I didn’t know the snowball had a rock in it. Never
would’ve imagined such a thing.
It whacked me flush above the left eye. Bitch pain.
Blood blinding me within seconds of impact. Tears. Convulsive tears.
The boys ran. Knee-deep in white powder. Laughing.
Gloved. Plastic bags rubberbanded around shoes. This was Texas. Snow never
Mom yelled. Cried. Wiped the blood. Drove the Dodge to
Needle. Thread. Stitches. Flesh gathered unto other
Mom marched into their back yard. Saw it from the
Twins firing pellets at their snowman. Briquette eyes
Grabbed one by the ear and the other by the throat. Took
them both to the snowy ground. Buried them several inches into the ice.
Slapped them silly. Dog choking at its chain.
Sheriff’s deputy slipping and sliding up our icy walk.
This was Texas. Snow never comes.
Joe Garcia was born in Mexico and grew up in a small
Texas town. He teaches third grade in a Spanish dual-immersion program in
the Berkeley public schools.