Martin and I
Every winter we go down to the old chateau. We used to bring Trip when he was little but when I was pregnant with Charlie, little Charlie, it was just too hard. I remember Trip used to call it our 'WinterPalace'. Just like the Russians, Martin used to tell him. Trip was always interested in history. Martin used to talk to him about the Russians in the Great War. The protests and the Tsar's winter palace. I couldn't even begin to comprehend that he even liked that stuff.
The whole drive up Trip was talking to Charlie about the WinterPalace. He talked the place up nicely. And she listened attentively, she was too young not to care. The world was an open book. Her chubby red cheeks and long and curly brown-red hair. She was gorgeous. I loved her to death. Still do.
Martin and I always wanted a baby girl. We were going to name her Winter, can you imagine? Winter Smith she'd be. We'd have made horrible parents back then, two drunken hippies looking after a kid. Look at Trip, I mean, it even shows on him. Times have changed. And for the better.
When we arrived the kids ran straight past the chateau and for the thick snow that stretched out behind the house. I was interrupted by Martin who refused to let me unpack the car.
"We need to spend more time with the kids."
He said. So we did. We closed the car doors and chased after them. Before too long I found myself exhausted from running around. Someone had to play with the kids, so being the loving wife I am, I sat and sipped on my coffee before he had the chance to escape.
Trip and Martin fought with snowballs. Those boys and their wars. Too much testosterone. We could always tell that about Trip. We used to say, Trip's gonna grow up to be a big man like daddy. It never occurred to us that he was still too little to even understand words. It occurred to me that I hadn't seen Charlie for a while. She was making snow angels in the ground – that feeling of making something out of nothing had left her confused and excited. She was learning, and she loved it.
I looked down to see what she was doing now. I jumped when I discovered sh had been standing less then a meter away. She was waiting for me to see her. She hadn't quite grasped the concept of saying 'hello' yet. But, she was still so cute.
She had something in her hand. She was cupping it. I had a feeling she was trying to show me something but I couldn't see it. It remained hidden by her tiny hands. Her hands were concealed inside thick snow gloves, it gave a similar effect to that of the 'baby sock'. Those cute baby socks you see in the super markets make one realise or reflect on a time where they were completely engulfed in a time of innocence. It was just beautiful.
She was holding a bug or something.
"What have you got there, C?"
C. It's what we called her. She used to giggle when she heard us use it. It stuck.
"I made it for you."
She smiled and blushed. Massive dimples pulled in her cheeks. Still her hands covered it. She was protecting it.
"What did you make?"
Slowly she opened her hands and revealed to me a small snowball. It was small, close examination revealed crystals coating the outside of it. That's all snowballs really are. Crystal balls. The sun reflected off it showing the true inner beauty of the gift.
"It's the prettiest snowball. I want you to have it so you can always 'member this place."
She placed the small ball carefully in my hands, fearful it might shatter if pushed too hard. It was gorgeous. A lame gift really. No. Not lame. No gift, no matter how small and common, from the hands of an innocent six-year old can ever be called lame. It was beautiful. It reflected her. She stood, head over my hands and examined it. She was proud of her creation. And so she should have been. It truly was beautiful. Martin and I created Charlie. Charlie created this. This was a reflection of all that is pure in the world. To any ordinary this thing would appear insignificant and pathetic. But it was made with love, it was made by Charlie, it meant something to her – so it meant something to me.
She moved and sat beside me. Now the sun shone directly on the ball. Slowly, over time, the ball's crystals cracked and melted slowly. Small droplets began to form on the surface of C's gift. I noticed, she hadn't. It was melting but I couldn't bring myself to tell Charlie until it was too late. She realised when it was at the point where it melted in half. It was no more than a mere pile.
I expected to turn around and see my daughter tearing up. But she sat confused.
"Why can't we fix it?"
She knew the snowball was beyond repair. We couldn't use more snow to rebuild it because it wouldn't be the same snowball. It wouldn't reflect the beauty the first had. Anyway, it would melt again.
"I'm sorry, Mummy."
It was okay. The moment was great, but it hadn't passed.
"No, Charlie. Thank you. Just because it's gone here doesn't mean it's gone here."
I pointed to Charlie's chest. It was something about love and hearts that made children understand. Maybe it was all that Hollywood. C, understood everything. She understood that even though it was gone, all the beauty and innocence of the moment was still present. It was present in Charlie.