He trudged to the rear of the car and tried to kick away the snow around the back tires. Maybe they could push themselves out.
“Pearl,” he called. Whether she heard him or not, she did not want to look at him. She kept her eyes straight ahead and stared deeply into the night. “Pearl, come out here.” Pearl didn’t budge. She fixed her gaze into the darkness. She thought she made out two headlights. They certainly were headlights, and they came from the direction Clyde and Pearl had come and were lighting the way toward the direction where they should go. She pulled the door handle, grabbed her purse, and stepped into the deep snow. She had to pull the hem of her coat high so she could move.
An enormous mass of whiteness swirled in the light that came toward them. Like an apparition in the night, ethereal puffs of vapor billowed their way. Once Pearl had seen a ballet and what she saw now reminded her of the deep blue lit stage and the dancers in white tulle costumes beneath the spotlights.
Pearl knew salvation when she saw it and the savior pulled to a stop right where they had slid off the road. This redeemer had an enormous humped backside that reminded her of an oversized beetle. It belched a heavy mixture of deliverance and repugnance.
Pearl looked up at the ghostly image and read the bold letters on its side: CEDAR DISPOSAL. The anointed one descended from the cab and stood right before Pearl. She beheld a huge grin on his face which was framed by dark curls of oily looking hair. In one hand he carried the end of a large chain the rest of which dragged behind him like a serpent lost in the snow. His white breath mingled with the vapor clouds of his headlights.
“It’s too bad. Looks like you’ve had a little accident.”
Clyde spoke from across the trunk of their car. “Why a deer ran out in front of us and when I braked, well, I’ll tell you. We spun. I couldn’t keep this thing on the road. We’re on our way to church. Candlelight, you know.”
The driver of the truck stepped around to the other side of their car and looked at the place where Clyde had tried to kick away some snow. Clyde walked over to Pearl and stood alongside her. The driver hollered over to them. “Here, I’ll get you out. You folks just stand over there.” He motioned to the far side of the road. He got down on his hands and knees and fastened the chain under their bumper. He pulled himself back up to his feet and assured them, “You’ll be on your way in no time.”
Pearl watched as he ascended into his truck cab. She watched what seemed to be a miracle as their car moved effortlessly out of the snowdrift. She thought about how they could be in church right now, if Clyde hadn’t driven so fast. She wouldn’t be here on the road along with a garbage truck on Christmas Eve. She imagined the poinsettias beside the altar and the tall white candles. The choir would have sung the processional hymn all the way to the chancel. She could almost hear Olivia’s strong operatic warble, and smell the heady fragrance of Dora-Mae’s perfume. She never liked the warble or the perfume, but she would rather be there than here in the snow with the smell of garbage. She was grateful, though, to be out of the snow bank, and so was Clyde.
Now their car was back on the highway, pointed in the direction toward the church. The driver climbed down from his cab and unhitched the tow chain.
Clyde asked, “This is unusual, isn’t it, for you to be out on Christmas Eve? You’re not out collecting garbage at this hour are you?
“Actually, I’m on my way to my brother’s to help him tow his car from a ditch. This truck serves more than one purpose,” said the driver, and he started to get back into the truck.
“Wait,” called Clyde. “Wait. I want to give you something.”
“Oh, that’s okay. This one’s on the house.”
“No sir.” Clyde reached inside his coat to his lapel pocket and pulled out the tithing envelope. He took the two $10 bills and fairly pushed them into the driver’s hand. “Please take this. We wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t. Please”
“Well, if you insist. Thank you very much. My daughter will be happy to find these in her Christmas stocking tomorrow morning.”
Clyde opened the door of the Buick for Pearl. She got in, and he closed her door and walked around to his side of the car. They drove on toward the city. The headlights from the garbage truck that followed made haloes around their heads.