Days Gone
By Alaina Mae Hammond
I wish I had known what was coming. But I
was far too young and innocent—oblivious to the
tension that had been building for years.
**********
Tangible excitement and anticipation erupted
from every child on the long, yellow school bus
as it made its way deep into the hills of Southern New Hampshire. Bodies couldn’t sit still or
contain their wild energy. The bus rounded one
last corner before coming to my stop at the end of
Deer Lane. I scooped up my backpack, slung it
over my shoulder, and bolted for the exit.
“Merry Christmas!” My older sister Megan and
I sang in unison as we ran down the steps and off
the bus. At age nine, Megan was two years older
than me. But I was tall for my age, so most people assumed we were twins. We may as well have
been; we were inseparable.
“Three more days, Megan! Three more days!” I
inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of earthy smoke
coming from a nearby wood-burning stove.
“I know, I can’t wait!” Megan’s cheeks were
already pink from the bitter cold.
We hiked up our street shoulder-to-shoulder,
bouncing a little with each step, our nearly empty
knapsacks jostling on our backs.
“Do you think Mom and Dad got me a Tropical Barbie Doll?” With every exhalation my hot
breath drifted visibly out of my lips into the frigid
air.
Megan shrugged. “I’m not telling! I guess
you’re just going to have to wait and see!”
Our snow boots crunched on the layers of greyish-white, icy sludge beneath our feet. The view
looked quite different now that winter had settled
in on our quaint, little town. Even though it was
barely four o’clock, the sun was already beginning
to set for the night.
Megan cocked her head to the side as she asked,
“Didn’t Dad say he was leaving Boston early
today?”
“Yeah. I think so,” I answered, then turned my
head just in time to catch a glimpse of a chipmunk scurrying up the branches of a massive oak.
I grinned as my thoughts immediately turned to
my favorite Christmas cartoon with Chip and
Dale.
The thick, lush deciduous trees that had once
filled out the gaps between each house now stood
bare, their leaves buried under a heavy blanket of
snow. An occasional icicle dripped and dangled
from the branches. Great pines were now the
only source of green, and even they shimmered
with a light layer of white frost. Nothing was
immune to the winter.
Our two-story, brown and white colonial home
waited for us at the end of the cul-de-sac. It
couldn’t have been more different from the home
our family had shared on Hickam Air Force Base
in Hawaii for the previous three years. When
Dad had announced to the family that he had
received new orders—that we were being transferred from Hawaii to New Hampshire—I was
crushed. It had been incredibly difficult to let go
of the laid-back, island lifestyle, but over time I
adapted. Although I missed the sandy beaches
and tropical weather, New Hampshire had much
to offer. It was incredibly lush and beautiful and
had four good seasons with endless outdoor activities in each.
I surveyed the massive snow fort my family
and I had built in our front yard just after the last
Nor’easter. The fort was impressive. In addition
to it, my dad had also worked for hours packing
the heavy, wet snow into a long sled run that
wound through the woods behind our house.
Kids from all over the neighborhood would come
to slide down the legendary slope.
Megan pulled the house key from deep within
her backpack; we always let ourselves in. She
swung the door open, and a comforting, warm interior beckoned to us. I smelled the clean, piney