Snowsisters

by Tom Wilinsky

“No, you don’t. You take the tradition and you adapt it. But that’s part of what traditions are, right? Like Orly’s piece about Christmas. Every family does it a little differently, but the part everyone understands is how people look forward to it every year in the same way.”

  “Tess.” She looks at me seriously. “You also showed great leadership when you kissed me first.”

  “Shut. Up.” I say, as I push a pillow at her face until she pushes back and laughs that glittery laugh.

  * * *

  From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,

  February 17, 2018

  I know I can’t give her a directive.

  She shows me the value of collective.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,

  posted by conTessaofthecastle:

  Daphne drank the warm liquid gratefully, tucked into the safe embrace of Astoria’s arms. The spell-caster moved quietly around the room, placing plates of food on the table by the fire. She didn’t seem surprised by Daphne’s presence. When the tea was gone, Daphne set the mug down carefully and said, “I still don’t understand. How did I make it happen?”

  Soph.

  At breakfast, everyone is buzzing about our final readings. I sit with Tess and hold her hand under the table, but I’m distracted by what she said earlier. I’m still worried about my own reading. Joan and Grace didn’t seem too impressed and neither did Yin or Gabriela. Yesterday, I thought I had pretty much accomplished what I wanted to do here, being able to work in the more complicated sonnet forms. Now I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done enough.

  While we’re finishing, Professor Forsythe tells us that the bus is waiting to take us to Minerva College for the tour. I’ve been waiting for this visit all week. Except… I let go of Tess’s hand and she turns to me, a question on her face. I tell her something has come up.

  I clear my place setting. Once I’ve put my dishes in the kitchen, I approach Professor Forsythe. “Professor, I was wondering if I could stay here while everyone else is visiting Minerva. I’d like to work on my final piece for this afternoon.”

  While everyone is away, I think about what I want to do. So far, I’ve done Shakespearean, Petrarchan, and Spenserian. But being with Tess makes me think that the structures don’t have to be stiff. Or maybe I don’t have to keep within the confines I thought I did.

  I write for three hours. I’m so absorbed that I’m surprised when I hear the bus pulling up out front. I have two poems on my screen. I need to make a choice.

  * * *

  When we’re all assembled in the lounge, I volunteer to go first. Professor Forsythe nods at me and I stand.

  “The point of a sonnet is to propose a situation with an argument and come to a conclusion or resolution. But poets do it in strict formats. I came here writing couplets and hoped to be able to expand into the true classical forms of Petrarch, Spenser, and Shakespeare. I did that. In fact, I had a Shakespearian sonnet I was prepared to read this afternoon. But I think I learned something about structure and myself and tradition this week. Maybe in more ways than one.” I can’t help looking at Tess. Her eyes widen.

  “I decided that maybe I was sticking to the traditional forms too much. I like those structures and the idea that they work in different languages and times. But Petrarch gave way to Shakespeare, Shakespeare to Spenser, and there are other variations. I said at the very first group discussion that culture has continually reworked prior content. We’ve called it legend, myth, satire, homage, and fan fiction. Now it’s my turn to create a structure.”

  “My Sophronian sonnet has its own rhyme scheme and its own meter. The structure is ABC CBA BAC CAB DD. Rather than even numbered sections, I have three-line stanzas. The lines are of different lengths. A is ten syllables, B is eight, C is six and D reverts to the full ten. Here is ‘My Time at the Conference.’”

  I, sure of myself in January,

  Knew just what I wanted and sought.

  Naive was I, a kid.

  I came here, made my bid.

  Structure informed by just my thoughts.

  Why couldn’t it work in February?

  I surely knew how people ought

  To comport and treat each other fairly.

  And here, that’s what I did.

  I was, it seems, rigid.

  To apply rules, I should have been wary.

  A broader view to me you taught.

  The most significant of tradition

  Survives and blooms through endless revision.

  Tess.

  Soph looks tentatively pleased with herself when she finishes. I wish I could give her a hug. I settle for grinning at her as broadly as I can. We make eye contact, and she flushes.

  Professor Forsythe nods approvingly. “Soph has very creatively fused old and new, something the four of us hoped she would try. She may now join the twentieth-century poets Lowell, Heaney, and others in showing the elasticity of the form.” She nods to Grace, Joan, and Celestine, who smile at Soph. “Soph was paired with Gabriela and I’d like to hear what Gabriela thinks about the final product.” Gabriela says something, but I’m only half listening. I can feel my stomach churn, since I still need to read my final chapter.

  While Clover is reading her work, Soph passes me a piece of paper folded in quarters. We can’t talk but she makes a face as though she wants me to read it. I open the page slowly, trying not to make any noise, and read.

  I prided myself on thinking I knew

  Why to come out and avoid any blow.

  I studied and read and learned to be true.

  Nobody should have to remain down low.

  Cold winter snow invades my empty heart,

  But she could be here, her hand extending.

  Will shame and closet doors keep us apart?

  Can I penetrate what she’s defending?

  In a crucible of ice, snowsister

  Defiled, I question what safety may be.

