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What Snow Days Taught Me About LifeJarod KnuthItʼs third grade. Youʼre lying in bed.Fingers crossed, pajamaʼs inside-out,spoon under your pillow—praying to thesnow day god. Does anyone rememberdoing this? I do. A snow day in elementaryschool was probably one of the greatestdays—besides Christmas. I rememberbursting out of bed—probably aroundnine—and running downstairs. Eating mycereal as fast as I could, Iʼd quickly gulpdown the last of the milk and head for thecoat closet. Iʼd put my attire on: gloves,jacket, snow pants, boots, and hat. Thistook all of 45 seconds. Then I was ready todo what a snow day was made for: playingin the snow. Walking outside, I would seeall the kids in the neighborhood makingtheir journey to the same place that I wasgoing: the park. At the park, there was ahill that stood, towering over everythingaround it. All of my energy would be spenton staying atop my sled and winning thedownhill derby or pelting that last handcraftedsnowball. Finally, once it was dark,Iʼd come home and hot chocolate wouldbe waiting for me.It doesnʼt happen like that anymore.Now, when I find out there is a snow day,I go to bed and sleep till 11 or 12 oʼclock.Stumbling out of bed, I mosey up thestairs and eat some cereal (although itstill is Cookie Crisp). No snow pants. Noboots. No gloves. My days remain snowball-less.Frankly, Iʼm ashamed to say thatout of the three snow days weʼve had thisyear, not one of them was spent on, hadanything to do with, or was pertaining to,snow. I havenʼt even gone sledding in atleast four years. Does this mean my childhoodis slowly slipping away from me?Itʼs a scary thought to think that next yearI will be taking care of myself and findingmy own way in life.Caught up in the hustle and bustle ofcollege entrance essays and English homework,have I forgotten to do one thing: bea kid? My life has become more focusedon gas money and part time jobs. Ateighteen, I find myself getting depressedabout my “stresses” and even reminiscingabout how easy life was when I was threefeet tall.So here is the final conclusion Iʼve cometo: live life as a child would. Appreciatethe small things. Donʼt spend all your timeworrying about college and money. Noteto self: Play in the snow.Will PowerKristel KlankSam faces the mirror that hangs on the gymwall whenever she works out. She stares backat her reflection—watches the fat on her facebounce up-and-down when she runs or her armmuscles barely define themselves when she curlsa weight to her chest. Reminding herexactly why she comes back, night-after-night, tothis cold, testosterone-filled gym long after mosthigh school girls have called it a night.The smell coming from the Chineserestaurant next door taunts her, but the plumpwoman waddling, slowly to the door—herstomach large and shapeless—gives hermotivation to keep going.Sam stays at the gym for hours. At least oncea day, she likes to walk back to the drinkingfountain and watch the athletic women liftweights or jump rope. Their bodies are agile andtoned. Itʼs because of this she wonʼt pack up herthings and leave until the treadmillʼs screen reads1000 calories.She wonders what the skinny version of Samwould be doing at that very moment. Maybesheʼd be at home curled up on the couch with along-term boyfriend, or maybe sheʼd be out at aparty—dancing the night away—in her new size4 jeans that she never has to worry about beingtoo tight.She would be anywhere, but here.KaraElisha SchoepleinAn old picture of my sister and me hangs on the wall by the closet andreminds me sheʼs gone. Below the towels, jewelry hangs in clumps onthe closet wall. Half of thatʼs gone. Kara owns a lot of what we shared,you know. In the blue basket, the hair coloring kits she detested and herdisposable shower caps collect dust. She took her shears, so I wouldnʼttry to cut my own hair. My momʼs old perm kit that Kara opened onetime still sits there untouched; I donʼt want to throw that away.I decided earlier today to clean up the spilled eye shadow. The charcoaland white pallets cracked weeks before she left, and now the two colorsswirl together, becoming a soft pewter as I run my finger over the oldsparkles. I love the white. She loves the charcoal. With the powder onmy index finger, I run the gray on the crease of my eye.She took my pink and yellow vertically striped beach towel. She tookthe rest of our hairspray from the salon. And our liquid eyeliner. And allthe washcloths.I have our eye shadow, the toilet that leaks, her favorite tropical printtowel, nail polish she bought, the clothes she couldnʼt fit in her suitcasesAll the things Iʼm missing from our bathroom closet, she must havein hers. I miss the silver hoop earrings. The mauve nail polish. Myfavorite white t-shirt. I miss the layers of unfolded towels taking over thecloset. And the almost empty phials of Chanel Chance.I miss her.afterglow 25