by Shasta Gragg
Walking in the night, with snow falling softly. An early snow - yellow leaves on mostly barren trees. Holding the hand of my friend, sometime lover. In my other hand, pages of sheet music. The snow - it’s so bright. It turns the pages blue. A shade light enough to see the eighth notes and treble clefs. Wind pulls my hair over my eyes. I stare through the strands at his face., our hands. I feel free. Alive. I’m eighteen.
***
Oh, it’s so cold. Just now old enough to walk the distance of four houses - from my Grandma’s to mine. It’s very dark. Wind scares me screaming through the mountains. I’m afraid of the dark but it feels grown up to be alone in this place. I’ve stepped through that wardrobe to Narnia. A wild cat, patches of fur missing, darts across the road in my path. I pretend she is a beaver, inviting me into her cozy nook for tea and cake. I feel like a fairy tale princess. I’m eight.
***
I slam the door shut behind me. Shouts are ringing in my ears. Every time it happens exactly the same way. I crunch through frozen snow, slipping when I reach the pavement. In my anger I tromp hazardously forward. The stars are bright but I can’t see them clearly. Cold wind makes my eyes water and the tears freeze on my burning cheeks. I’m hot with fury. I feel indignant, incensed. I’m thirty-one.
***
He shakes me awake. It’s 2:00 a.m. I swim up through a dream. He grins above me. “Come out,” he says. I fumble for clothes but he tosses me a robe and tells me to hurry. The witching hour, no one about. My slippers fill with slush as he drags me through the snow. The streetlight’s glare illuminates our hushed world. In the middle of the street he has written in giant letters: I LOVE YOU. My heart skips a beat. I feel unworthy. I’m twenty.
No comments:
Post a Comment