Dr. Frosty

 

DR. FROSTY

 

 

 

The snowman stood glistening in the glow from the porch light. Eli Solomon, his breath misting in the twenty-degree air around him, watched the slow graying of the six-a.m. darkness with a growing sense of urgency. He and the snowman, Dr. Frosty, were ready for their trip, but with a six-hour drive ahead of them, Eli just hoped it wasn’t too late.

Eli backed the rented, refrigerated truck into their driveway, the cargo door now open and the liftgate lowered, ready to receive its important load. Eli had the hand-operated forklift prepared to move the sturdy wooden pallet upon which the snowman rested.

He and his wife, Amy, had created Dr. Frosty the previous day. He stood almost seven feet tall, of traditional snowman countenance and garb. Charcoal from the past summer’s barbeques made his eyes and a smiling mouth, the buttons down the front from the red decorative rocks taken from their flower beds. The snowman sported a large, plastic carrot nose and tree branches for arms. A bright red scarf circled his thick neck, and a regal, black top hat rested upon his head.

Frosty had acquired the ‘Doctor’ appellation from Amy. A stethoscope glinted from around the snowman’s neck, above and over his scarf, donated by a friend of Amy’s at the Cloudcroft Hospital. An old, black doctor’s bag would soon adorn one of Dr. Frosty’s arms.

Amy came outside but stopped several feet away. She held the doctor’s bag in a white, mitten-clad hand, the words ‘Dr. Frosty’ stenciled in white on both sides of the bag. She had a red, knit hat pulled down over her ears, strands of her dark hair fighting their way loose around the edges. She was staring at the snowman—seemingly mesmerized—her free hand clutching the front of her heavy winter coat.

Amy’s luminous, brown eyes reflected the light from the porch, eyes now even brighter as they brimmed with tears. Eli didn’t know if it was from the cold or if she was on the verge of crying. He walked over to her.

She looked at him, her expression blank. “Do you think it’s true what we talked about yesterday?” she asked.

“If you mean about inanimate objects and power transference, then, yes, I do,” he answered.

Amy was silent, staring at Dr. Frosty.

Eli cleared his throat and recapped the gist of their past conversation, “I truly believe that love and good intentions can be transferred into an inanimate object, a creation that can actually execute those feelings without the benefit of their creator being present. In this case, Dr. Frosty.”

Eli didn’t know if Amy had heard him. She graced him with a small, sad smile, wiping at a tear escaping down her cheek. “I just got off the phone with the Andersons. Their daughter had a difficult night; they weren’t sure she was going to make it. She said to be careful but to please hurry. They’ll be expecting you.”

Amy hooked the handle of the bag over the snowman’s tree-limb arm, resting her hand on his rounded chest for a moment before continuing. “You boys better get a move on; you have a long drive ahead of you.”

Eli knew there was something more behind her tears but remained silent. He began loading Dr. Frosty onto the truck—managing the operation without mishap—and secured the big snowman with restraining ropes as best he could.

Once he finished, he looked over at Amy. She stood near the front porch, her arms crossed, looking small and frail. He walked over and noticed that her eyes still glistened. “Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

“I can’t. I don’t think I could do it… not face-to-face. It’s different from the Internet.” Standing on her toes to stretch her 5’4” frame up to his bending down 6’2, she gave him a hug and pressed her cold lips to his. “You’d better get going; the sun’s coming up. I’ll call again and tell them you’re on your way.”

Eli was walking to the truck when she called out to him, “Wait!” Amy ran up to him and gave him another kiss, longer, warmer. Now, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She turned and ran back to the house.

Eli’s mind churned with emotion. He knew what Amy had been thinking. It was not only about the little girl in Tucson but about their own daughter Mikaela, who had died over two years ago. She passed away at the age of six after a two-year battle with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Amy was devastated, never fully recovered, and never managed to let go of their little girl. She refused to seek help, talk about Mikaela or discuss the possibility of any more children in their future. Eli worried that the shadow cast over Amy’s soul would defy the passage of time.

Eli’s own struggles with the loss of their only child had been long and agonizing—the scars would always be with him—but eventually, he moved forward out of the shadows. But Amy had not made the journey with him.

For the last two years, Amy had immersed herself in the blogs and Facebook pages of families with terminally ill young children. She corresponded with several families, commiserated, offered advice and helped organize fundraisers for those so tragically stricken.

