COLDEST DAY OF THE YEAR | Fiction by Mario Aliberto III

Warren and Leigh waited for their father beneath coronas of streetlights, giant snowflakes flurrying like locusts swarming the neighborhood, their fingers icicles within their mittens, when that car passed again, headlights first, a blue sedan with chains wrapped so tightly around its tires they didn’t so much as jingle, pausing in front of their house with a squeak of brakes, idling engine competing against the sounds of neighbors’ shoveling sidewalks, before driving on, allowing Warren to admire the snowball in the palm of his hand, perfectly shaped, while Leigh’s were lumpy and always broke apart, the children thankful their father never turned away from a snowball fight, as long as he was in a good mood, knowing as soon as his Camaro pulled into the driveway, they would open fire, so they watched the driveway, they waited, as the blue sedan with the chained tires crept by again, and Leigh held two fingers to her lips, inhaled, and blew out a grey plume of ice-cold breath, imitating their mother, at which time Warren chastised Leigh and she pouted and hit him with a snowball, and he was about to push her into a snow drift when they heard someone

cough,

and a hunched figure lurched from the shadows along the sidewalk where the streetlights couldn’t reach, the snowball slipping from Warren’s grasp, and he groped for Leigh’s hand and pulled her swiftly behind the house, as the stranger kept to the shadows walking up the driveway,

cough

cough

coughing

raggedly into a hand, kicking through their pile of snowballs, continuing towards the side of the house where they kept their garbage cans, a sliver of light through the kitchen window of the house casting a yellow slit over his back, and the children watched as the stranger lifted the metal lid off a can, unzipped his jacket, heard the rustling sound of a plastic bag, and as the stranger turned, the light caught his face, illuminating a golden mustache and fogged eyeglasses, cheeks streaked with dry, rusty blood, not a stranger at all but their father, and as the blue sedan

rolled

slowly

by

their father stepped back into the shadows, all the while snow continued to fall and collect on their shoulders, the children holding their breath as their father bent down, picked up some snow, and rubbed it on his cheek, clearing away the blood, and Leigh packed a snowball together, seizing the opportunity to take her target by surprise, but Warren whispered, No, and yet Leigh cocked her arm, and just as she was about to release, Warren clubbed her on the back, her snowball landing with a soft plop at her feet, and their father disappeared into the house, which allowed Warren an opportunity to creep to the garbage can, as the wind picked up, and snow fell in powdery gusts, sending a shiver down Warren’s spine, and he lifted the garbage can lid, listened for their father, retrieved the plastic bag, and opened it, revealing a

folded stack of twenties,

loose crumpled fives,

singles stained with blood,

a gun,

and Warren returned the bag to the garbage can, followed by Leigh taking his hand, or he took hers, when of course the blue sedan with the chains on its tires coasted by with the steady crunch of snow, headlights off, veering to the left, tires turning, as if to pull into the driveway but changing its mind last second, at the same time a snowplow lumbered from the opposite direction, throwing enormous waves of snow with its blade, and after it passed, the blue sedan was gone,

so the children ran inside, into the heat of the kitchen, a mass of jelly the children had to push through, instantly warming their cheeks, where their father held their mother close to him, dancing, twirling her around the kitchen,

and Warren noticed the cut on his cheek was only a scratch, blood washed away, and their mother turned up the volume on the radio by the sink, Latin music, and she snatched the children up and balanced Warren on one hip and Leigh on the other and she cha-cha’d around the kitchen and the children held on tight as she spun them around stamping a beat along to the music and the music sped up and she spun faster and faster and the children grew lightheaded and soon their mother was laughing and the children couldn’t help but laugh and even their father began to clap and laugh along and soon everyone was laughing and the laughter and the music and the dancing and the spinning were everything and the song ended but their mother kept spinning and spinning and the children were dizzy, so dizzy, and the doorbell rang

the doorbell rang

the doorbell rang.

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