where the snow is so fine it’s like glitter, little silver shavings sprinkling over you and they’re so light you don’t feel them but they sparkle all in front of your eyes and her cheeks got all rosy and her nose too and she was sniffling a little when we came to face each other and we breathed out white air that fogged up her face but when it fell away I could see little bits of glitter-snow all over her eyelashes and her eyes sparkled and then when I kissed her I didn’t even feel the cold.
I woke sweating, in late May, choking on phantom cold air.
My alarm clock read 2:45 AM but I could not imagine going back to sleep. So I texted Jake – he rarely went to bed before five these days.
So come over, he sent, after I had inquired what he was doing and related the dilemma of my newfound sleeplessness.
I can’t just leave in the middle of the night, I argued.
Dude. Live a little.
Before I knew it, I had pulled into his darkened driveway, and was slipping in the front door, tip toeing across his living room and down into the basement where the dim orangey lights still lit the beaten and patched sofas and the TV screen roared with a paused racing game.
“Come on, pick your character,” Jake said.
I scrolled through the options, selecting a buff looking military man with muscles bigger than my entire body and an outfit of one hundred percent camo gear, situated him on a sleek red and steely motorcycle and sat back so Jake could choose a track to play.
“Sharkshead Heights or Volcanic Underground?” he asked.
“Underground.”
We began to race, Jake, as always, fluctuating between first and second with a computer character, and me, struggling to remain in eighth or ninth. He was playing as some slinky, curvaceous blonde with too much makeup and a tightfitting purple jumpsuit whom he had declared he would marry.
He came out on top, leaving me, quite literally in the dust, as I bailed out just before the finish line. “So guess what,” I said, while the next race was queuing up.
“What?” he asked, barely listening, eyes glued to the screen like it was a lifeline. There were dark bags under his eyes and his normally floppy dark hair hung over his eyes like those skater cuts, only less edgy and more disheveled.
“Arvid wants me to go to a party with her.” I reached up to scratch my nose, costing me a few seconds delay as the race began. Back to twelfth.
“So are you gonna go?”
“I said I would,” I admitted, booking it to catch up with the rest of the racers.
“Sweet,” he said. “Think she could hook me up with one of her hot friends?”
I sort of laughed, but mostly felt a little defensive. “I dunno,” I said evasively, finally managing to overtake the computer character I’d been tailing.
“Well if you meet any… send ‘em my way.”
“Yeah, alright,” I nodded, letting out a sigh that was half groan, half scoff, as my military man fell in the lava. Again.
After a few more rounds, Jake passed out on the couch with the game still running. I shut it off for him and headed home.
Clueless as I was about social gatherings, I had to resort to google regarding the party which, as Arvid texted me, would be taking place that evening. The ultimate concern was what people wore to such gatherings. At the last, the night of graduation, everyone had simply abandoned their caps and gowns and gone in whatever dress or button up and slacks they’d been wearing underneath. I assumed this was not the general attire.
