flashquake Nonfiction
Honorable Mention

Frozen in Time
by Judd Hampton

In mid-April the snow receded enough to drive in. I parked beside the minivan, its grey body slanting toward a flat tire. I slid out of my truck and my rubber boots crunched through icy pools of melted snow. On higher ground, grass lay flattened, looking as if the new warmth might not revive it.

The bare trees swayed in the wind. Two thick poplars rested on the ground, their trunks cut, their limbs chewed off and dragged away by beavers.

I followed the path to her house and stopped before the pallets of firewood I'd cut and stacked last fall. All that wood untouched.

Her house overlooked the river. Thirty feet down the bank, the Whitemud rested silently, still locked in ice. I don't know how long I stood there.

Inside, everything remained the way she'd left it. At the table, her sewing machine waited. Cuttings of fabric lay on the floor. The material was Dalmatian print left over from the children's Halloween costumes. Coloured pencils and acrylic paints lay in the corner, and an unfinished picture hid behind the table.

In the kitchen, beside a dirty plate and an empty cup, sat her teapot. I picked it up. A corner of porcelain remained behind on the counter with a pale stain where the tea had leaked out. The frozen tea had split the pot.

A half-eaten loaf of bread sat beside the toaster. Picking it up, I untwisted the bag and pulled out a slice still fresh.

As I stepped outside and closed the door, a Grey-Jay landed on the chopping block, hopped and pecked, and cocked its head at me. Although wild, this bird was not afraid. I went back and grabbed the half-loaf of bread, crumbled a slice in my palm, and stood with my hand outstretched.

The Grey-Jay flew up into a branch hanging over the house, hesitated, and then landed in my hand. Its claws tickled my fingers. The bird pecked the bread and flew away.

I twisted the remaining loaf in my fingers and scattered it in the trees beyond my mother's house.

Copyright 2002 by Judd Hampton

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