A breakfast like no other

By Lisa A. Eramo

When the wind is howling, the icicles are growing, and the snow is swirling in an improvisational and maddening dance, the last thing you want to do is go outside. We had resigned ourselves to the fact that we were snowed in.

You could practically see the cold in the air. This was evidenced by the fact that even the trees were shivering, their bare branches seeming to beg for cover. A snowman in the distance had lost his eyes and nose, and the sidewalks had long since disappeared under the erasure-like whiteness that silenced the ground.

We were definitely not going anywhere, we said.

We couldn't even if we had wanted to. The snow, with its quiet command, had forced us both to simply sit and watch the spellbinding show. We hadn't bought tickets to the performance, yet we somehow found ourselves with a front row seat. And with that, we allowed ourselves to settle into a leisurely morning of scrambled eggs, hash browns, gazing out the window at the confetti-like crystals.

There was a man across the street who had particularly captured our attention. His car was stuck in the snow. We didn't know how long he had been there, but judging by his plethora of energy and optimism, it probably hadn't been long. Most others would have called AAA in a storm like this, not having the patience (or layers of clothing) to deal with the howling winds and bone chilling temperatures.

The man's car sat low to the ground, its wheels spinning in smoke as he tried to rock his way out of the driveway. At first, he welcomed the challenge. Shovel in hand, a grin on his face and barely so much as a sweatshirt on his back, he circled countless times around the perimeter of the car, swiping and digging at the snow with each step that he took. His muddy work boots plummeted in and out of the white stuff, punching holes where he walked.

My partner and I sat in awe. We felt horrible for him, yet neither one of us were willing to don our coat and hat and offer him our best neighborly handshake. We much preferred the warmness of our apartment and the coziness of our bath robes.

The man was working hard. He piled the snow onto the shovel's red edge, heaved it over his shoulder, and then went back for more...over and over again. Once satisfied with his efforts, he crawled inside his car to start the ignition, sure that his sweat and toil would do the trick. And with each attempt, his wheels only spun harder and with more force. This went on for nearly 15 minutes.

I wonder where he's going, I said. And why he needs to get out on a day like this.

He's probably going to work, my partner said, a forkful of scrambled eggs dangling in front of her open mouth.

What do you think he does, I said.

Construction worker, she said, without hesitation, her eyes focusing intently on him so as not to miss a beat.

Another five minutes had passed. And still the wheels were spinning.

Watching someone from within the comfort and safety of your own home is like watching TV...except that it's entertainment uninterrupted by commercials. Having moved here only seven months ago, we still didn't know very many of our neighbors, and so to us, they were each their own unique (and sometimes disturbing) sitcoms or game shows.

Today, we had no idea who the man was, where he had intended to go on this blistery and treacherous morning, or what he might have been thinking had he been aware of the fact that he had a captive audience starting at him through the dancing steam of two freshly brewed coffees. That made our show all the more imaginative.

The man continued to start the ignition, step on the gas, and watch as the smoke from his tires formed a cloud around his car. His car began to budge, but only just a bit...enough so that he was halfway into the street--an odd and dangerous predicament to be in, for sure.

Oh gosh, I wonder what he's thinking right now, I said. Do you want some more coffee?

Yeah, I don't know why he doesn't go ask the guy down the street for some help, my partner said. Sure, I'll take mine with some creamer.

I bet he's doing it for his girlfriend and has a lot of pride--too macho to go inside and ask for help, I said.

He must be freezing, my partner said.

Nearly 30 minutes had elapsed, and the man was visibly upset.

My partner and I were on the edges of our seats, our noses practically pressed up against the glass of the windows.

What if he looks up and sees us, she said.

Shhh...just calm down. Have another hash brown, I said. This is going to get good.

Popcorn would be perfect right now, she said.

The man was angry and probably cold, too. His shovel flew through the air as he threw it in a fit of rage. He kicked at the snow around his tires, shaking his head in disbelief as the snowflakes around him continued to fall, inspiring him with their madness. I'm sure he was swearing under his breath, but the howl of the wind must have drowned it out.

He got back inside his car, and his wheels began to spin. This time, however, he reversed it and then gunned forward, propelling himself out onto the street.

Oh my gosh! I think he made it, my partner said.

His car nearly spun into another snowbank with the force of a fist, but the man had gained control just in time for him to swerve across the intersection and speed off into the distance like fly that had just loosened itself from a widow's web.

My partner and I clanked our coffee mugs and toasted to the man and his car, celebrating our contestant's victory.