When I arrived I remember really just the snow. It was January in New York. I don't remember my feelings. I don't remember thoughts. I don't remember being confused or excited. I just remember the snow.
And the darkness from which the snow was unleashed. I remember the snow on the surfaces of the busy cars. Yes, there were cars that didn't exist in such numbers where I spent my previous years. But then I don't remember having any curious or any feelings about the cars. I don't remember my feelings about my Mother, whom I have only seen now after four years. I don't remember if she looked the same or different. One can only suppose that she looked more worn out but also less peasant-like. If she smiled, it didn't leave an impression in my memory. Everything was just dark. The plane arrived at night. I was probably exhausted. My sister was probably exhausted too, she being younger. I think young children, though full of energy, get exhausted more easily. Maybe my Dad was carrying her.
I don't remember if I slept. I just remembered that the plane was very stable. I thought that we would be like birds, soaring and diving, or at least like fighter jets. But instead, the floor of the plane felt as steady and grounded as the dusty roads I walked on all those ten years. (Well, minus the first one when I didn't know how to walk.) I remembered being explained to about the English words for beef and chicken when I was served free food. But I don't remember much else, not whether I slept or for how long, not people around me. There is no fear or joy or curiosity registered in my memory. And the new land, the new country, the new city, I don't remember that the difference left any impressions. Just the snow from the dark sky. I didn't dare touch it, but I knew what it was, from books and movies. My Dad said he had seen snow once where we used to live, but actually, he was told there was snow and by the time he got out of bed to go see it it had all disappeared. But here there was plenty of snow.
I don't remember the taxi ride. Only many decades later I was told that the driver probably cheated us by taking a long route. But I don't remember the ride, or the ensuing complaints. I am sure my Mother would have thrown a fit. But I don't remember them talking about it. In fact, I don't remember much about them that night. They brought us to the new apartment. It was on a second floor in a dimly lit apartment building. I am sure I wasn't distressed by the lack of light. I was used to not even having electricity living in the old country. So I don't remember I was upset by it, or felt afraid. I don't remember that I disliked anything. I am sure the bunk bed was not comfortable. Perhaps I was curious about the concept of a bunk bed. I was afraid I would fall off so at some point, probably not that night, I got my sister to sleep on the top. I remember that every now and then I would see the profile of her body extruding down towards me and I would poke her. It didn't occur to either one of us that the beds were uncomfortable. The mattress, if you can call it, was too soft, and there was no support below save rails of spring, hence the ability for my sister to project her profile downwards. In that bunk bed I would spend a lot of lonely hours as an emerging teenager.
But that night I don't remember going to bed, though I must have. I don't remember having dinner, but I must have. And I must have been curious about something or else were very sleepy and tired, but I can't remember. There were so many novelties: carpet, big kitchen, my own bed, of course, the idea of sleeping on the second floor, actually windows, a big TV (at least bigger than whatever we'd owned), and snacks of different kinds. But my only memory of that night was the snow, and things surrounding the snow. I looked out the window and saw the quiet street, grayed by the dirt infused in the snow and yellow from the street lights. There weren't many people, but a lot of cars. They were all covered. Snow isn't like rain, the only thing I was aware of that came from the sky. (I'd never seen a pigeon before then so didn't know what pigeon droppings were.) And unlike rain, it stayed in a visible form after it reached its final destination. It was something I could've touched and kept, if I had wanted. I have no recollection about the refrigerator either, a novelty by all measures, and so I wasn't really curious about the snow that was collecting inside.
I wanted to draw something on the snow, to make my first mark in my new country. I thought about snowball fights that I read about and saw in movies. I wondered how hard it would be. And so from the only window in the bedroom where I had bunked with my sister, I looked out to the streets. I don't even remember being curious about the different races, in the airport or on the streets. I was just thinking about the snow that, like me, had come from the skies and now have reached its final destination.
