Our First First Christmas

5- Butterflies in the Snow

THWACK.

I cross my arms in annoyance as I stand behind Nick, the boy bent over to carefully balance yet another log onto the tree stump where we cut wood in his backyard every winter. The backyard is a normally cut lawn until it turns into a wooded area further back and slopes sharply downhill, reaching another small clearing. Even in the winter when the trees are bare, the slope is angled so no one from the house can really see below, creating a great place to store junk and cut wood where company couldn't see. The perfect place to hide from me and let off some steam. It took me a whole hour to find him once I got home.

He lifts the small axe over his head and brings it down once again with what looked like all his strength, splitting the wood clean in half. His work is solely lit by a small lamp in the snow, casting long shadows over his body.

THWACK.

He doesn't look very manly doing it, though. He has terrible form. He tiny hatchet in his hands makes his big swings look funny.

"Nick!" I call out for the third time, but he continues to ignore me. "I said I was sorry, okay? Turn around already, I have to say something important." I grab onto his shoulders to force him to face me.

"Fine," he sniffs, "go ahead." He pushes his hat out of his eyes, his hair sticking out every which way against his forehead.

"I- I-" I sputter, my face heating up from sheer embarrassment at sounding nervous in front of him. I curse myself for being so flustered. "Fuck, it's so hard to say."

"Then stop wasting my time," he gives me a sardonic shrug and turns back around to cut another log, "It's freezing." Angry at him, or at this point simply angrier for making a fool out of myself, I bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, packing it down until it's solid enough to throw- and then I chuck it straight at the back of Nick's dumb head.

He reaches up to cradle the back of his head with his palm, staring at me in silent disbelief before bending down and beginning to form his own snowball. It was successful in getting his attention, though.

I throw my hands up to shield myself from the blow, pleading for mercy. "Hey, wait! I'm sorry! I yield!"

"No, I'm sorry you didn't think about how this would end before you went and threw the first ball." He's right, I really should have thought it through. I've been hit by Nick's throws before. It isn't fun at all. Whenever there was snow on the ground, he was whipping around snowballs.

He throws the snowball and it hits me in the arm, stinging my skin even through my thick winter coat. My arm now stinging from the impact, I retaliate immediately, pushing him. He trips down into the snowbank, grabbing my legs to take me down with him. My knees buckle, falling forward onto him. I regain my balance with a hand on his chest and aim a snowball straight at his face. But then I catch his gaze, and everything becomes frozen.

It's almost like his eyes glow in the lantern's light, shining up from their place below me. I could get so deeply lost in those eyes, searching through all the things they saw yesterday and all the things they'll see tomorrow. It's snowing now, the thick fluffy snow globe snowflakes collecting on his hair and nose and eyelashes. He's so different from before, or maybe I'm just seeing him different. But it's a good different.

"I'm sorry I can't-" I choke over my words. "I can't."

"Can't handle it? Finish what you started and throw the damn snow." He grins his evil, competitive grin and my arm goes limp to my side, the ball of snow disappearing back into the white on the ground. I look into those eyes, defeated. I'm tired of running and hiding. I need to let it all out, to spill every broken piece in front of him for him to back together again.