Our Christmas Cookbook - 20. A Vision in Frost

A Vision in Frost

By Cole Matthews

Sandy tried hard not to listen. The shouting voices in the room below him were startling. His mother was using names he’d been told were bad. The man yelling back used words he didn’t really recognize, but the emotions behind them, driving them, were so awful, the young boy knew they were horrible too.

When the fights got this bad, he would try reading a book and sometimes that would silence the noises. Tonight, it wasn’t working. His mom was enraged at something her boyfriend had done. Her boyfriend was yelling back just as viciously.

That’s when he heard the crash downstairs.

Mudball, his cat, came racing into his room, terrified. The cat’s green-yellow eyes were round and glowing as it looked at Sandy for a split second, glistening in the overhead lights, and then it disappeared under his bed.

Sandy wished he could fit under there with him. Brushing back his locks, he picked up the book again, Beezus and Ramona, and continued to read about the siblings, wishing he had a sister. Even one like Ramona would be better than nothing.

After finishing the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, the librarian had suggested this one. It was old and kind of weird, but in some ways pretty cool. The sisters got along okay in spite of all the troubles.

“Motherfucking asshole!” He heard screamed from outside his door. Sandy quickly jumped next to the bed, keeping it between him and the entrance. He heard another crash, this one sounded like pottery of some kind smashing.

“I told you if you didn’t come over, I was done with you. Done!” his mother screeched.

“We’re over when I say, you slut,” the boyfriend bellowed and another crash sounded, this one making his door shake. “I’ll teach you to—“

Sandy covered his ears and started to cry. The tears wouldn’t stop. He felt every word they said to each other punch him in the gut. Rocking back and forth, he hid his face behind his knees covering his eyes, his worn jeans soft on his cheek.

“Get the fuck out, you fucking bastard,” his mother shrieked.

There was another crash.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? That way you could parade your fuck toys in and out, right bitch? Right?”

Sandy heard a thud against his wall. There was shuffling and then another thud.

Then stomping off.

He heard his mother crying.

Sandy didn’t want her to cry. He didn’t want to get hit either, in case things were still pretty hot. It felt bad and dangerous.

He sat behind his bed and waited. Listening carefully.

***

The Christmas tree wasn’t very big, and there weren’t many ornaments on it, but several of them were ones he’d made at school. These were fashioned from construction paper glistening with glitter. Some had pictures he’d harvested from old magazines. Some had ribbons or pieces of leftover toys from a box in his classroom. During art class, he liked to fashion stars with yellow paper reinforced with pipe cleaners and decorated with sparkling tinsel. Ever since Thanksgiving break, he’d been making an ornament a day to bring home and hang on the tree.

His mother would string some floss through a hole, hang his creation on the tree, and pat him lovingly on the head. “Even better this time,” she’d say.

Since his mother’s boyfriend had left, she was calmer, more loving and attentive. Oftentimes, after returning from school, she’d meet him at the front door with a hug, and they’d have hot chocolate and cookies. He’d tell her about Mrs. Warden and his good grades. Sandy could admit how some of the boys called him bad names. She’d cuddle him and tell him it would be alright.

His mother seemed happy, and he hoped it would stay that way, though the past told him a different story.

In the past after a breakup, she would be content for a time. Her best friend Sally would come over, and they’d watch movies, eat ice cream, and let him fall asleep on the couch. Sandy liked Sally. She was pretty and liked to play catch with him. Sally would come over and visit often. They had such fun making lasagna casserole and laughing. His mom would join in as they mixed the noodles, sauce, and cottage cheese. It felt so natural.

The good times never lasted long though.

His mother would go out, leaving him with a babysitter, usually Andrea Kelly. Andrea was a teenager from down the street. In front of his mother, she would plan games or start puzzles with him. When his mom left, she’d ignore him completely. Actually, he never minded that much except she was such a phony sucking up to his mother while completely neglecting him.

Anyways, his mother always, always brought home a new guy then. Maybe not the first time she went out alone, but not too many times afterwards. At first these guys were okay, in fact, some of them tried to make friends with him. Most ignored him. Almost all of them got into enormous fights with his mother, and then they’d be gone.

“What’re you thinking about?” his mom asked, interrupting Sandy’s thoughts.

“Nothing,” he answered automatically. She continued without comment.

“I’m going out tonight,” she said with a smile. “Is it okay if Andrea watches you?”

“Sure,” Sandy said, biting his bottom lip. It would be the whole thing all over again.

A question popped into his head. He wasn’t sure he should ask it. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Sandy tried to hold it in, but the idea was an expanding bubble in his gut, pressing from the inside, trying to get out. He closed his eyes to keep it in, but it was too much.

“Mom?” he finally uttered, looking at her. She was on the couch crocheting something, probably a scarf or an afghan.

“Yes, Sandy?” she asked. His mom paused and looked at him with all her attention.

“Um,” Sandy started, then lost his nerve.

“What is it?”

He couldn’t hold it back. It was like cramps that wouldn’t give up when he exploded, “Do you have to go out tonight?”

She looked stunned, somewhat aghast at his question. “I don’t HAVE to go out tonight. It’s Friday night and I wanted to relax a little with some friends.”

“Why can’t Sally come over instead?”

His mother frowned and shook her head. “Sally and I aren’t speaking right now. Besides, I’d like to meet a special friend.”

Sandy winced when she said ‘special friend’ because that was code for a new boyfriend. His mother’s eyes widened at his reaction. “Don’t be selfish, Sandy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with a pout. He could almost hear the crashing furniture and the screams echo back from the future.

