Yours For The Weekend

2

The twenty-fourth of December. I stir in my childhood bed, feeling the familiar softness of the mattress beneath me. I slept fitfully, the memories of this room overwhelming me even as I slumbered. Despite the exhaustion that still clings to me, I know I won't be able to go back to sleep. The clock reads six in the morning, but I don't know if my mother and sister are already awake. We laughed and reminisced over glasses of wine late into the night, our mother regaling us with tales of our antics as children. I can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia and longing for those simpler times.

As I quietly tiptoe down the staircase, I try my utmost to not disturb the slumber of my family members in the room adjacent to mine. The air is biting and chilly, causing me to shiver as I make my way down. Upon entering the kitchen, I immediately head towards the coffee maker, eager for my morning fix. However, my excitement is short-lived as I discover to my disappointment that we have run out of coffee. It dawns on me that my mother prefer drinking tea instead, a detail I had previously overlooked. Undeterred, I step outside, bundled up in a snug scarf that envelops my neck and a heavy, padded coat to combat the harsh winter weather. Despite the biting cold, I am willing to brave the elements for a steaming cup of coffee. After all, a little chill never hurt anyone, as long as I stay warm and cozy.

I opt against donning gloves, as the thought of fumbling with them in the frigid air seems like too much effort. Instead, I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket, seeking warmth. The sun has yet to rise, casting a gray and gloomy hue over the snow-covered landscape. A thick blanket of white snow, evidence of a raging blizzard the previous night, covers the area as far as the eye can see. The thought of having to shovel the snow off my car before my return home tomorrow night fills me with dread. The crisp winter air assaults my nose, causing it to run profusely as I trudge down the snow-covered pavement, leaving a trail of footprints behind me.

I lift my gaze from the ground and survey my surroundings. The muffled silence may be attributed to the holiday season, where many slumber in the comfort of their homes. I cautiously scan the road ahead, searching for any sign of approaching vehicles. Taking advantage of the lack of cars, I cross the street with leisurely steps, unperturbed by any distractions. As I reach the opposite side, I continue my journey forward and step onto the pavement. A few more strides bring me face to face with a figure standing on the sidewalk. My eyes dart down, and I spy a lone figure, who seems to be the only one not fully embracing the festive spirit. As I look up, I am shocked to see a familiar face, one I haven't encountered in years. She stands there, still as a statue, gazing off into the distance with a far-off look in her eyes.

As our gazes met, I noticed a subtle shift in her stance, and her head turned ever so slightly towards me. I stood there, rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to acknowledge her with a greeting and the desire to retreat back into the anonymity of the morning. I drew in a deep breath, and the cold air caused my breath to billow out in a cloud of mist.

"Good morning," she spoke softly, inclining her head in greeting. I wasn't sure if she recognized me as a neighbor or if she remembered me from our previous shared memory. Her vision, I knew, was blurry, so reading the expression on her face was an impossible feat.

"Good morning," I replied, mustering a polite smile.

"I didn't know you were back," she said, her voice ringing with a hint of recognition. Her words confirmed my suspicion that she indeed remembered me, and I felt a warm sense of familiarity wash over me.

"I'm just home for the weekend," I explained, feeling a rush of relief that she had recognized me despite the passing of time. "I wasn't sure if you would remember me," I added, with a touch of self-consciousness.