The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

29⎜The Snow

29⎜The Snow

           “Can you hear me, Mom?” I questioned, wondering how the older generations were even going to be able to survive in few years with their evident technological ineptness.

           She tapped on her camera so that all I could see was her finger, and then removed it, smiling lazily as she uttered a confused, “What, sweetie?”

           “Can you hear me?” I reiterated, knowing that it wasn’t the connection on my end. I could see and hear her perfectly fine. If anyone, she was definitely the one doing something wrong.

           “Speak up a little, will you, Eric?” she requested. She began to fiddle with some of the keys on her keyboard (the sound was distinct enough for me to discern), and then grinned broadly at a discovery she had made. “Sorry! The volume wasn’t up all the way!”

           I sighed, and then laughed. “So, are we all good?”

           “Yes!” she determined. “I can hear you, and also see your beautiful face. So, how have you been?”

           “Good,” I told her, mutely wondering what people did before video chatting. Sure, when I was younger the advances hadn’t quite been made yet, but that was a simpler time. Now, I couldn’t even imagine a world without iPhones and FaceTime and Skype and Facebook and all those amazing things. It was a pretty great time to be alive.

           “And with you’re, uh, problem?” she prompted. Right now, I was glad that she hadn’t said “drug addiction.” There were other people in the room. One of whom didn’t know that he had been rooming with an addict for the past few months. And I intended on keeping it that way.

           “Fine,” I replied, “and how have you been, Mom?”

           “Okay, but I miss you so much!” she expressed in sincerity. “Ooh! It’s actually snowing right now!”

           “What type of snow?”

           “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” exclaimed my dear roommate, rushing over to where I was situated, at my desk. He came into the shot, and then demanded an explanation: “What do you mean ‘what type of snow’? There’s only one type of snow! It’s snow! Well, unless we’re talking about the other white, powdery stuff, like, cocaine or whatever, but it’s snow! How can there be more than one type?!”

           “Mom, this is my roommate, Seth,” I briefly introduced the boy who had just interjected very strongly about the topic at hand. “Clearly, he has lived in California his entire life.”

           “Just ‘cause I’ve lived in Cali all my life doesn’t mean a thing!” he pressed on. “It’s scientifically impossible for there to be more than one type of snow. It’s all…snow!”

           “Actually, you’re wrong,” said a rainy voice. I was surprised that she was intervening, but technically she was from the East Coast, so her testimony was totally valid.

           Seth shot her his best “I’m-majoring-in-some-sort-of-science-or-engineering-thingy-that-no-one-else-on-the-planet-understands-so-don’t-tell-me-I’m-wrong” look. “How?”

           Ari sluggishly meandered her way over to my desk, and then sat down on my lap. Now, my mom could see all three of us, and (unfortunately) also hear us. “There’s good snow,” Ari began to explain, “and there’s bad snow.”

           “But it’s all the same!” Seth exploded.

           Ari and I began to shake our heads profusely, protesting his false accusation. There was a very clear difference between good snow and bad snow. Good snow was fluffy and light and white and pure and didn’t kill your back when you tried to shovel it. Good snow was nice and beautiful and could cause snow days to occur, but wouldn’t knock down a tree or put out a lamppost. Bad snow was thick and heavy and white and icy and almost impossible to shovel. Bad snow was unpleasant and destructive and could cause power outages and was annoying. There was a difference. A big one.