Ilona's+Memoir



Most days, I would wake up to the sound of the living-room television blasting, or my brothers pounding on the ceiling, expressing their anger towards the new video boss they had just encountered and could not defeat. But, on school days it would always be my mom’s voice telling me to get up. Not on this particular school day, though. This day I woke to my Rottweiler-German Shepard, Sara, barking at my brother Matt, who must’ve been fifteen at the time. I was, most likely, eight. I tried to glance at the clock to see what time it was, but it was too dark. Groggily, I opened my bedroom door and walked up to my brother. “…What’s going on?” I asked. “C’MON, LOOK OUT THE WINDOW!”. As I attempted to, I realized that I was too short to look out any of the windows. While I headed to the kitchen to get a stool, my crazy brother flung me up and pressed my face to the window, before plopping me down on the ground, screaming “ SNOW DAY!”, and running downstairs.

Awwww…I was going to miss art class…while on the other hand I wouldn’t have to see Mrs. Kearsing for the day, which I was thankful for. I brought the stool from the kitchen into the living room and placed it near the front door to get a better look. The snow was so pretty. It was falling violently and rapidly, and kept adding inches onto the already thick, marshmallow like blanket of snow. I silently hoped that the sun wouldn’t come out, and that there wouldn’t be much activity on Elm Street for the day. I was worried that too many cars or people would get the snow mushy, brown, and ugly, and would also ruin the “prettyfulness”. I also worried that if the sun came out it would cause an ugly glare and the clashing of the cold and warmth, which I absolutely despised. I realized that it would probably be best if I went outside now, to avoid it.

I rushed to my room and put on a sweater, a sweatshirt, a giant winter coat, a hat, some gloves, about 50 pairs of socks, some sweat pants, and some boots. I could barely move in all of it, but I guessed it would probably keep my mom from ranting about how I’m underdressed and would get sick, which I always tried to avoid. I made my way down the stairs and to my brothers’ room at a snail’s pace, due to my clothes. My brother Matt was basically being an idiot while my brother Luke, 16 at the time, was still sleeping. “Hey Matt, wanna build a snowman?” I asked, already knowing his answer. “Sure!” he shouted, rattling my ear drums. Before my poor ears could recover, he was already out the back door. When I finally made it outside, I realized Matt was actually wearing jeans. I mean, this kid wore nothing but shorts the whole year round, except for the occasional Sunday when my mom yelled at him for always wearing shorts to church.

And so, the countless tries of making a successful snowman began… and failed. Probably thanks to me, since I kept making giant snowballs that, when stacked on top of the other, would pulverize the one underneath. After about my eighth try I was covered in snow, and forced by my angry mommy to stay inside the rest of the day because apparently, she was going to take care of me when I got sick. I spent the rest of the day watching boring T.V. shows.

Eventually, there was nothing good left on TV, so I looked out the window and was immediately blinded by the bright blue sky and glaring snow. I closed the window and turned around, only to turn back towards the window after hearing a loud thump. There was a giant snowball splattered all over it, blocking everything outside from my site. I opened my window, and noticed a tiny mound on top of all my deceased snowmen. The tiny mound was complete with tiny rock “buttons”, rock eyes, a baby carrot nose, and stick arms. And Matt and Luke were sitting next to it, writing on a pail. They placed the pail on the snowman’s head and turned the writing towards me. “Johnny the Snowman. I smiled to myself. They knew that I disliked the name Johnny.