The snow globe my mom gave me for Christmas sits just off to the left side of my computer. From inside the glass, a little man stares up and frowns at me. The engraving indicates that he's a cartoon character from the 1977 Valentine's Day issue of the New Yorker. When I unwrapped the globe on Christmas Day and shook it for the first time, my Mom said that it was to make sure, "that you never forget where home is."
Traditionally, my mom's definition of home depended more on meatloaf and mashed potatoes than on literary magazines and glass prisons. Yet for some reason, I knew what she was trying to say.
The little man inside the globe, who I have decided to name Arthur, wears a red hunter's hat, a yellow and green striped scarf, a grey winter coat and gloves. Big bulky black boots come up to his knees, and he holds a shovel behind him in his right hand.
When I shake up the snow globe, a blizzard engulfs Arthur, covering the ground and leaving flakes on the brim of his hat.
His eyes reflect such an incredible degree of futility and disbelief at the intensity of the blizzard that they've led me to compulsively shake up the snow globe before I leave for class. It's only fair that Arthur should shovel all day while I sit in lecture.
When I get back to my room at night, Arthur has the same frown on his face, but his skies are clear.
There's no pleasing him.
I imagine my mom picking out the snow globe in the Hallmark store, wearing her red Sally Jessie Raphael glasses so that she can read the labels on all the boxes in the snow globe section.
I assume there is a snow globe section in Hallmark stores.
She's wearing her U.Va. sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. She had a bowl of Smart Start cereal for breakfast at five in the morning with three cups of coffee. Newsradio 88 buzzed in the background as she made lunch for my sister.
I wonder if she took my coat out of the closet and hung it on one of the dining room chairs, pretending that my room wasn't empty, the pillows on my bed fluffed, the sheets cool and unwrinkled.
My mom hung up on me the other night.
I had sat through an hour of her lecturing me about how irresponsible I am, and how "cavalier" (I can only hope she used the word cavalier fully recognizing the delicious irony of her choice) I am when making important decisions. How I procrastinate. How I don't take care of myself.
At some point, I ran out of logical arguments against hers. I couldn't maintain the cold calmness in my voice, and I had already yelled. So I didn't say anything.
I heard her hang up the receiver.
I imagined the television glowing at home. The Food Network flashing in my parents' bedroom. My toddler refuge from nightmares. Where my sister and I watched TGIF while my mom put Neutrogena on her chapped hands and my dad snored.
I could picture my mom settling back into her pillow, Emeril Lagasse throwing some more shrimp into his pot of jambalaya.
"Now we're going to KICK IT UP A NOTCH," he yelled into the darkness.
The worst part about fighting with one's parents over the phone is the solitude at the end of the fight. In high school, I could slam my door and blast Stone Temple Pilots or Soundgarden (yeah, I was pretty hardcore back in the day) and know that there would be a knock on the door sooner or later with an inevitable mutual apology to follow.
Being home meant that the combatants in a family fight were never more than two floors away.
Eventually, we would all sit down at the dinner table. There would be the silence of chewed peas and the occasional purposeful clanking of a fork. My father would stare at his plate, and my sister would shoot furtive glances at my mother and me. Usually my mom would explode, we'd shout for ten minutes about schoolwork or my attitude, and then things would be back to normal.
One of the things that makes being away from home so difficult, even after a year and a half, is the ease with which I can disappear.
So when my cell phone rang after about five minutes I didn't pick up.
Arthur looked at me.
It's amazing the amount of guilt that a two-inch cartoon figurine can induce in an adequately frustrated college student who just got into a fight with his mom.
"Arthur, stop looking at me like that," I said.
Arthur just stared at me.
I gave him a snow squall to think about and then hopped into bed to read for awhile.
I woke up to a voicemail that my mother had left me at six in the morning. I sat at my desk listening to her voice, hearing the background emptiness of the house in the darkness before sunrise. In my left hand, I caused whiteout conditions for Arthur, turning the snow globe over and over again.
I still haven't called her back. At this point, Arthur seems less concerned about the snow and instead stares with his sad eyes into the recesses of my soul.
"Call home," he seems to say to me through the glass.
"I don't want to," I insist. "She doesn't think I know how to take care of myself. She thinks I make decisions without thinking at all beforehand. She thinks I don't want to hear about her job and that I don't need her advice. So, I'm going to be really immature and not call because I've earned the right."
I find that I have been raising my voice.
"Hey, whatever," Arthur says. "Don't yell at me. I'm not the one talking to a snow globe. Just give me a shake so I can go back to not shoveling."
A low-pressure system pumping moisture into the mid-Atlantic suddenly brings a Winter Weather Warning to Arthur's hometown. He frowns as it starts to flurry.
I think I should call home soon.
A-J Aronstein can be reached at Aronstein@cavalierdaily.com
Read More
It’s okay not to be okay
By Mai Hukuoka | 2 days agoWhether talking to a friend, a loved one or a professional, it is so necessary, and human, to need more than you can provide for yourself.
Taking a break at Tangerines Kitchen
By Charley Thomas | 4 days agoWhat the restaurant somewhat lacks in ambiance, it compensates for in tasty dishes and prompt service.
Virginia Policy Lab — a hub for student-led policy action
By Katherine Haden | December 9, 2024Students propose their own projects and collaborate with other members to research their issues of interest, brainstorm solutions and write policy proposals.
