On the way home I saw Chris again, only this time I don’t think he saw me. He was once again leaning on that same tree, wearing the same jersey, holding that same hockey stick and looking in the opposite direction, just as he almost always seems to be doing. The evidence was piling up that Chris was indeed a spirit trapped here on earth.

I didn’t want to risk Chris turning and seeing me, so I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled across the snow covered ground like an infant might crawl across the living room floor. It didn’t escape me that I was also wearing a diaper like an infant too. And if you are wondering if I was cold, you better believe it. Mostly ’cause I’d forgot my coat when I’d left the house for school. No coat, no gloves, no scarf, no hat… yeah I was cold!

I took every opportunity, such as parked cars, trees, bushes, etc., to hide behind and rest. Contrary to popular belief, it is more difficult to craw than walk when it comes to long distances.

When I had made it past the park and was less than one hundred fifty feet from the corner of my grandparents’ street, I ran out of hiding places. My next move would put me out in the open where Chris was sure to see me. However, when I peeked passed the car I was hiding behind to the tree where Chris had been leaning, he was gone. Without giving myself away I moved out more to get an even better look, but I couldn’t see any sign of him anywhere. Even when I stood up I couldn’t see him; I was in the clear!

I ran the rest of the way home, only slowing when I reached the front walk, because it was covered with some kind of opaque purple crystals. Not knowing what they were, I chose to walk on the snow up to the door, which opened right as I was stepping up on the front stoop.

“Grandfather!” I said with surprise.

I wasn’t so much surprised that it was him who’d opened the door, as much as I was with what he was wearing. I’d never seen my grandfather dressed down before, but there he was, wearing a tartan green and red shirt with pastel yellow pants. That alone was enough to blow my mind, but he was also wearing black combat boots, in which the legs of his pants had been tucked into sharply.

He had a stubby little pipe hanging out of his mouth, but no smoke was coming out of it. I guessed that it must not be lit.

“Alvin.” He said while looking out across the snow and neighborhood.

“Did he just call me Alvin?” I thought.

With an ear-to-ear grin and a snicker I asked, “Grandfather, what are you wearing?”

My words, which had been formed and uttered without me even knowing that I had thought them, were out there, hanging in the chilly air amidst the lingering crystallized breath that had carried them past my lips.