A Year of Winter

eleven

December 16th, 2012

When I woke up the next morning, the right side of the bed was cold.

My eyelids opened, and I scanned the room, hoping that I might find any trace of Winter. But when I looked to where I’d left her in my arms, I found that instead of her body, I was holding a pillow, clutching it in my sleep.

I shook myself awake and grabbed my glasses from the end table, hastily putting them on in the high hopes that Winter was perhaps far into the distance, typing away at my laptop or reading a book by the windowsill. But once I could see clearly, I could just as easily observe that she was nowhere to be found.

I sighed, and picked myself up from my bed, running a hand through my hair, wondering if I should do myself a favor and forget everything that happened the night before. Everything about Winter’s bruise, everything about her desperation, and everything I felt as she fell asleep beside me.

I mused over the thought as I walked to my window, wondering if she left the same way she came. I looked out, noticing footprints left behind in the melting snow, wondering if it would dissolve just as quickly as she had.

❄

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Henry?”

“Yeah, dad, it’s nice.”

My father turned to look at me, his eyes narrowed and speculative. I sat, legs crossed, holding my copy of The Decampment, reading over and over again the scene where Annie fell asleep in Graham’s arms. What had happened the night before was stained in my memory, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to wash away my thoughts of her.

“Henry? You’re not even looking!”

I turned around, only to see our new Christmas tree, glittering with ornaments and twinkle lights. Hattie hung up one more ornament and looked at me, her arms crossed over her festive reindeer sweater, “Henry, put down that stupid book and help us with the ornaments.”

My mother smiled, ruffling Hattie’s hair, “Aw, it’s not stupid, dear. That’s a wonderful book.”

Hattie grimaced, fixing the loose brown hairs that stuck up from static. She scowled, irritated, “Well, all I know is that that’s all he ever does now. He sits in his room, reading that book, or talking in his sleep about that Winter chick.”

I felt my face flush, my heart caught in my throat as both my mom and my dad looked at me, eyes wide. I dropped my book, standing up indignantly, my glasses nearly falling from my face. “I do not!” I testified, almost able to feel my face getting hotter. "And she's not some chick--"

My mom smiled, inching towards me. She grabbed me by the arm, pulling me closer towards her and Hattie, looking rather sly, “Oh my gosh, Henry, when were you going to tell us?”

I blinked, “Tell you what?” I asked, completely confused.

“About your crush on this girl!” She exclaimed, looking quite possibly the cheeriest I’d ever seen her. I barely had the time to oppose her before she began to speak again, “Is she nice? I bet you she’s pretty! I always knew you had an eye for pretty girls. Well, is she good in school? Why haven’t I heard her name before? Are you two friends? When do we get to meet her—?”

I yanked my arm away from her quickly, scowling, “—Never!” I snapped, almost harshly, “Because I don’t like her like that.”

“Well, you should still invite her to dinner sometime,” my dad interjected, hanging up an ornament near the top of the tree. I glared at him, wishing I could just disappear.