I Walk to School in the Dark

While the Sun Snoozes
By Joanne Gau

I get up in the dark to go to school, not because it’s nighttime – it’s morning – but it’s winter here in the Yukon and the lazy sun sleeps till noon. Everyday I leave my warm bed, get dressed and walk out of my yard, down the street, over the hill and around the corner to my grade two classroom.

Winter has icy fingers but they can’t reach me through my snowsuit. With one long zzzzipp I’m wrapped from head to toe in my thick suit like a spaceman. Only my nose and eyes are free. The hood is so tight it squishes my bangs into my eyes. My boots are clunky and noisy. The laces and buckles take a long time to do up and I’m sweaty by the time I leave the house.

It is my favourite kind of morning. The sky is clear and dark, dark blue. The shimmering stars blink hello and the giant, friendly moon shines and shines. They light my way while the sun snores somewhere out of sight.

The world is crispy and still. The only sounds I hear come from the schwip, schwip, schwip of my snow suit and the crunch, squeak of my trusty-walk-anywhere boots. I imagine little ice mice hiding in pockets under the snow as I walk down my crunchy driveway. I step on a frozen puddle just to hear the crack- ping sound splinter the quiet air. The ice shatters in like a spider’s web and there’s no water underneath.

I cross Pine Street to pick up my friend Janet. We trudge steadily up the hill with her little brother following behind. He falls on the slippery ground and Janet reminds him not to cry because his tears will freeze and burn his face. Their words float in foggy breaths between them through damp scarves. It is cold, cold, cold.

The noise of the waking neighbourhood has icy echoes. We hear a sharp wishk, wishk, wishk as someone scrapes ice off a window. A door slams with a short BANG like a balloon popping. We jump with surprise - but the sun still sleeps.

Ice crystals sparkle and twirl in the headlights of slow moving cars. I can see red and white stripes on Janet’s suit – but only for a moment until the car passes. I think of candy canes and suddenly we are all dark blue again.

As we climb the hill in our heavy suits, we stop under each street lamp to rest and play. Janet’s brother catches up with us and looks like a spooky green goblin standing part way in the dark. We chase and stomp on each other’s lumpy shadows in the cone shaped ray of light. The shadows disappear again between each lamp, swallowed by the darkness.

Kim joins us and we cross 12th Avenue carefully in single file. It’s the busiest road in our neighbourhood and we have to turn our whole bodies to check for cars because our hoods are so big. Clomp, clomp, clomp go our feet on the frozen pavement.

Our trek grows noisier the closer we get to school. When we turn onto Grove Street we hear kids calling out to each other and I spot Ricky in his red toque chasing his barking dog back home. We recognize our friends in the dark by the sound of their voices and the colours of their hats and scarves as they walk through the grainy street lights.

At Christine’s we go in to warm up. Our noses run as we chat in her cheery yellow boot room and we laugh at our frosty lashes and foggy glasses. When we step back outside our friends shout out to us and we yell back happily in high pitched girl voices.

We waddle along like colourful penguins in our bulky clothes. Five sets of moon boots squeak and crunch in rhythm through the snow and our green and orange metal lunch kits blang and clang against each other. I can tell without looking who is walking beside me or behind me by the strange sounds of my friends’ noisy clothes. I know to stop and wait for a slow poke when the rhythm and melody of our march changes.

As we arrive in the fenced school yard, snowballs fly and the sound of laughter and cheering grows louder and faster. In a colourful flurry we push and shove and knock each other down like snowmen clowns. Our large shapeless mitts are clumsy flippers and we hold on tightly to our lunch kits. Snow forts, snowmen and snow angels appear and we play tag and scream until the stern buzz of the school bell cuts through our festivities. It’s time to go in.

In a sloppy line dance we weave and push our way through the doors. We are a thundering, boot stomping parade, clapping our soggy mittens and pulling pigtails.

Our noisy wet clothes peel and unravel as we enter the school. All of these sounds swell and melt together into a fat colourful cloud until suddenly the heavy door slams shut with a THWACK! leaving the playground dark and strangely silent – but just until recess when we will go back outside – while the sun snores somewhere out of sight.


THE END