Meet Me in the Hallway

one

one

"The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches." 

- E.E. Cummings

I awoke from the bitter breeze that swirled around my quivering body, whisking the thin coat that was draped around my meager frame away from me. I had fallen asleep deep into the night, curled behind an assortment of wooden crates that have been cast aside a small tavern. The crates had done little to protect me from the crisp air that bit at my exposed skin, but it was better than sitting on the icy street with nothing to separate my thin clothing from it. The populous city that I managed to drag myself to, in spite of the frigid temperatures, had begun to come alive as the morning sun peeked through the bleak clouds above. 

I heard the vendors pushing the fresh snow, that draped itself silently across their abundant city land all last night, away from their entryways to allow the city's inhabitants to set foot inside to escape the cold. The merchants exited the warmth and safety of their comfortable homes to bustle around, wheeling carts of freshly baked bread as well as other desirables, in hopes of selling a few to passersby to bring home to their families. 

Another gust of the wintry air stung my face as I brought my knees to my chest in order to conserve the little warmth I possessed. My body urged me to get up, walk, run, anything to prevent myself from freezing to death in this narrow alleyway, in a city where no one would remember me, let alone weep for me. Instead, all I could do was stare past my knees, lazily watching through the alley as the vendors rushed past me, sporting bright rosy cheeks and heavy layers. My gaze caught a young girl, maybe a few years younger than myself, kneading her hands together, covered in thick wool gloves. 

Oh to have something so warm. My envious thoughts broke through my mind, and I wished I was the one to have luxury as small as gloves.

Subconsciously, I shoved my own hands into the worn-out, hole-ridden pockets of the flimsy coat I wore, trying to grasp at whatever warmth I could muster up. I wanted to move and beg for help from a kind pedestrian, but I knew it was no use. No one batted an eye to those on the streets. No one cared to look down the alleyways where hundreds, like myself, died from the gruesome weather that persisted through the winter. And how stupid of me to run north during the middle of December. 

My eyes lazily blinked, becoming harder to open each time they shut, and I felt my time coming to an end. The clock that was my life ticked closer and closer to its final tock, and I had little fight left in me to care anymore. My eyes fluttered shut one more time and the chatter of my teeth overpowered the sound that emanated from the streets. The lives of the morning crowd before me would go on, and my death would be nothing but an inconvenience to whoever was unlucky enough to find and dispose of my frozen corpse.

Thoughts of my death ran across my mind, as I wondered if freezing to death would be painful. Or if at some point my body and mind would become too numb for me to even feel the effects of the cold slowing my heart. Another breeze struck me and my breath caught in my lungs, sadness filling my heart at the idea of my inevitable demise. I thought back to my family, and how I would have a chance to live if I had never run, but to me, dying in this alley was a great deal more than the life I would have led had I stayed. 

"Oh mon dieu!" A muffled voice cried out. The world was harder to hear through the sound of my teeth chattering, drowning out the voice. 

"Mademoiselle!" The voice called, this time sounding closer than before. I ignored it, assuming it was a street vendor calling out to a patron. 

"Mademoiselle," it called again, this time too close for me to not notice. 

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeve as I was pulled from the wall I prepared to call my headstone. My eyelids fluttered open once again, and I was face to face with the young girl with the enviable gloves I saw minutes before. She blabbered, words firing from her mouth like bullets from a gun, and I could hardly understand what she was saying to me.

"Slow..." I rasped, the parched lining of my throat struggling to force the words out. 

"I am sorry," she breathed, the air around her mimicking a cloud as her warm breath passed through her lips. "Are you okay mademoiselle?" I couldn't muster another word out of my dry throat, so I just shook my head. 

"How did you get here? Oh! When was the last time you ate, or drank, or slept on a bed?" I can't bring myself to use my voice. I shrug at her and she sighs once more. "This is not the kind of weather to be sitting around, especially in a coat so thin." The girl sets her basket full of groceries down, shaking her head disapprovingly. She glanced up at me and pulled one of her gloves off before touching my forehead softly. Her warm fingers brushed my skin and I felt my body lean towards her warmth, begging for more.

"Oh," she whispers, empathy dripping from her tone as her hand fell back to her side. "You look so sick. Let me help you s'il vous plaît. My family can take care of you and make you healthy again," she offered. The young girl jerked my arms upward and forced me to stand. She picked her basket back up from the ground with her free arm and slid it down towards her elbow, freeing up her other hand in case she needed to support me. My weak legs wobbled underneath my malnourished body, and I felt her dainty hands catch me, supporting my weight on her side. She slowly walked with me, careful not to push me too far as we exited the alleyway. 

The scent of the fresh bread that rests in her basket wafted towards my nose and my stomach rumbled in response. I heard a small giggle from the girl as she continued to help me walk. We stopped for a second as she fumbled around her basket and tore a small piece of the loaf off, handing it to me with a small smile. I reached up hesitantly and took it from her, the warmth of it felt foreign in my numb fingers. I slowly brought it to my mouth and relished in the feeling of having something to eat. It has been far too long.

"My name is Briar, what is yours?" I look at her and mull over it for a second.

My name? A question that one doesn't usually hesitate to answer, and yet here I was. I was in a new city, surrounded by strangers, and I had the ability to chose a name. A name that was not my own, but would be from this moment forward. A new name for a new life. 

I scanned my slow brain for a name that stuck out to me, as Briar watched me patiently. I cleared my throat as a familiar name already rolled off of my tongue. "Zosia. My name is Zosia."

"What a lovely name. Well Zosia, come along. My family will be delighted to have a new face around, especially one as pretty as yours." Briar smiled. A sweet, crooked smile that made me feel at ease, captured her lips and I felt the corners of my own tip up slightly. 

I didn't exactly know what I would be walking into, but I was just grateful I wouldn't be sleeping in the snow again. And with a presence as kind as Briar, how bad could it be?