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    Black Snow
    Black Snow
    Black Snow
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    Black Snow

    By Larry Vick

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    About this ebook

    Black Snow is a fast-moving account of a week in the life of 7 year old Aaron as he struggles to discover why other kids and his own father resent and ridicule him. Besides his mother, the only adult he feels any kinship with is his Uncle Teddy but when that relationship ends tragically, Aaron loses his will to live. It’s only after being befriended by Snow, a remarkable girl who has formidable challenges of her own that Aaron finds the courage to conquer his feelings of despair and regain a reason to live.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMar 22, 2015
    ISBN9781483551296
    Black Snow

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      Book preview

      Black Snow - Larry Vick

      9781483551296

      Chapter One (Friday)

      An icy wind that only a veteran New Yorker could savor, whips outside Aaron’s seventh floor project window but it’s not about to chill the second grader’s growing excitement. That’s because in just a few short hours, midyear test results in science and reading, Aaron’s two best subjects, as well as his class standing, are going to be announced. To top it off, it’s the Friday before a much-deserved Christmas break. After today, all that’s left is a half-day on Monday and Aaron’s teacher, Miss Quinn, has already promised his class of budding scholars the first hour will be devoted exclusively to another round of Present and Describe; an enhanced show and tell event used by the former C.I.T. professor to assess their poise under her exacting eyes and ears. This time, however, only those students who failed to earn a satin ribbon during the previous round will present. Surprisingly, that includes Aaron who had an uncharacteristically weak outing last time and is desperate for another chance to get satin and erase the one blot on his otherwise perfect record.

      Still recovering from his last effort, Aaron’s pearl white skin erupts into goose bumps whenever he thinks about Miss Quinn’s almost dismissive response to the tale of his father’s bravery during the recent war in Korea. Speaking in that dreaded monotone of hers, she had told Aaron he could do better than simply show a medal and tell what his father had done. Instead, she had admonished that he needs to present and describe something impressive he has done himself. As Aaron and his classmates know all too well, to be told you can do better is Miss Quinn’s way of reminding each of them they’re special and that nothing less than full out effort at all times is acceptable.

      The aspiring space traveler and monster-catcher doesn’t want another reminder. Too many reminders can result in a student, even a top-tier student like himself, being plucked from the vaunted - 1 class and quietly banished to the much less prestigious - 2 class. It has happened before, to David Sheldon and Charlene Carter, and the trauma was so great, the two former child stars were now struggling to stay out of the - 3 class which everyone knew was for just barely smart kids.

      You need to get going. The prompt is from Aaron’s mom, Evelyn, who’s in the tiny kitchen at the front of their compact four-room apartment. She’s finishing putting away breakfast dishes while trading glances with the clock standing guard on the kitchen wall.

      I’m ready, Mom. Aaron steals a final look in the full-length mirror that’s attached with Public Housing-approved clamps to the front of his bedroom door. Pleased with the finished product, he gives a quick nod to his tight-fitting starched white shirt, perfectly ironed extra wide navy blue pants, and snap-on tie. All he has to do now is don his hooded winter coat that’s reserved for school and grab his Zorro briefcase that was prepositioned the night before.

      Where’s my briefcase? whispers Aaron, on the verge of panicking. He settles down only after he sees it beckoning him from his mother’s outstretched hand. He wouldn’t survive a day without the special gift from his favorite uncle. On the front is a sword drawn Zorro perched high upon an ebony stallion whose glistening hooves strike a setting sun. Snake-like etchings that Aaron loves to tickle with his chubby fingers enhance both ends and on the inside are all kinds of secret pockets and flaps for storing freshly sharpened pencils, paper bag-covered textbooks, and a loose-leaf binder with red, blue, and yellow index tabs. There’s even a silver-buckled strap that allows him to carry the cherished case over his shoulder.

      Come on, Aaron. Eve is now by the front door that’s two inches thick and made of cast iron. She won’t open it until she’s satisfied he’s ready for school.

      As Aaron gets within hugging distance, his wide-open eyes hone in on his mom’s stomach. Is it getting bigger? he asks himself. Though unable to tell for sure, what he does know is that no matter how big his mother’s stomach gets, she’s still going to be prettier than any of the other moms at school or in their brand new project development that has ten seven-story buildings containing a hundred apartments each.

