It’s supposed to be a nice night out, my first dinner out with friends since surgery. The long, dark winter is over. No need to worry about slipping on the ice. No need to mince my steps. No longer gimpy or limping, I slip into slim indigo jeans, a sleek black kimono wrap top, and a peridot green leopard print scarf. Shoes. What shoes to wear? I have these kicky western suede ankle boots with a heel that I can now wear with confidence. I look out the window. The brilliant blue April sky from the morning is prematurely grey with foreboding clouds. There will be no suede boots with the threat of April showers. Leopard print. Yes, I have some calfskin leopard print flats. I’ve spent too many months in flats, but I’m not risking my suede boots getting ruined in a spring rain.
Cold wind smacks my face as I step out of the car. April is angry, a hangover from March’s lion-assed ending. I tuck in the leopard scarf in my pink jacket and skip over a puddle left from the cloudburst that beat us to the brewpub.
Joyously, my friends and I clink glasses as we crowd around the bar, waiting for a table. The place is packed. It’s a brewpub designed to look historical, down to the dim 1800s replica lights. But the sun shines brilliantly; April is fickle but she doesn’t hold a grudge. We sip juleps in anticipation of Derby Day, catch up, and sample brews. We wait for a table.
Then April throws a sudden tantrum, obscuring the sun. It’s like the power is out and the sun streaming in the window is just gone. Only the vivid green of new grass out the window is bright. The sky is black. Not grey. Black. I turn back to the drink in the now depressingly dim pub. Our table is still not ready. We wait.
The wind smacks against the windows with a vengeance and I turn. There’s something wrong. It’s still dark, but it’s also white. Strangely sideways, whiteness slams across the courtyard, obliterating the violent green grass. December was warm and rainy. Winter was grim and bleak. Spring is starting well, and yet, the rain I saw predicted on yesterday’s weather is not rain at all. Through the bourbon and mint, I laugh a throaty laugh. “Oh, my God. It fuckin’ snowed!”