White Mist in Cold Air                     

 

Sarah is immersed in a childhood memory. Perhaps it’s the weather, the time of year. She is six years old and at primary school. It’s almost Christmas and the headmistress, Miss Richardson, is paying a rare visit to the classroom. Outside, through the floor-to-ceiling windows that look onto the playground, it’s pouring with rain. Miss Richardson gazes out and exclaims, ‘look at the reindeers!’ As she says this, she exchanges a knowing look with Mrs King, the class teacher. Everyone is out of their seat and rushing to the windows, but Sarah stays where she is. She saw ‘the look’ and knows it is all a trick, a play on words. The headmistress was really saying, ‘look at the rain, dears.’

She feels pleased with herself, and yet, somehow not pleased. It doesn’t feel right being the only one left in her seat. It’s a feeling she is too young to understand. Perhaps this was the first instance of an adult attempting to deceive her, one of the more harmless examples.

Wearily, she decides to go over to the window. She would love to see some reindeers, and suddenly, there they are, moving slowly through the abandoned play area. She can see their breath curling into clouds of white mist in the cold air; their bodies have a golden glow surrounding them. They are beautiful. But all too soon, they’re gone. She turns and walks slowly back to her chair. It suddenly seems very quiet, but then the microwave beeps. She draws the curtains against a grey December day and heads for the kitchen in her sheltered accommodation.