      Do you have your gloves? Eve’s eyes are focused on Aaron’s coat pockets.

      Yeah, right here. Aaron whips the wool gloves with leather palms out of his coat pocket and holds the tangled wad of material up for his mom to inspect. He wouldn’t think of going to school without his gloves - not with all that fresh snow outside.

      "Excuse me." Eve’s finely tweezed eyebrow is raised as she looks down at Aaron’s dimpled face, now looking sheepish.

      "I mean, yes, see … they’re right here." Aaron unravels the glob so his mother can verify he still has both gloves.

      Don’t go getting your gloves wet making snowballs. Eve bends down to kiss Aaron good-bye but the prescient seven-year-old detects a whiff of trepidation. He can sense that even after a month without incident, his mother’s still not at peace with his dad’s decision he’s big enough to go to school without an adult by his side. A look of concern follows Aaron as he enters the hallway and marches toward the elevator. It’s only after he vanishes around the corner that the apartment door closes and the heavy metal lock is turned in the opposite direction.

      Good morning … Mr. Nafari. Aaron’s about to punch the elevator button when he notices one of his least favorite neighbors emerge into the hallway. Unnerved by Mr. Nafari’s ever-present quart of buttermilk and large bag of garlic-flavored peanuts, Aaron quickly changes his mind about going into the cramped conveyance. He, like everyone else in his building, knows the diabolical combination wreaks havoc with Mr. Nafari’s breath and is a slow death by asphyxiation for anyone unfortunate enough to get locked in the elevator with him. Thinking fast, Aaron does a right face and hits the doorway to the stairwell. He isn’t keen on running down the stairs in rubbers but he needs to escape. Plus, taking the stairs will get him to the awaiting snow faster.

      Good morn—

      Before Mr. Nafari can finish his greeting, Aaron is through the stairwell door and bouncing down the steps. The buoyant runaway imagines the Mud Monster is after him as he practices taking two steps at a time. He isn’t fast enough to get away from a werewolf but he’s sure the much slower Mud Monster or a mummy can’t catch him. Landing after landing, Aaron skips the last three steps until he reaches the first floor and heads for the front entrance that’s made of giant panels of glass and an imposing pastel-orange colored door in the middle that has mangled many residents’ fingers.

      As Aaron streams for the gateway that separates him from a world of frost and snow outside, his young nose and eyes burn from the ammonia-doused tile floors and recently applied window cleaner. In his haste to get outside, he almost forgets to hold the door open for Mrs. Krakowsky, an elderly woman with a wooden walker who lives in one of the many first-floor apartments. She lives with her adult son, an unemployed misanthrope who nobody likes, mostly because he belongs to organizations with names like S.P.O.N.G.E. It didn’t take Aaron’s advanced brain long to figure out this particular organization was for nasty people trying to prevent colored people from getting stuff.

      Through the door and onto the wide, ground level stoop that’s a miniature playground for project kids, Aaron takes a moment to commune with the early morning East New York vista, clearer now that the winter wind has died down. A bashful sun, with faint banners of yellow, pink, and lavender, peeps above Aaron’s school building four short blocks away. The two decades old school is a towering, five-story, maroon brick and cement building that can be seen through vacant lots that take up the first two square blocks in front of the projects. Right now, the lots are barren tundra but in the summertime they morph into teeming sub-Saharan jungles and all-terrain WWII battlefields. The third and fourth square blocks are populated with a diverse assortment of unimposing mid-size apartment buildings with zigzagging fire escapes and two-story single-family homes. On the ground floor of many of the buildings inhabited by recent European arrivals, you can find mom and pop stores like Cock-eyed Louie’s and Hunchback Harry’s that sell everything from stuffed fish, onion bagels, and dill pickles to greeting cards, comic books, and candy of all shapes and sizes.

      To Aaron’s far left as he approaches the first street is a monstrous boulevard that flanks one side of the projects. The infamous street is totally off-limits. The only time he went across the thoroughfare was when his first-grade teacher took his class on a field trip to visit a dairy farm about half a mile from the school. The majority

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