room,” painted light emerald and decorated with white, lace curtains and a mammoth picture of a field of purple flowers that hung over the bed. It was as if she had been planning it for years. I could even picture her dancing about the room and listening to some old, 60s record as she stuffed my prized 4-H trophies and band posters into a box and hid it away for good. I cringed at the thought of my precious bands being wrinkled and crammed into an eternal box as I made my way down the hallway, anticipating ea ch creek in the hardwood floor.
It was New Year’s Eve. The holiday had never really been my favorite, mostly because it was at the wrong time of the year. How were you supposed to get excited about starting anything when it was ten degrees outside and all you could really think about starting was a vacation in any place south of where you were?
Christmas had been alright, though. My mother had decorated the place to the hilt, as usual, right down to the little ceramic Christmas mice that she would adhere to the banisters. Each mouse extended across a tiny sled and donned a miniature stocking hat and colorful mittens. The figurines made the normal and natural walk down the stairs awkward and slightly dangerous, but through the years, I guess I had come to look forward to their meandering presence during the holidays. With the mice, came Christmas.
Thinking about how I had grown to love the expected consistency of my Christmases at home, my thoughts turned to the one, obnoxiously missing piece. It had been my first Christmas without Will in years, and I had found it cruelly evident that he had not been by my side. I had survived, however, and now, I was just the tiniest bit excited because this New Year’s Eve would be different too – a good different or at least I hoped it would be anyway.
It had been a couple of months since I had last spoken to Will, and though I didn’t expect a love reconnection, I was excited to catch up. I missed his friendship, and honestly, a piece of me still hadn’t healed from our last conversation. He had been my best friend for more than three, amazing years, and now, where his friendship had been was left a void that I had not even thought about filling yet.
After forcing my limbs through the arm holes in my favorite, worn-in, ivory wool coat, I jumped into my jeep and turned the key. I hated the months from December to February with a passion. Last night, it had dropped to a very unpleasant 14 degrees, and now, the air temperature pierced the thinnest parts of my nose and ears. My teeth chattered as I struggled to pull my pale pink scarf around my neck, waiting impatiently for the heat in the vents to grow warm and then hot. It very rarely occurred to me to warm up the jeep before actually getting into it like everyone else in this great state did.
I’m on a beach. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands briskly together. I’m basking in the warm sun. It’s 85 degrees and perfect.
I opened my eyes and caught a leafless tree glaring at me from outside my so-called beach. Long ice sickles clung to its branches – they too seemed to be mocking me. The world out there looked dead and lifeless. I was surely in a British film.
Who was I kidding? It was cold out there, and it was cold in here, and even a warm image was too hard to conjure up tonight.
After several, painful minutes, and when the inside of my jeep was at least bearable, I forced it into d rive and made my way into town.
When I arrived in town, I could see Rachel waiting for me at the place we had nicknamed The Elle years ago. It had gained the name because of its most eye-catching feature. A big L in the
It was New Year’s Eve. The holiday had never really been my favorite, mostly because it was at the wrong time of the year. How were you supposed to get excited about starting anything when it was ten degrees outside and all you could really think about starting was a vacation in any place south of where you were?
Christmas had been alright, though. My mother had decorated the place to the hilt, as usual, right down to the little ceramic Christmas mice that she would adhere to the banisters. Each mouse extended across a tiny sled and donned a miniature stocking hat and colorful mittens. The figurines made the normal and natural walk down the stairs awkward and slightly dangerous, but through the years, I guess I had come to look forward to their meandering presence during the holidays. With the mice, came Christmas.
Thinking about how I had grown to love the expected consistency of my Christmases at home, my thoughts turned to the one, obnoxiously missing piece. It had been my first Christmas without Will in years, and I had found it cruelly evident that he had not been by my side. I had survived, however, and now, I was just the tiniest bit excited because this New Year’s Eve would be different too – a good different or at least I hoped it would be anyway.
It had been a couple of months since I had last spoken to Will, and though I didn’t expect a love reconnection, I was excited to catch up. I missed his friendship, and honestly, a piece of me still hadn’t healed from our last conversation. He had been my best friend for more than three, amazing years, and now, where his friendship had been was left a void that I had not even thought about filling yet.
After forcing my limbs through the arm holes in my favorite, worn-in, ivory wool coat, I jumped into my jeep and turned the key. I hated the months from December to February with a passion. Last night, it had dropped to a very unpleasant 14 degrees, and now, the air temperature pierced the thinnest parts of my nose and ears. My teeth chattered as I struggled to pull my pale pink scarf around my neck, waiting impatiently for the heat in the vents to grow warm and then hot. It very rarely occurred to me to warm up the jeep before actually getting into it like everyone else in this great state did.
I’m on a beach. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands briskly together. I’m basking in the warm sun. It’s 85 degrees and perfect.
I opened my eyes and caught a leafless tree glaring at me from outside my so-called beach. Long ice sickles clung to its branches – they too seemed to be mocking me. The world out there looked dead and lifeless. I was surely in a British film.
Who was I kidding? It was cold out there, and it was cold in here, and even a warm image was too hard to conjure up tonight.
After several, painful minutes, and when the inside of my jeep was at least bearable, I forced it into d rive and made my way into town.
When I arrived in town, I could see Rachel waiting for me at the place we had nicknamed The Elle years ago. It had gained the name because of its most eye-catching feature. A big L in the
Similar Books
