SOMETIMES IT SNOWS IN APRIL
ALM No.95, November 2026
SHORT STORIES
Savannah stood on the line, waiting for the 601 to take her from the Fullerton Depot to Union Station in downtown Los Angeles, where she worked in the jewelry district. The 601 would arrive at 5:56 a.m. Palm trees on the far side of the tracks looked like high fives against a ruddy sky.
Others waited for the blue, gray, and orange lines headed for Perris Valley, Antelope Valley, the San Clemente Pier, Bob Hope Airport. They grabbed bites at the café and thumb-jabbed their phones. Some looked furtive, others confident. And there was a middle ground, Savannah knew. How many crimes had been committed by them? Against them?
Simone arrived and, per usual, handed Savannah The Los Angeles Times, which, like every news outlet in the world, featured an obituary on Prince.
“The most comfortable form of world travel,” Simone said, quoting Savannah.
“Another Christmas morning,” Savannah said, though it was April 22, 2016. She handed Simone a purple fleur-de-lis. Simone, who had a habit of looking down and rising with a tragi-flirty smirk, rose in a near-cry.
Was it enough? Yes, Savannah decided. One flower was enough for Simone, which was what mattered, and not enough for herself, which didn’t.
Here came Theodore. His face was folding up like a triple-creased letter under a black hoodie. He was either middle-aged and looking very old or old and looking pretty good. All he hoped for was breakfast.
“Enjoy,” Savannah said, handing him two dollars.
“God bless you,” he said, heading to the cafe to order a corn diggity dog off the children’s menu. It came with apple sauce.
Skirt groomed, scarf fixed to cover her neck, shoulders in her back pockets (an early modeling tip), Savannah, in her traveling sneakers, pivoted to Homero. His tiny head moved constantly, like a bantamweight. She handed him the funnies. He used his cell phone to spotlight Peanuts and Bizarro.
Malika, who looked like every weatherwoman in Southern California, converged on the line with the others. Some craned. Some tended to business. Others munched on snacks.
Savannah had turned sixty five, which she did not see as a sad sequel to lost youth. She knew, with filigree exactitude, how she wanted to spend her time, which was finally her own: steering shoppers toward good metals, day trips to Santa Barbara, watching old movies, investing in this-way-or-that Simone, the daughter she'd never had.
Savannah worried about Simone—her pursuit of a degree in criminal justice, her money woes, her entanglements with boys.
“And how is Trevor?”
Simone tugged at the curls beneath her hat. She wore mismatched earrings, skinny jeans, combat boots, a light jacket over a vintage 5th Dimension t-shirt, all bought at thrift. She could get away with it because she was twenty two and this-way-or-that, with the charming drama that comes with it.
“You know what I think?” Simone said. “I think these papis overestimate what’s below their belts and under-use what’s above their necks…”
Simone had quoted her again. Except papis. Savannah chuckled. It sounded like polite applause. Simone was doing a yeoman’s job of hiding her shock and sorrow, Savannah thought, but her eyes, the eyes of a silent film star, were made for mischief, not this.
Savannah looked at the flour-de-lis. She could have given her a bouquet but all that purple would have made things worse, wouldn’t it?
She went to her go-to joke about a dog who learns English… and tells extravagant lies.
The regulars, Homero, Theodore, Malika, and now Mr. Tran, issued groans. They'd heard the dog’s whoppers too many times. They laughed anyway, not at the joke but at their own complaints that rallied like a defiant village.
“You're extra extra,” Simone said. Savannah had first learned that she was extra on their girls trip to Palm Springs. She’d insisted on paying for everything; Simone had tended to her every step, made her comfortable in ways neither of her husbands had. She’d played underground artists for her, and oldies but goodies: the Traveling Wilburys, Tracy Chapman, side one of 1999, side two of Love Symbol, and all of Diamonds and Pearls. Simone had been to six Prince concerts. She never missed a lyric.
April felt colder than it should. The tracks buzzed. Simone caught herself looking down too much. She performed her chin up and took Savannah by the elbow as the light came toward them.
Brady Rhoades’s work has appeared in The Antioch Review, Faultline, Georgetown Review, museum of Americana, Notre Dame Review, The Southern Review, The William & Mary Review, and other publications.
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