“Are you the yeti?”

I was first asked the question early one snowy morning, during the depths of the white hell which enveloped Boston last winter. It was a perplexing question to wake up to, but a quick social media check brought me up to speed: a man in a yeti suit (or perhaps a yeti itself!) had been photographed by numerous people, lumbering casually through the snowy streets of Somerville. As the photos spread, more and more friends asked me the same question. Their reasoning was valid: the first sightings took place only a mile or so from my apartment, and cryptozoology has been a vocal pet passion of mine since childhood. To this day, new acquaintances work up the nerve to ask me that same question, and a number of my close friends will likely never be entirely convinced.

The truth is, I’m not the Boston yeti. And I hate that.

Still, I can’t begrudge the old man-ape. Last winter was, by any estimation, the Literal Goddamned Worst, and when you can’t see the street from your ground-level apartment over the ten foot snowbanks, you need all the levity you can get. The Boston Yeti was one of the few unqualified positives to come out of the season, a ray of joy trudging through the tundra. The cryptid’s consistently amusing social media presence, combined with the incredulous sightings from onlookers, turned a nightmarish ice age into an adventure. The Boston Yeti was our Batman: he was the hero this city needed.

Lucky for us, the Yeti doesn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. While we have yet to see any snowfall this year (knockonseriousfuckingwood), the Yeti will be making a rare public appearance tonight at the Brattle, hosting a screening of the classic Rankin-Bass production of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (known to be his favorite movie) and answering questions from the audience. For myself, I’m faced with a choice: do I attend, or do I keep my friends guessing?