  She confronts; I’m surprised; Then kissed by her

  Before understanding her own safety.

  Now I can see. My world view is reformed.

  She schooled me. The kiss, pink night: my heart warmed.

  Soph waits until I’m finished. When I turn back to her, she quietly takes the paper from my hand, folds it up and tucks it into the back pocket of my jeans. She says, “It’s Shakespearian, not Sophronian, but I thought it fit.”

  Soph.

  I peek briefly at her, hoping she’s not mad. She’s pink. I don’t mean her pink clothing; I mean her face is pink, but not as if she’s embarrassed or angry. She’s glowing, though she looks away when she sees me looking at her. Her eyes are wide, and she has a little smile on her face. I want to grab her and dance with her right here in this room in the middle of everyone. But of course, I don’t. Not doing something I want to on the spur of the moment is harder than I thought it would be.

  I don’t listen to most of the other readings. I can’t get a feel for them if they’re part of a longer piece. I do listen to Orly’s, though. I’m pretty impressed that someone our age can write a memoir so powerful.

  Tess.

  The next one to read is Chris. Everyone in the room must be nervous, including Chris. But she reads a piece about how our group went from being strangers to everyone being nervous around each other because of their differences to people allowing each other to be who they are, including herself, and she acknowledges everyone’s courage in stepping out of their comfort zones. She avoids the word “safe,” but I can’t blame her.

  Then it’s my turn. When Orly talks about my work, she says she likes how I took the two witches, Daphne and Astoria, and made them completely different from how they were in the show, but in a way that is true to their personalities. She mentions that she went online last night to check out the rest o
f my story, and found out that I had close to thirty-three thousand hits on it. Most of the girls look impressed. Under her breath, Yin says “Wow.”

  When Orly says, “Tess made me believe that two women together could create their own magic, even when they are fighting against the rest of the world,” I dare to look in Soph’s direction, and she’s smiling at me. So I take a deep breath, and I read the ending out loud, to the whole room.

  Astoria pulled Daphne into her arms and embraced her firmly. Daphne could feel Astoria’s hands splayed across her back, each finger a small pressure point of love. Astoria whispered into her ear, “From this day onward, we’ll always move as one.” Daphne couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes, couldn’t stop herself from breathing in the heady scent of roses and ash that had become the smell of home to her, couldn’t stop herself from kissing Astoria, tenderly but a little bit fiercely.

  Soph.

  She looks up at me when she’s finished—not at anyone else, but at me. I’m shocked all over again, and I can tell from her expression that she’s nervous. I clap and I do it loudly enough that everyone has to join in. I think to myself that she’s an incredibly strong person, strong enough to keep it in while she needs to and strong enough to break free when she can.

  Tess.

  The conference is almost over. Professor Forsythe tells us how impressed she and Joan, Celestine, and Grace are and says that they will stay in touch with us for as long as we want. We can contact them by email and we should tell the Austen-Browning Institute where we go to college and when we publish our work—Professor Forsythe says she’s sure we will.

  Then she surprises everybody by making a speech:

  “We need to talk about something important, about safety. The Institute picked the twenty-four of you based on two factors. First, the quality of your written work. Second, that you are young women.” She pauses. “We are aware that there was an issue this week because you have physical differences.”

  No one says anything.

  Professor Forsythe continues. “Oh, my friends, I can tell you from a long career, that as women you will be subject to unfair judgments based on your bodies. Those judgments are hard on the psyche. They distract us from what we want to do. They demean our work by promoting the irrelevant. I urge you to refrain from judging each other. As you go out into the world, you will face real attacks on your safety. Please don’t add to the attacks on your own friends and colleagues. Support your differences and accept them. Celebrate them. Hold on to each other. Find ways to build trust with one another. Women need each other’s support. You may not understand that now, but I promise one day you will.”

  “Now, before we break, we have a few minutes to exchange contact information and bid farewell to each other. We’ll be circulating and hope to speak with each of you before you leave. Help yourself to coffee, tea, and cookies.”

  We have an hour to pack, but I’m finished really quickly. Soph is downstairs looking for her laptop charger, so I sit on my bed for the last time and pull out a spiral notebook. I have a few things I want to write down before I go back to Castleton. The words I haven’t found in all this time come quickly. I look at the last paragraph.

  I’m not sure I understand everything about leadership, but I learned this in Granite Notch: I can change how I treat other people, even if I can’t change how they treat me. I can take what I know, and then learn about what I don’t. I can listen. I can apologize and I can attempt to walk in someone else’s shoes. I can try different things and see what works, and I can ask for help understanding. Sometimes people will let me down. I just don’t want to be one of those people.

  I find Orly and hug her goodbye. She invites me to stay with her in Atlanta anytime. Gabriela finds me and asks for my fan fiction name so she can follow me. I’m putting her email into my phone when Professor Forsythe goes up to Soph. She’s smiling.

  “You read some very impressive poetry earlier, Soph. You made the creative leap we hope the best of our attendees will make. I’m glad you took the extra time you needed to focus on what was most important this week. I hope to hear from you.”

