Schenley Plaza in January: Eight Desperate Observations

 1.

Snow today. Lots of it.

2.

I’m sitting under a white tent that looks like a funnel, but the wind and weather come in sideways. I want to enjoy this, to find something that draws me out in these evil months. I’ve been thinking that if I master winter, then Pittsburgh could be my city for a long time.

3.

There’s hardly anyone around. It’s Saturday and the college kids are still in bed. A few busses pass and small green plows like golf carts clear the sidewalk. The snow fills in their paths almost immediately and the work looks hopeless. In high school I worked as a janitor in college apartment buildings during the evening. When it snowed like this, which was often, I’d spend my entire shift shoveling and re-shoveling sidewalks even though I was the only person using them.

4.

Schenley Plaza’s restaurants are closed, but there’s a lingering smell of food indiscernible. Snow collects in the center crease of my notebook and I can't feel the pen in my hand.

5.

It’s cold, but not as cold as it’s been. At 25 degrees, today is twice as warm as yesterday, and bearable at first. It’s quiet, white, and hushed, like Christmas Eve but without the charm or nostalgia.

6.

It’s a textbook winter day, the kind of day I picture when I think of winter, and I realize the season really is better with snow. It’s a concession; something to look at in return for the cold and ugly weeks. In Baton Rouge the winters were warmer and shorter, but the watered-down sunlight made me feel uneasy. The grass and trees still died and everything was mudded brown.

7.

Every few moments I can look around without seeing anybody—no cars, no movement, no life save for the mobile pregnancy test bus next to the Carnegie Library. Once I took a girl I was seeing to a small office building not far from here. She thought she was pregnant, and we saw flyers advertising free tests. They came back negative, and the staff asked us to hold their hands and bow our heads while they prayed out loud. The clinic was decorated like a nursery, with plush toys and children’s books scattered across the floor. I bowed my head like they asked and even said “Amen” when they finished. I considered it their fee and thanked them. Then they invited us back for abstinence classes, which we declined.

8.

The longer I sit here, the more color I see. A blue tarp draped over the carousel, a pink parka climbing the steps toward the Cathedral of Learning (whose upper floors have disappeared). When I was in college, most of my classes were in that building. I used to have this dream where I’d be alone in its dim basement. I’d press the button for an elevator and the green doors would open but the elevator shaft would be empty, except for some clouds and light rain.