escritora

I am walking on the frozen lake, my feet ache with cold in my boots. The sun looks like a blurry glowing disc behind the layer of rutted clouds. The sky is expansive and the perfect shade of blue. Snow covers the lake, except for a 2 km strip of bare ice that has been cleared and shovelled by locals for skating. In the distance, coniferous trees stand along the banks and billowing smoke escapes the chimneys of the cabins scattered around. 

It is the 25th of December, the day after my fathers birthday. He is now walking ahead a few hundred meters away inspecting the thickness of the ice in certain areas and waving to people who may or may not know from the area. He has walked on the lake many times over the winter, driving on the frozen water and ice fishing. 

My mother and sister are also participating on our holiday walk. It is cold, but not unpleasantly so for Christmas morning. We are all properly bundled up in layers of sweaters and down jackets. 

My sister's complexion is sallow and her hair is disheveled. She takes out her vape and smokes, her ungloved hand turning red. She seems detached and fragile somehow. Vulnerable and unreachable. The most recent years, more challenging than they ought to have been. 

At this stage in her young adult life, she feels like the world is against her. She has a hard time keeping her job, argues with her friends, borrows money for groceries and rent from my parents. She's wearing a long gray trench coat and thick soled leather combat boots.

Earlier this year in July, the man who raped her when she was underage was sentenced to prison. After having shown no remorse, nor acknowledgement of his crimes, the judge gave him 11 years in prison. Years prior, over 20 women had come forward with serious allegations against him of assault and involuntary confinement. He was found guilty in the cases of five women.

Despite being the first girl to have gone forward to the police, the perpetrator was found not guilty in her case. Years of questioning, trials and interviews by media had perceptively impacted her greatly, you could see it on her face.

My mother tries to keep the mood light with chatter. We haven’t spent Christmas all together in years. It seems that the holiday doesn't hold the same significance as it does for other families. We are the kind of people who ask for things we need like a windshield repair, so gifts never have the element of sentimentality. It feels good however to be together this year walking on the ice, breathing in the crisp air, feeling the cold on our cheeks. A family healing and growing.

We rejoin and walk towards the red bridge where the train crosses the lake. Back at the cabin my father lights a fire and we warm our chilled bodies. We have red wine, ham and scalloped potatoes. We enjoy our communion, our togetherness, putting our feet to be warmed on each other's laps, the way families do after dinner on Christmas night.