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Where The Snow Falls
As the snow whips and curls around Earl’s Rent-a-Wreck, he drives impatiently through the worst storm that he has ever seen. He wants nothing more but to be with his wife and daughter for Christmas, and fourteen hours of continuous driving in bad weather is what Earl is willing to do to reach his goal.
Earl has had too much coffee and not enough sleep. Earl is losing control.
Fourteen hours ago I was snowbound in my hotel room typing senator Corgan’s speech for next months election, now I’m driving in this God-awful weather trying to get home to my family. It is odd how one thing turns into another. Ever since Sarah called me yesterday and I talked to her and Kira, well I have this need to be home for Christmas.
I hate working through the holidays.
It’s Christmas Eve and I am on my way home, I should have gone home last week for the weekend, but no, I had to get that correspondence done for Corgan.
I think my little girl Kira might just get what she wished for this Christmas, I really want to see my wife and daughter.
What a blizzard, I have never seen something so vicious. There is no road anymore, I have to get home.
As Earl drives on he is unaware that he is driving on the shoulder of rural route nine. He is almost home but these country conditions are no match for his airport rental.
His patience is shot and his nerves are burnt out and he does not see that final curve of route nine.
The air is cold and the snow is relentless. Earl has fallen asleep and his car is overturned in the snow-filled ditch.
Earl awakes in a panic, “My God no. Sarah.” He calls out to his wife.
The only thing that responds is whipping wind of freezing snow and ice.
Earl slips out of consciousness.
It’s warm now, thinks Earl to himself. I’m not dead, thank God it was just a dream.
There is still a persistent wind blowing though, and it is still snowing outside.
Earl fully awakens to find himself in and old car with an old lady. This woman is wearing a parka with Lynx fur puffed up around her collar. Her face is wrinkled and she has the expression of a troubled child on her face. Her eyes sparkle with the light from the cars headlights bouncing off the snow. This old woman speaks.
“That’s a nasty bump on the head you’ve got there.”
“Yes, I ah, guess it is.” Earl replies. “How did you, who saw, what happene–“
“You’re tellin’ me son. I was just passen’ by”. The old woman interrupts. “You are a lucky one.”
“I’m alive. . .but how did you get me out of the car? How did you even see the car?”
“Well you don’t need to hear all those nasty details,” replied the old woman, “besides I’m sure you want to get home to your family”
“Yeah, Sarah and Kira,” Earl mumbles this almost to himself.
“Well don’t you worry we’re almost at your house. I’ll drop you off at the end of your laneway if ya don’t mind, I gotta get home to my family too,” says the old woman.
Earl nods and he stares out at the mesmorizing snow, that is pulled toward the headlights of the car by some unseen force.
The car slows and comes to a gentle stop at the edge of Earls driveway. Earl can see the Christmas lights of his house, and only a short walk up the front snow-covered path will bring him to his family.
“Well Earl, Happy Christmas.”
“Thank you, what is your name anyway?” asks Earl.
“Never mind dear, go home. Your precious wife and child are expecting you.”
Earl opens the door of the antique car and steps out into the cold. He then turns around to bid this old woman farewell, but the only thing that he can wish a Merry Christmas, is the snow that is landing on his eyelashes and wool winter coat. Earl is startled by this discovery and sees no tracks in the snow to justify what has happened to him. He looks toward the house again and sees the twinkling lights.
Earl whispers to the wind a quiet
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Christian music, Christmas music, Christmas in the post-war United States, My Name Is Earl
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