Far From You Read Online Free PDF Page A

snowman
    takes the little boy
    and flies through the air.
    Too bad
    real life
    is never anything
    like the movies.

from scared to petrified
    When the darkness faded
    and a grayish light
    filled the sky,
    we saw
    that the monster
    had grown
    to gigantic proportions
    overnight.
    Not only
    had it not
    let us go,
    but it had
    completely
    and totally
    devoured us.
    We were
    savagely trapped
    in the snowy belly
    of the beast.

day two
    We managed
    to make it out
    to the tree
    that had become
    Mother Nature’s bathroom,
    but the snow
    was now up to our knees.
    When the snow started to dump
    on us again,
    my hungry stomach
    tightened up in response,
    knowing
    the snow
    would only get
    deeper
    and deeper.
    “We have to do something,” I cried
    after a breakfast of Diet Dr Pepper
    and a lunch of a few chips.
    “We can’t just sit here and wait.
    Can’t we build a fire or something?
    So planes will see us?”
    “Do you have a match?” she asked me.
    “No, but—”
    “But what?
    We just have to wait.
    They’ll go looking for us
    when we don’t show up today.
    They will.
    And they’ll find us.”
    “Isn’t the cigarette lighter
    from the car in here somewhere?
    Check the glove box.”
    While she looked,
    I jumped in the back of the car,
    tossing items,
    searching,
    desperate to find something
    we could use.
    And that’s when I saw
    the brightly wrapped
    Christmas presents.

merry Christmas early
    She didn’t find
    the lighter.
    I opened Ivy’s big gift,
    with lots of colorful paper,
    which would be
    the most helpful.
    I ripped carefully,
    trying to keep it
    as whole as possible,
    to wave in the air
    like a big flag.
    It was an antique stool,
    a few nicks
    here and there,
    obviously
    lovingly used.
    Victoria reached over
    and ran her hand over it,
    like it was a beloved pet.
    “The stool my grandma gave me,” she said.
    “They kept it all this time.”
    An image
    of a little girl
    named Ivy
    toddling up to the stool
    to wash her hands
    flashed through my brain.
    Before that moment,
    I hadn’t pictured her
    as anything
    but a little,
    annoying blob.
    But in an instant,
    I saw what I couldn’t see,
    and it was
    wonderful
    and sad
    all at the same time.
    Next I opened
    the gift for Dad.
    A bottle of his favorite
    brandy.
    Victoria opened the bottle
    and took a swig.
    She handed it to me.
    I took a whiff
    and the smell
    sent shivers
    through my body.
    I put the cap on
    and decided I’d save it
    for a more desperate
    moment.
    When I got to my present,
    I paused before I opened it,
    hoping it would be something
    really useful
    in the coming hours.
    I gasped
    when I saw the antique book,
    the cover worn and
    corners frayed,
    a musty smell to it.
    Carefully
    I opened
    the front cover.
    1897.
    Incredible.
    My own antique edition
    of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
    Truly amazing,
    although not very helpful
    unless we could slip into
    the rabbit hole
    and find our way home.
    I realized
    Victoria must have told
    her mother that
    my parents named me
    after Alice.
    I was snapped out of my
    wonderland trance
    when Victoria asked,
    “May I open mine?”
    I handed her the tiny box,
    which wouldn’t do us much good
    as far as wrapping paper
    was concerned.
    Inside
    lay a gold locket
    with a tiny picture
    of Ivy inside.
    She slipped it on,
    then gave the locket
    a little
    kiss.
    “For luck,” she whispered.
    If only it were
    that easy.

hocus-pocus
    Like three-year-olds being silly,
    we put socks on our hands
    and underwear on our heads,
    because we hadn’t thought
    we’d need
    gloves and hats
    in California.
    Then we stepped outside
    and waved
    our red and green paper
    through the white frosty air,
    with the hope
    that someone would fly by
    and see us.
    The trees stood above us,
    their branches a canopy
    that kept us
    from seeing
    much of the sky
    at all.
    As I waved the paper
    through the whiteness,
    I thought of Mom
    swirling her brush of paint
    across the white canvas,
    turning nothing
    into something
    magical.
    And I