Snow Angels
The average human body is comprised of 70% water. The average December low in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is 25⁰ Fahrenheit. Logically one could deduce therefore that the majority of people there spend the majority of the winter months in a permanently frozen state. Arnie Wallace wasn't a scientific man but even he knew this to be fact. His bones testified to the truth of the statement by continually creaking their approbation all through the long gray days and bitterly cold nights. Arnie Wallace wasn't a mathematical man but he estimated he was about 77 years old, and his bones again creaked their agreement with the calculation. During those long years, he had been and was an abandoned son, failed scholar, redundant steel worker, paroled thief, divorced husband, absent father , homeless drifter but never , not ever - a retired alcoholic! Alcohol, any kind of alcohol, was the only thing left worth living for. Arnie Wallace wasn't a chemical man but ethanol, CH₃CH₂OH , was the only thing that kept his blood above freezing point, his heart still beating, his hands still able to grasp, his survival instincts still ticking over. Arnie Wallace wasn't a religious man but, had he believed in God, he would have said that God had forsaken him. If his earthly father had left him, then why would a heavenly one perform any better? Arnie Wallace didn't pray. Arnie Wallace didn't meditate. Arnie Wallace tried not to think. Arnie Wallace survived. But in the rare moments when his brain remained unimpaired by carbonyl compounds, carboxylic acids, tannins and fatty acids, it chastised him for the son and daughter he never spoke to, the wife whose funeral he hadn't attended and the grandchild he had never seen. Arnie Wallace wasn't a philosophical man but had he been he would have said that a mind was a terrible thing. He wanted to switch his off and drown it in spirits, beer, liquor, booze-anything containing that precious compound ethanol. He hated sobriety, he hated consciousness, he hated his senses. Most of all, he hated being invisible. Arnie Wallace wasn't a humorous man but had he been he would have laughed at the irony that he, a homeless drunk, was more aware of other people than they were of him. How ridiculous, how hysterical was that!? How breathtakingly funny!? They, in all their sober prosperity, didn't see, hear, observe or notice him but, he, he noticed them. Whether he was sitting with his begging cup on Liberty Avenue or half-heartedly searching for still-burning cigarette butts along the sidewalk, he saw them walking briskly by with their eyes intently scanning through their cell phones, he saw them lumbering home with bags full of Christmas gifts, he saw their hurried hellos to friends and family waiting for them outside stores and restaurants. Today, he saw them confidently striding and celebrating as they left Heinz Field. Arnie Wallace wasn't a betting man but had he been he would have wagered that the Steelers had just won their game over Baltimore. Arnie Wallace wasn't a traitorous man but he was definitely past caring about football. Before alcohol had become his chief cheerleader, Arnie Wallace had celebrated and feted the triumphs of Mean Joe and the boys with the best of them, but now he only came near the new stadium in the hopes of making a few dollars from generous fans in the mood for charity after victory. So far, they hadn't disappointed-he almost had enough for a bottle of 'Jack Daniels' – a Southerner and probably a Titan man but what did he care? Arnie Wallace wasn't a cordial man, but he would drink with anyone, anywhere regardless of team loyalty or allegiance! It was bitingly cold and windy outside the stadium although the sky was a cloudless, sheer, metallic blue. Arnie Wallace wasn't a poetic man but had he been he would have said that it exactly matched the eye color of the little blonde girl who had just placed $10 in his tin cup. The little girl smiled shyly at him, wished him "Happy Holidays, Sir!" and ran back to her companions with her curly hair bouncing in the breeze. She was with a man and teenage boy who appeared locked in some disagreement regarding dinner plans.
As he placed a black and yellow beanie on the girl's head, the man was saying: "No, Nick, for the tenth time we're not having Christmas dinner at Goal Line!"
"Yeah, Nick," agreed the girl, "Goal Line is not classy!"
"Well, what is, Your Majesty? Where would Cinderella eat?" the boy asked sarcastically.
"At the palace! Why can't we go to Grandma's?"
"Because we spent Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve there! A little Grandma goes a long way!"
"Ok, stop it you two! Let's see if there's anywhere else nearby." The man seemed bewildered and at loss what to do next as he looked around.
Arnie Wallace wasn't a cruel man but back in the day, he would have socked his kids around the ears if they got outta line like that. You couldn't do that these days though! No wonder the little brats were so unruly! Had he not been homeless, invisible and stinking from the lack of a decent wash since Thanksgiving, Arnie Wallace would have suggested to the man that he threaten the kids with the cancellation of dinner altogether. He immediately chastised himself for that thought though; after all he had the little girl to thank for her contribution to his 'Jack Daniels' Christmas Fund'! The wind was becoming more and more gusty now so Arnie Wallace decided it was time he went in search of HIS dinner and a nice drop to accompany it. He would drink to the little girl and man's health but not the teenage boy's- he seemed like a complete little jag-off jerk! If Arnie Wallace remembered correctly (which he often didn't these days), there was a liquor store down near the Shore. He stumbled to his feet and began his pilgrimage down Art Rooney Avenue. Arnie Wallace wasn't a suspicious man but had he been he would have thought that a pale thin lady was following him, the man and the two children as they made their way along the street. Arnie Wallace wasn't a gallant man but he had noticed her earlier and would have said that she was ethereally beautiful. Arnie Wallace wasn't a sentimental man but had he been he would have sworn that that same lady's eyes had welled up with tears as she stood among the crowd and watched the little girl give the old homeless man $10. He would have sworn that her face broke into a warm, radiant smile as she listened to the heated banter between the girl and teenage boy. He would have sworn that she threw a flier for 'Little Red Corvette Restaurant' into the wind to land at the man's feet as he hopelessly scanned both sides of the street in search of an open eatery. Later, Arnie Wallace would have sworn that she stood in the wind and falling snow clad only in a wool sweater, jeans and red scarf watching through the window as the man and his children talked, laughed and ate their Christmas meal with the tunes of the Cranberries and Buffalo Tom playing in the background. But Arnie Wallace was neither scientific, mathematical, chemical, religious, philosophical, humorous, traitorous, cordial, poetic, cruel, suspicious, gallant nor sentimental. Arnie Wallace was just a man- an old, cold, sick, suffering, tired, cynical, scared, flawed man. Arnie Wallace was all of us. Arnie Wallace was human. Arnie Wallace was made of water. Snow is defined as frozen crystalline water. The melting point of snow is 32⁰Fahrenheit. At 8am on the morning of December 26th, 2016 the temperature in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania rose by 6⁰ to 34⁰ Fahrenheit. Not tropically warm, but warm enough for a man walking his dog at the Shore to find a red scarf lying on the candied grass beside Arnie Wallace's frozen body.