Death inevitably claimed those innocent young, and Amy would move on to the next child and family in need of solace but finding no peace for herself. Eli didn’t know if this emotional commitment was therapeutic or just prolonging her pain. He could only hope and pray that her involvement with the plight of these children was helping her.

As he pulled the truck out onto the highway and headed west, Eli couldn’t help but wonder if the time had come, if Amy was ready to move forward. Eli prayed that maybe… this time...

 

Eli backed the truck up to the Tucson Children’s Hospital and carefully unloaded Dr. Frosty, placing him on the grassy area near the entrance. He had called ahead, and apparently, his project had been cleared by hospital security because no one bothered him while he unloaded his gift. Soon, the snowman stood regally in the seventy-five-degree Arizona sunshine, an emissary from the mountains in faraway Cloudcroft, New Mexico.

Eli and Dr. Frosty didn’t have long to wait before the hospital’s main door opened, and a little five-year-old girl appeared in her wheelchair being pushed by her father, her mother wheeling an IV pole beside them. Several doctors, nurses, and orderlies followed close behind. Curious visitors and a few of the hospital’s more mobile patients had joined the approaching group. The small band of stunned onlookers crowded around the tall, exotic snowman, a unique sight in the southern deserts of Arizona.

The father lifted his gravely ill daughter out of the wheelchair, a mere shadow of a child. The little girl touched the grinning snowman with wondering eyes. Her dad held her closer and higher, and she put her cheek against the coolness of Dr. Frosty’s smiling face, her dry lips forming a rare smile that grew and grew.

Several minutes later, the child’s mother approached Eli, who was standing apart from the group. Her eyes were blurred from crying. “I’m Karen Anderson; you must be Mr. Solomon.”

“Yes, ma’am, but you can call me Eli.”

“Eli, I don’t know how to thank you. My daughter’s been sick most of her life, a life of endless doctors and hospitals. She’s never been outside Arizona, never seen snow or a snowman, only pictures. Dr. Frosty is all she’s talked about ever since your wife told us about the idea.” Karen wiped at her eyes. “It may be the only reason she held on these last few days.”

The mother held out her hand to Eli. “I think this was left in the doctor’s bag by accident. It must belong to your wife or daughter.”

Eli stared at the silver bracelet with eleven dangling charms: The Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer. Eli swallowed several times to compose himself. “That belonged to my daughter, Mikaela. Amy obviously meant for your little girl to have it.”

Amy had given away their daughter’s bracelet, which she had hoarded in her jewelry box ever since Mikaela’s death. He handed the cluster of silver trinkets back to the grieving mother and folded her hand around the charms. “This is for your daughter from the Solomons.”

Eli looked at the ever-growing crowd around the smiling snowman, his eyes traveling up to a glistening white face. Eli’s eyes widened before blinking several times, not so much from the morning sunshine, but to clear his head. It had to be the angles, and the shadows, which made the statuesque snowman’s grin appear slightly bigger. And his left eye. He hadn’t noticed that the piece of charcoal was a little smaller than the right one, now making it appear that he was giving Eli a knowing wink. And had the left arm just moved slightly, almost in a secretive half-wave?

Eli squeezed his eyes shut. It couldn’t be, he was tired, and his imagination was running amok. The snow had to be melting, changing the snowman’s countenance and causing the branch arm to move. Or one of the onlookers had moved it. He opened his eyes; Dr. Frosty was back to normal. Mrs. Anderson was staring at Eli strangely.

Eli squeezed her hand once more. “Please excuse me, ma’am; I have to get home. My wife needs… wants… to talk to me about some things.”

As he pulled the truck out of the parking lot, he glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Frosty, diminishing in the distance. The shadows and that increasing distance were playing tricks again; the regal snowman appeared to be waving and grinning again. Eli smiled and swung his eyes back to the road. The big guy was a success in more ways than one; the snowman had been imbued with the power to bring joy to a dying girl and brought a grieving woman out of her dark depression.

Eli punched the accelerator. Dr. Frosty had done his job.

 

 

###

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Texte: John C. Laird
Bildmaterialien: istockphoto.com
Lektorat: Alexandra Laird
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.02.2012

Alle Rechte vorbehalten