***

The next morning, Sandy stood at the window with the cold radiating across his skin. The white-gold morning light was highlighting the patterns on the glass. Jack Frost had painted his impressions, etched his feelings in ice.

There were images of ferns drooping under an intricately woven fence. Bursts of daisies vied for attention with long blades of grass. The frozen configurations were breath-taking.

The boy reached out and tried to trace the lines of the shapes, but the warmth of his hand fogged and muddied the art. He pulled back and sighed deeply. Even his breath altered the outlines on the glass.

He stepped back again, and tried not to ruin it. Sandy’s finger was a curve that scarred the delicate frost. The boy looked from one side, to the other. His eyes were now watery from the morning sun’s glare. It made his sight double, then get wobbly and shift.

Blinking, Sandy started to make out a distinctive shape he hadn’t seen before. It was unique, and looked a little odd. He stepped closer once again and thought it showed two pairs of lips. They were pressed together, symmetrically aligned.

The boy blinked again, and this time he saw eyes in the icy glass, pointed not at him, but at another pair of eyes above the kissing lips.

Below these impossible faces, there were more curves, structures that he recognized. These shapes looked like people. He tilted his head, and curling hair appeared and a hand. It was the portrait of two people. Sandy shivered suddenly as he realized he’d seen this form before.

And just like that, the warmth of the morning sun had done its work. The filigree of the frost was melting, sliding, planing off the surface of the window. The morning sun was warmer than the ice could resist.

Sandy suddenly realized what he’d actually seen. He also thought he knew how it would affect him.

Before the vision disappeared, he walked down the hall to his mother’s room. He needed to talk to her, tell her something, though he didn’t know how.

Sandy listened at her door, at first thinking she was still asleep. The night had been late, but she’d come home alone.

Thank God!

The boy tentatively tapped on the wooden door, making a hollow thudding sound.

“Come in,” his mother answered in a raspy voice. He turned the knob and pushed it open, stepping inside.

She was sitting on her bed, staring out the window dressed in a pale-pink silk robe with soft, plush slippers on her feet. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked, standing and stretching.

“I had some juice,” Sandy said.

“I’ll make you some eggs and sausage. How does that sound?” she said, moving to the dressing table.

She sat and picked up a brush. His mother’s long hair was tangled in a sleepy mess. Sandy stepped up behind her. “Let me,” he said holding out a hand.

She handed him the implement, and he began to brush her long tresses. She sighed and looked at him.

One glance in the mirror before them shocked the boy. It flooded his mind. Her profile, the shape of her face from the side was just like the one in the frost. Her lips were pouting and full. The curve of her cheek and the jut of her chin was exactly like the vision in frost he’d seen just minutes before.

“How was your night with Andrea?” she asked, her lips moving up and down, smiling, but with sadness behind those eyes, so dark in the reflection.

“It was fine,” Sandy said, still in awe over the image.

In his mind, he recreated the other face in the frost. He knew it. Was he right? Could that be true? The images were so confusing to understand. But something made the pieces fall into place.

Looking down at the dressing table, he saw a picture of Sally, her face turned toward his mother’s, and that was it.

It was Sally’s face on the other side of the kiss. It was his mom’s best friend kissing his mom.

A flood of half-forgotten and misunderstood memories filled him. He almost dropped the brush.

In the recent past, he’d awoken on more than one occasion to see those faces in the light of the television lean towards one another. Those lips had touched. They’d kissed each other. It was hazy, but more real than anything else. He breathed in deeply.

Sally and his mother were the two faces in the frost.

“Mom, why don’t you make Sally your special friend?” he blurted out, regretting it immediately.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes widened a bit as they met his in the reflection in the mirror. He swallowed and just watched her.

“Girls can’t be special friends,” his mother said.

“Why not?” Sandy asked.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, her face darkened and she stood up. Her mouth opened and closed. Sandy saw her eyes flickering in the morning light. His mother almost spoke, but didn’t, and instead coughed.

“Ready for some breakfast?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I think you and Sally are special friends.” Sandy said. “I like her.”

“I like her too,” his mother began, “But we are very different.”

“You’re happier when she’s around,” Sandy said, still not moving. “I’m happier when she’s around.”

His mother breathed in with a sharp sound of surprise.

“I think you should ask her to come over,” Sandy said. He set the brush down on the dresser counter and then quietly slipped past her frozen figure.

Later, he heard his mother on the phone. It had to be Sally because she suggested lasagna casserole for dinner.

Sandy smiled, and could feel his breath come more easily.

Sally’s Lasagna Casserole

1 lb. of Italian sausage with casings removed

1 pkg of sliced fresh crimini mushrooms

1 yellow onion diced

1 red pepper diced

Saute’ until meat is browned, then drain off fat.

6 cloves of garlic smashed and minced

Add after returning to heat for a minute. Then add:

¼ cup of dry sherry

1 15 oz. can tomato sauce

1 tbsp Italian seasoning

Simmer for at least ten minutes. Remove from heat and let cool. Then blend:

1 pint of cottage cheese

½ grated parmesan cheese

Black pepper and crushed red pepper to taste.

1 lb. pasta, cooked al dente, drained and cooled.

Mix the cooled sauce with the cottage cheese mixture and then fold in the a pound of cooked noodles.

Pour into a greased casserole or cake pan and top with 4 cups of shredded mozzarella cheese.

Bake in a 350 degree Fahrenheit oven until brown and bubbly usually about 30 minutes or so.

Let stand for ten minutes before serving.