Snow (Kevin/Joe)
Companion piece to " Rain" and " Fall."
Expect more from this series.
Under the streetlamp, I can see my breath misting out a soft orange, and for just a second, I pretend I'm a firefly. I'm glowing. I'm expelling my light into the darkness and serving as a spotlight, a lighthouse, for anyone trying to find their way home.
I'm kidding myself, as always. It's my favorite and favored pastime. I'm not helping anyone. In fact, by sitting here on the hood of my warm running car, enjoying the company of silence in this empty parking lot, I'm probably causing someone some sort of anxiety. But, I can't bring myself to care.
The snow has been softly falling for hours, lighting like kisses and fingertips, flames and razorblades, across my bare hands where they rest on my knees, the nape of my neck as my head bends forward. It's a blanket over the black concrete and yellow lines. The few remaining footprints disappear, the snow erasing their existence.
I feel very alone.
Of course, being alone was the whole point of leaving my house to park in front of an empty building across town, where no one would think to look for me. My phone hasn't rung once. It seems no one is looking at all.
Slipping off and to my feet, I stand very still, letting the snow dust across the shoulders of my black coat. I tilt my head back, and the small flakes melt against my face. I barely breathe. Even with the highway just a mile away, everything is so quiet now that it's snowing. It's like a midnight church service. Is this reverence, or is everyone dozing?
I walk forward, slowly, carefully, leaving perfect footprints behind me. I'm wearing his boots. He doesn't know I took them. I just want to leave a beautiful mark on his behalf. I try to mimick his stride. His legs are longer than mine, so it's hard. I pretend he's walking beside me, speaking softly, because he always has something to say, and every word is worth hearing.
Headlights sweep across me, and I pause, looking up. The car pulls up beside mine, the lights dim, leaving me once again searching by the dim orange arc of the streetlamp. I can't see for the darkness, but I know it's him. Who else could it be?
"I've been looking everywhere for you."
My heart bursts to hear him say that. I smile softly as he comes toward me, the heels of his shoes crunching quietly across the frozen ground. I feel warmer with each step he takes.
"You're going to get sick." He says that a lot. He's always so worried about me. I suppose that's how he should be.
"How did you find me?" My voice is hoarse with the cold and lack of use, only proving his point.
He pulls his scarf off, and I watch it slide down into his hands, crumpling in a pile of color. He reaches around me to settle it against my neck. I can smell his vanilla-scented soap, his musky cologne. His fingers brush against my skin as he ties the scarf at my throat. "I know you." He says it so simply, so easily, that I don't doubt the truth of it.
He turns away, and I almost think he's leaving me here, but he climbs up onto the hood of his truck, and I wander over to sit beside him. His arm brushes mine. "Why are you always hiding out?"
I squint up at the dark sky, and think of shooting stars as the snow drifts lazily toward me. I don't say anything. There's no point; there's no real answer. It doesn't matter anyway. He always finds me.
We're quiet, sitting here together. The snow in his curls reminds me of powdered sugar, and I think of chocolate and coffee and the holidays that are around the corner. Our footprints in the snow are quietly fading, but it's okay. I feel far from alone.
Expect more from this series.
Under the streetlamp, I can see my breath misting out a soft orange, and for just a second, I pretend I'm a firefly. I'm glowing. I'm expelling my light into the darkness and serving as a spotlight, a lighthouse, for anyone trying to find their way home.
I'm kidding myself, as always. It's my favorite and favored pastime. I'm not helping anyone. In fact, by sitting here on the hood of my warm running car, enjoying the company of silence in this empty parking lot, I'm probably causing someone some sort of anxiety. But, I can't bring myself to care.
The snow has been softly falling for hours, lighting like kisses and fingertips, flames and razorblades, across my bare hands where they rest on my knees, the nape of my neck as my head bends forward. It's a blanket over the black concrete and yellow lines. The few remaining footprints disappear, the snow erasing their existence.
I feel very alone.
Of course, being alone was the whole point of leaving my house to park in front of an empty building across town, where no one would think to look for me. My phone hasn't rung once. It seems no one is looking at all.
Slipping off and to my feet, I stand very still, letting the snow dust across the shoulders of my black coat. I tilt my head back, and the small flakes melt against my face. I barely breathe. Even with the highway just a mile away, everything is so quiet now that it's snowing. It's like a midnight church service. Is this reverence, or is everyone dozing?
I walk forward, slowly, carefully, leaving perfect footprints behind me. I'm wearing his boots. He doesn't know I took them. I just want to leave a beautiful mark on his behalf. I try to mimick his stride. His legs are longer than mine, so it's hard. I pretend he's walking beside me, speaking softly, because he always has something to say, and every word is worth hearing.
Headlights sweep across me, and I pause, looking up. The car pulls up beside mine, the lights dim, leaving me once again searching by the dim orange arc of the streetlamp. I can't see for the darkness, but I know it's him. Who else could it be?
"I've been looking everywhere for you."
My heart bursts to hear him say that. I smile softly as he comes toward me, the heels of his shoes crunching quietly across the frozen ground. I feel warmer with each step he takes.
"You're going to get sick." He says that a lot. He's always so worried about me. I suppose that's how he should be.
"How did you find me?" My voice is hoarse with the cold and lack of use, only proving his point.
He pulls his scarf off, and I watch it slide down into his hands, crumpling in a pile of color. He reaches around me to settle it against my neck. I can smell his vanilla-scented soap, his musky cologne. His fingers brush against my skin as he ties the scarf at my throat. "I know you." He says it so simply, so easily, that I don't doubt the truth of it.
He turns away, and I almost think he's leaving me here, but he climbs up onto the hood of his truck, and I wander over to sit beside him. His arm brushes mine. "Why are you always hiding out?"
I squint up at the dark sky, and think of shooting stars as the snow drifts lazily toward me. I don't say anything. There's no point; there's no real answer. It doesn't matter anyway. He always finds me.
We're quiet, sitting here together. The snow in his curls reminds me of powdered sugar, and I think of chocolate and coffee and the holidays that are around the corner. Our footprints in the snow are quietly fading, but it's okay. I feel far from alone.