  Soph is speechless, which I’m guessing doesn’t happen often. But then she grins like a little kid and says, “Oh. You will. I mean, thank you. Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,

  posted by conTessaofthecastle:

  “We made it happen together,” said Astoria simply.

  Soph.

  I know Tess has to go home and she can’t tell her family about us. But her family didn’t keep her from standing up for Orly and it didn’t keep her from kissing me. I’m so glad it didn’t keep her from kissing me.

  Tess and I go back to our room to pack. When we close the door, I say, “I know I didn’t understand it before, Tess. But I think I do now, and I hope—”

  She cuts me off. “No, Soph, no. I… well, I know it all from your sonnet “‘My world view is reformed.’” I smile at her. She continues, “So is mine. And telling people like that, through my writing, it scares me, but it’s exciting. Like meeting you.”

  We’re quiet then, until I reach out a hand to her and she comes close to me. We hold each other, standing up first, then lying on my bed. But we don’t have much time. The shuttle bus to the airport gets here in half an hour, so we separate and pack. I can’t help but ask, “Can I text you? After we go home?”

  Tess nods and smiles. “Yeah. Definitely. My parents don’t read that stuff. Joey and I text all the time.”

  I gulp to suppress a sob. It makes me happy knowing we’ll stay connected. “And we’ll see each other again. I want it so much that I know I can make it happen.”

  She chuckles indulgently, as my father would. “I bet you can, Soph. Although why a city girl like you wants to come to Minerva College for four years still is a mystery to me.”

  I pull the black sweater she wore yesterday out of my bag and hold it out to her. She puts it in the bottom of her bag without saying a word. “I still have your socks, you know,” I remind her. “Could I take them home as a trade?”

  She nods, smiling. A question passes across her face, but she hesitates.

  “What, Tess?”

  “Soph, would you read my leadership thing?”

  “Sure, but isn’t it for an interview?”

  “I know, but I wanted to write it down first, so I don’t choke when it comes up.” She hands me a piece of notebook paper.

  She looks really nervous when I finish my reading. I say, “You nailed it,” and I get to hug her again.

  Tess’s cell phone rings.

  “Oh, hi, yes. I’ll be down in a minute.” She looks at me. “I want you to meet Joey, if you will. He wants to meet you too.”

  It’s as if I’m being introduced to family. My chest feels full, but Tess is waiting for me to answer her. So I pull myself together and say, “Yeah, definitely. Let me zip up my Vera… my duffel.”

  There’s no missing Joey. He’s in a big light blue truck. The truck is old, like something a tough guy would drive on TV. Tess goes to the driver’s side and asks him to get out. He doesn’t look like the gay guys I know. He’s big. Not tall, but big. I don’t mean fat. He has a big head of shaggy blonde hair, and the hand he holds out when Tess introduces us is gigantic. He’s friendly, though, and when he smiles at me I’m surprised that I feel suddenly shy.

  “You must be the roommate.” I notice his jaw is lopsided, and he talks out of one side of his mouth. I look down in case he’s self-conscious.

  “Nice to meet you, Joey.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I don’t have any idea what Tess might have told him or what is still a secret.

  Tess stands next to me and puts an arm around my waist. “We’re due back before evening milking.”

  Joey looks at me as if he already knows me. He nods and
says, “Nice to meet you too, Soph. In person. I’m glad you had a good week.”

  I turn to Tess, careful not to dislodge the arm which feels so good right above my hip. I don’t want to embarrass her, so I roll into her and put my head next to hers. I say into her ear, up close, “Tess, I don’t want my last kiss from you. Not yet.” I feel her squeeze me and nod.

  “So, this won’t be the last one,” she says and kisses me, right there, in front of Joey and the lodge. She recites my own words back to me before she leaves, “‘She could be here, her hand extending.’”

  I feel a vibration and think at first that my heart might be exploding, but it’s my phone. When I pull it out of my pocket, I find a group message from Mibs and Lally and Gordon, asking if I want to meet them tonight at our coffee place, Quirky Perks. I get an idea.

  “Joey, can I have your phone number?” He’s a little surprised when I tell him, “I have some friends I want to introduce you to, if you’d like.” We exchange numbers. Then he takes Tess’s bag and holds the car door open for her, as if he were her boyfriend.

  As I watch Tess drive away from me in a big old truck, sitting next to a boy, the wind picks up a little and it starts to snow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  … a year later…

  Tess.

  It’s supposed to snow tonight. A blizzard, which will shut down the trains and the taxis. A storm like New York hasn’t seen in years. I don’t see Soph before. Not because there’s a rule against it, but because I’m stuck in my own schedule—my pass to leave for the City doesn’t start until noon, and by the time I take the bus across town and get to where I’m supposed to be, she’s already behind a door, preparing. She calls me while they’re doing her hair.

  “This is ridiculous, Tess,” she grumbles. “My hair is pulled back so tight I can’t close my mouth. The damn comb is practically nailed into my skull. And wait ’til you see the red lipstick. I look like this year’s queen of the flamenco dancers.”

  “You look so beautiful,” I tell her.

  That makes her laugh. “You can’t even see me!”