By: IO

The live oak tree did not care about the dark. The dark always came. This dark was almost nostalgic in its completeness, a deep obsidian that allowed starlight to break through smoky ozone, free of the sizzling grounded glow humans manufactured. 

The dark was almost nostalgic except the cold was there, blighting the memory. It had stood in cold before, even in its youthful first decades during periods of high water, shrieking winds, when a swirling funnel of both had twisted its middle, reshaping its core. It knew cold, but not like this. Frost gathered in the crevices of its scared trunk and stayed for days. A longer trauma than the winds. 

The dark lightened and dimmed and lightened and brightened. The sun maintained its seasonal distance but the residual heat of the humans’ sparking fire banished the frost; left short, fast streams running its fissures. A pool sat at its gnarled roots and evaporated with the resurgence of the lights, street by street.

by K. Osorio-Teamer

The Night before The Freeze      

The news of the freeze, fear of frozen or busted pipes, and the possibilities of food, gas, and power shortages were no match for the excitement of a surprise day off. Once my manager sent the text saying the store would be closed the next day, I promptly turned my morning alarms off and poured my first – but certainly not last – glass of wine for the night. I was filling the tub with bubbles when Janie pranced in curiously. Her long brown ears dipping into the lavender orbs as she sniffed the rising water.

“Don’t even think about it, Janie baby. This bath is mine.”

I turned on my favorite podcast and slowly stepped into the water. Just as the intro ads came to a close and I settled into the soothing aroma, a shadow appeared over me. Janie’s face was overjoyed as she landed on me and sent all the lavender bubbles to the bathroom floor. Her tail effectively removing any leftover foam with each joyous wag. “Ok Janie, it’s ours.”  

Day 1 of The Freeze

Janie and I woke up without power. She was nestled in closer than usual and that was my first sign that something was off. She normally takes over 60 percent of the bed, pillows included. This time she had worked her way over to my little 40 percent and snuggled in close. The most obvious of clues was the silence. It filled my one-bedroom home with a surreal energy that had me questioning whether I was awake or dreaming. My need to pee was real as hell, though. When I came back from the bathroom, Janie’s little feet waddled over to the coat rack and sat down patiently next to her hanging leash.

Normally I’d clip it on and we’d be on the go, but this was The Great Freeze and it was about 20 degrees outside. We would need all the layers. After putting on layer upon layer on myself, I put Janie’s green cable knit sweater. Then I started the tedious task of putting on her booties. They were originally a joke purchase, but now they seemed necessary. Janie kicked her feet and fought me with each paw, but I finally got them on.

We stepped out the door, the never ending white blanket of ice and snow shocking my eyes. The temperature difference between the inside and outside was another surprise. Janie hesitated when presented with walking in booties outside, but her need to pee outweighed her hate of the shoes and cold. She found a spot suitable enough for her near some bushes, and headed back towards the door… through my legs.

I tried to step out of it and successfully landed my foot on a patch of ice. I fell first and Janie’s four paws danced around the front porch until finally giving out. Janie landed on her belly and her face was right in front of mine. I smiled. She didn’t.

Day 2 of The Freeze

Janie is mad at me. It could be about the booties. I left her in my bed under a mountain of blankets and headed to get more supplies at the corner store including pork rinds. I opened the bag in the doorway and watched the pillows rise on the bed. Janie’s head popped out of the linen hill and she made eye contact with the clear bag. Her tail wagged hastily as I handed her the biggest rind I could find.

“We’re cold but we got snacks, girl.”  

The news and Instagram influencers said not to drink, but after two days of no power in this cold, wine was the only answer. We snuggled on my bed for the gazillionth time – me with my wine, she with her rinds – and we settled in for another cold day.

After scrolling through every post about the snow, frozen roads, and ERCOT’s bullshit, I reached for a book about three magical sisters. “Janie, shall we hold a reading?” She was speechless. The power came back on just as I finished chapter 7 and Janie and I ran to the thermostat to turn the heater on. We sauntered into the kitchen and made popcorn in the microwave. Janie and I made it through another disaster. “At this rate, we’ll be ready for the zombie apocalypse ahead of schedule, Janie baby.”

To celebrate our second anniversary as a blog, we’ll be doing a special series of stories. For the next four weeks, we will be sharing stories about the same event, but from different points of view.

T. Williams

The dark can be a comforting blanket that soothes the soul and brings peace. But this, this darkness does not soothe or bring peace, the cold that has come with it is a slow torture. I am chilled to the bone in my small apartment and the voices that have stalked me since I was a child of ten grow louder than ever. They call to me reminding me of promises made and not kept. 

I’ve kept them at a distance with busy hands and mind, always doing, always going even during this last year’s pandemic I didn’t stop. My small apartment, small and bright to keep the shadows away, is full of my handiwork.  I’ve built shelves, made pillows, upholstered furniture and a headboard, painted walls and furniture, started embroidering and needlepoint to sale in my new Etsy shop. Did I mention my sketches and figure studies? An occupied mind and busy hands drown out the call from that other place. 

They came to me in my time of need, a little thing alone and afraid hiding in the dark of my closet from the voices that might hurt me. They took me to a place of lush forests and cool breezes where we played games, told stores, and went on adventures. I loved it there, but it wasn’t home. My time there with them gave me the strength and comfort to live my days in my world.  Something changed on my last visit, my playmates changed in a way that I’m still unclear of. It was near my thirteenth birthday; I felt a yearning from them that scared and perplexed me and though I promised to return I’ve never gone back. 

Now, two full nights alone in the cold and dark with nothing to drown them out. The silence of the world outside my apartment, the snow on the ground. My lantern throwing shadows from which they call to me. I try to keep my hands busy my mind blank. I cannot. My sketches and embroidery are filled with the fantastical elements of them and their forests their lore and animals. All of it blurs the lines between our worlds making it easier for them to come through.

I’m cold and afraid, this not what I prepare for living in Houston. I’m ready for anything else but this cold. Heat I understand. Rain and flooding, I understand. I’m ready for those things. I have nothing to keep them away with this cold. I am in despair. My lantern goes out and I use my phone to light the room. My batter is low. It’s 12:01am. 

“Zora, you have finally come back to us. We won’t let you go again.” A mercurial voice says as the forests comes into view and hands reach for me.