Mark and I walked into the deserted court yard filled with ice and snow of a hundred days below freezing and ninety of those with snow fall. He kicked at a frozen spigot with the toe of his boot, and I laughed at the sound it made. A bird of some kind flew from the winter dead tree.
Mark pulled a bottle from the pocket of his leather jacket and offered me a drink . It was a sweet and syrupy liquor. I’d forgotten about his penchant for carrying honey around. “I thought it would be rum,” I said blithely.
“No honey with a little lemon,” he informed.
“Warm me next time,” I said as I looked at him and smiled that smile that could only be one thing. “Let’s do it.”
“Not in the mood,” he said.
“Come on! It’ll be fun.”
“Seriously I don’t feel like it today.”
Deciding I didn’t need him, I reached down and grabbed a hand full of snow and packed it into a ball. “Sure you’re not up to it?” He shook his head blankly. I scooped up more snow and added it to what I’d packed before. “It’s going to be the best snow man ever!”
“Okay, you convinced me. I’ll help.” As I rolled the base, he made the torso, and we stacked the two together. I searched for sticks and rocks to complete our seasonal friend while Mark crafted his head. We stepped back and looked at our creation. “He needs a name,” Mark opined.
“Fred.” It was the pronouncement of a priest at a baptism and not open for discussion or debate.
“Fred,” Mark repeated. We turned away and walked out of the courtyard. “Fred,” he repeated. “It’s a cool name. I just wonder though if he’ll make his way up to the North Pole, acquire a brolly, waist coat, and one of those silly looking bowler hats and start singing Christmas ditties.”
