The snow hadn’t stopped falling all night.
She was dressed. Long wool military style coat, double breasted with golden vintage looking buttons, and a buckle around the waist. A thick scarf around her neck. A mustard colour toque, which arrived in the mail just 3 days ago. No she did not order it online. One of her loyal coffee customers, is an Art school teacher and an avid knitter, and what a surprise it was to find it in her mailbox the other day. A handmade gift. Just for her. In one of her favourite colours.
Needless to say, the deep sense of appreciation for such a gesture, has not stopped radiating since she opened the package, and her eyes met the precious garment.
Before she continues with her story, she feels the need to apologize to her readers.
She feels, what she has written thus far in this morning post, carries a big dosage of triviality. Who cares about a description of gifts from loyal coffee customers in the mail?! Not that she receives them often! But it’s still perhaps unrelated to by some. Or most.
Who cares about a description of her winter gear?! Has she forgotten the one barista she employed a few years ago?! The one, who was incredibly sweet, but had this incomprehensible power, to hold you hostage for half an hour, unstoppably describing what her cousin Talia was wearing, eating, finding humorous at such and such family party…! Has she forgotten, how she used to sneak her hand slowly behind her back, her fingers desperately…precariously…reaching around, searching for whichever (hopefully unbreakable) object they can feel on the counter behind her! Something they can discretely flick to the ground, or pretend they miraculously bumped it as she faked losing her balance…then comically looking startled ‘what?!..how did that happen?!’! All done, only, and only, for the sake of changing subjects, as her eyes used to grow tired of glazing over, while the story kept going.
So let’s fast forward a little, shall we?!
Thank you for nodding.
She’s now outside the door. Still dark outside. The snow is falling. Her car needs brushing.
She loads the old car with coffee gears. Enough for over a hundred under- caffeinated early morning /and late morning/ coffee zombies. She estimated, she was bringing enough to awaken that big of an army.
She finally drove away.
Her destination, the local school, about a 10 minute driving distance. Not bad at all.
They are holding their annual ‘Arts Day’ event. Different Artists will be present, along all the staff, volunteers…etc.
She arrived at the snowy parking-lot. Managed to transfer all the hot coffee supply inside. Drove away.
There were teachers and artists. All buzzing around like bees, inside the school. Adding those last touches to what she thought was a spectacular display.
When did they all get up?! She thought to herself!!
See, Canadians are a different breed of people! They love the snow. And even if they didn’t, they pretend they do. It’s a source of pride. Or maybe, they simply don’t know any better. She’s not too sure anymore! But what she’s sure about, is in this little town of around 5000 residents, people really love the snow. They don’t seem to ever get tired of visiting the trails. Skiing. Snowboarding. Biking. Hokey playing. You name it. Snow?! They’re out there having fun.
She’s back at the end of the day. Picking up exhausted, empty coffee vessels, with tired over-handled coffee buttons, and overworked drying out spouts. They looked as if they were incredibly thankful she had finally arrived to set them free, bring them back to their sleepy quiet life on their happy clean shelves. Away from zombies’ hands reaching out to squeeze the last drop of caffeine out of their poor metal guts.
She hears a voice in the hall as she’s about to peacefully exit. ‘Kat!’.
Oh it’s principal H.
Principal H is a man in his forties, who definitely puts some thought into his appearance. He’s always dressed in hipster shirts. This morning, he was wearing a sharp fitted dark, white polka dotted shirt. He always reminds her of Kenny Bania from Seinfeld. Especially his big enthusiastic smile!
‘Oh hi’ she looked back.
Principal H insisted on helping with loading the car. That was very nice.
The problem was, her old 5 series BMW is embarrassingly dirty on the outside! Grim from driving on country dirt roads was hugging the car like a green wide-eyed, teasingly smiling old greyish slimy gooey stretchy little big monster. So her first thought was ‘it won’t be pretty if his sleeve does the slightest brushing against the dirty monster’. Then she thought of how much she loves this old girl. It’s perfectly and regularly serviced. It’s just old. No rust, thankfully, but she has to try second gear when she first starts driving it on cold days, so she can prove she is trying to be gentle towards the old gal’s sensitive transmission, then will usually carefully shift to third then fourth then eventually D. That’s when ‘Beverly’ gives her a sigh of relief and starts humming and ‘breathing’ normally.
So there was the sharply dressed principal! Looking at her car, semi puzzled.
Her car, stoically standing there, all dirty and old, among huge shiny and shimmering under the snow, brand new SUVs, and intimidatingly confident, powerful and roaring brand new trucks.
Her car, the old Beverly, tried hard not to make any eye contact, with all the younger beefier vehicles glancing curiously at it, in that full to the rim with bullies, auto playground. Beverly proudly looked straight ahead, and waited for her to finally get in, and start driving it away from all the chaos. All while Mr. H was still standing there waving, the snow is falling over him, probably scratching his head, over the contradiction between the fitting brand new minimalist mustard toque, the fitting military looking long coat with vintage buttons, the fitting mustard colour gloves…and the unfitting…old dirty car.
I love you Beverly.