Short story: ‘Traditionally’

By Brooke Casal

The soft flurries swirled through the air, stray flakes sticking to the windowsill. Thelma looked out the window of her apartment to see the fresh snow covering the trees like a blanket. Warmth radiated from the cup of hot chocolate in her hand as she sipped it. Her eyes dropped down to her boots, to the box of clothes and the age-worn tools sitting on top. Tonight was the night.

Every winter, for as long as Thelma could remember, her family would walk to the park together after getting hot chocolates to build their collection of snowmen. The display of the snowmen made it like an outdoor gallery. They had a theme for the snowmen’s clothes, and every year their snowmen ended up in the local paper. Their family were minor celebrities, her dad used to joke. People in the neighborhood made it a tradition to tour that section of the park. Sometimes their neighbors would try to get an early word of the theme, but Thelma’s family never budged. Surprise was in the tradition, too. Surprise, truly. This year, too, though in a different, decidedly worse way. A few months ago, Thelma’s parents retired. They ’d moved away from the city. They no longer could keep up with it, they said.

It was time they settled somewhere more relaxing, they said. Her older brother, Myron, moved away to California after being offered a job right out of college. Atlas, Thelma’s younger brother, coming home from Colorado for break, would be staying with their parents.

So it was just her here.

For months Thelma had asked for the help of her neighbors, who had fans of the tradition. No one offered their support or ideas. She knew that the neighbors heard. She knew that they made other plans, too, to fill that block in the schedule where her family used to be. Vanished from the picture, really, just like they have vanished from the city. As the winter months grew closer and the days got colder, the idea of abandoning the tradition became more desirable. Then came the first snowfall, and Thelma found herself looking outside and thinking. Thinking and planning. Finally, she took pen to paper and started sketching.

Traditionally, Thelma and her family would go to thrift stores and scout out the clothes they wanted, but her family wasn’t here anymore. If she was on her own, the clothes might, too, be her own. So for a month, the apartment hummed with the noises of rustling fabric, clicking buttons, and the buzzing sewing machine.

Pulling on her coat and boots, Thelma picked up her box of clothes and walked out the door. The cold outside bit at her cheeks as she followed the streetlamps to the familiar ground. Thelma got to work, setting the box on a fresh pile of snow and pulling on her thick gloves. First came the bases, all varying sizes for different heights of snowmen. She worked diligently and carefully, changing out her gloves whenever her fingers started to go numb, and eventually shoved hand warmers into her gloves in an attempt to keep her hands warm. It didn’t quite work, but she ignored the cold. What she also ignored was the absence, the absence of Mom and Dad and Myron and Atlas, running and throwing snowballs cracking bad jokes, all around her.

Naked snowmen filled the clearing. The urge to fall asleep in a soft pile of snow crept into her mind, but Thelma shook it away and turned to the box. Dressing the snowmen was much easier than building them. Soon enough, the faceless snowmen were clothed and smiling, like an odd, lively crowd in the dark. Picking up the now-empty box, Thelma began to walk home.

She didn’t so much walk to the park the next morning as flew to it. The usual crowd was already there — it seemed like they hadn’t filled that spot in the schedule, after all. The snowmen’s Hawaiian shirts and straw hats lit up, neon-like in the crowd of dark winter clothes. One of her neighbors saw her and waved.

“Thelma, you did this? The clothes and all?” 

Thelma nodded. “Couldn’t get anyone to help out.”

“They look amazing!” her neighbor said. “Listen, if you’re looking to recruit some help, I know a few people who’d love to join for next year.”

Join? The snowmen lit up the corner of her vision. Thelma stared at them, her own handiwork, her first bunch of snowmen who had not met her parents and brothers. She turned back to the neighbor, who stood and waited.

“Yeah, you know what,” she began to smile, “I’d like that.”