it snowed.  merry christmas.
i miss the day when i was too young to shovel the snow.
though i don’t remember that day. i miss it just the same.
i think i was 3 when my mom put me in my snow suit and handed me a shovel.
“go help your dad” she said.
“okay” i would say as i cried. tears racing down my icy cheeks, falling in to moisten chapped lips.
and i would shovel. and i would feel alone.

i don’t like my mom right now.
“alyssa. dry your hair, put some clothes on, we have to shovel.”
“where is clara? where is dad?”
“not here. grab a shovel.”

this year with the 12 inches of snow that my driveway received, is also the first year my neighbor gets to spend without her husband.
and i wish my heart could go out to her.
but i don’t understand why it should.
life threw her a curveball.
whoopdie fucking do.
at 81, mr. ass crack of dawn lawn mower, and twice a week grass waterer was hit by an illegal alien as he was cruising on his harley.
is life fair? no.
but it was his time.

and as i shovel the snow.
the snow that depresses me.
that kills me.
that hurts my feelings.
i wonder why i am the only one shoveling her driveway.
why i feel alone.
and when she comes out the door and calls my 15 year old bunny loving sister over to give a twenty dollar bill, i hold back laughter as i watch my sister accept it with glee.
we do not accept money from elderly widows.
it’s not the way of the world.
silently i wish i could have taken the money from her and lied to the world.
i would have said, “thank you. this is more than i made yesterday at my dinner shift.”
but no. my mom returns the cash and i continue to shovel.
there is no kindness in my heart.
but an obligation to serve my neighbor.
she can not help that the prejudice in her didn’t take her life with her husbands.
she can not help that her husband was anti-gun, anti-war, anti-suicide. but pro waking up at 3 o’clock in the morning to shovel the snow before it actually piled to 12 inches.

suddenly something comes over me, and as i move some snow, i wonder why i would ever want the married excuse to move into a house.
why? so that i could shovel 20 times a year, and then grow children so that they could do it for me?
why would i want a husband only if he is going to die, and leave me with that house.
so that i have to pay my neighbors to shovel.
then swallow my pride when they return the cash back to me.

i want an apartment in the city.
or a yard made of sand.
and a husband that is good at things like:
sex,
ignoring me,
and football watching.
sounds like a fulfilling life.

i wish i could have a better heart.
a heart that gets pleasure from serving my alive neighbor because her dead husband will be pushing up daisies come this spring.
a heart that enjoys going with my friends and feeding homeless people a couple days before christmas.
i might tell you the idea of doing that, makes me cry and the act of doing it, makes me want to complain.
and i do.
and get yelled at for having no soul.
i have a soul.
not for the homeless.
not for africa.
sure i gave money to them for my church’s annual “giving beyond ourselves” drive.
sure i made sure everyone knew that i did.
“look see what i did! i am so good. i care about aids, and starving people and potbellies, and giraffes. i wear a one bracelet.”
i don’t care. i do. but no.
and i am a bad person. because i have no heart.
but i look like i do.
i look like i am grand.
i look like a give two shits for my neighbor, and those homeless people that i only judge for being homeless.
i look like like i give beyond myself. but i don’t.
what do i care for?
that is something that i think you should figure out on your own.
to tell you is cliche and stupid.
and as i finish up the last shovel full of snow.
and my mom lays down one more remark about how i am an alcoholic, smoker, bi-polar, skank.
i am glad that i could do this one thing for humanity.
that when my neighbor goes to sleep and wakes up one more time without the only life she has known sleeping besides her.
she will know that someone cares.
and me and her.
we aren’t so different.

we are both alone today.