a short story by request...

so i'm getting ready to watch the kansas v. texas a&m game (rock chalk), and i have 16 minutes to do some writing. being mr. supportive, patrick has asked me to use this brief window to write a short story about an eskimo, the moon and an igloo. let's see how this goes. (and he better read this, i mean, especially if he wants to really look supportive instead of just flapping his gums.)

TO SHARE THE NIGHT
it was cold. the kind of cold that would make most ordinary people hole away in the warm cozy crannies of overstuffed sofas in overheated rooms. but it was nothing to Akiak, who tucked a handwritten book of ancient Eskimo verse under his arm and ventured outside the comfort of home and central heating. the book had been a gift from his grandmother on the day he was born 20 years ago.

"keep this for him until he grows enough to hold it dear himself," the perpetually wise grandmother had instructed Akiak's mother. it wasn't long; a 3-year-old Akiak took to toting the book up the old attic stairs and spending hours poring over the rough pages of hand-inked lines. Akiak would get lost in the stories and proverbs and teachings of his grandmother's traditional Eskimo life, and when his modern life made him feel lost, the book was there to guide him.

looking up into the crisp black sky, Akiak pulled his hood up and trudged through week-old snow toward the apex of the largest hill on the horizon. the moon as his guide, the walk charged his blood, fortifying his spirit for the work ahead.

the phone had rang early that evening, news from the small village where grandmother insisted to remain long after the family had headed south to electricity and highways and public schools. grandmother was gone. she had walked out into the northern night, refusing a guide, a doctor or a word to argue the subject. she knew what was coming, and she chose her way to meet death. and now Akiak, guided by the voices of the tattered, now dusty, book, chose grandmother's ways to honor her.

reaching the hilltop, he glanced at the moon again. the sphere hung ripe and full above him, looming so large, Akiak felt he could touch it if he desired. he lifted his hood, pulled off his stocking cap, and set it at his feet. he gingerly lay the book on top, open to a diagram of pages. working with the small hand tools tucked inside his down coat, he followed the book's guide to build a small but intricately accurate igloo.

Akiak took a brief rest, but a gaze to the moon slipping down the hill got him to his feet once more. he pulled a small white candle and a single wooden match from his pocket. he placed the candle in the igloo and after striking the match on the coat zipper, lit the flame.

with a sigh of honor, relief, love, devotion, tradition, he lifted the book, replaced his hat and headed back down the hill. he only looked back once, at the foot of the hill. the moon seemed to rest just above the glowing igloo, as to let Akiak know he had done his grandmother well. they had shared the night, all for her.