Things always seem to hurt more in the cold.
It was a statement uttered by multiple people as soon as the weather got chilly. Slipping and falling while shoveling piles of soft snow off the stairs of your apartment building because your super is older than dirt. Idly swinging your hand into a solid object while walking somewhere on a cold winter’s day. The feeling that typically goes away in a few moments seems to throb and linger when you also have to contend with a breeze that gets under your jacket and layers of clothing. It takes your mind off of whatever you were doing and reserves a place solidly in the back of your head so that whenever you’re finished with whatever sordid task brought you into the inhospitable wastes outside of your apartment building after a snowstorm, you remember you got hurt.
At the risk of sounding pretentious, I think it applies to emotional pain as well.
Standing out in the snow with an overpriced hot chocolate giving off steam into the miserably gray afternoon was where I found myself when the only girl I’d ever dated and in my presumptions, thought I’d EVER date, Kara, dumped me.
It was quick, like that time my mom quickly snatched a baby tooth hanging off my gums by a thread out of my mouth.
In my typically long-winded fashion, I tried to come up with an objection that would get her to reconsider things.
“Surely you don’t mean this, right? It’s… just a break, yeah?” I spoke, breaking the momentary silence.
Strands of her jet-black hair blew under a ragged red beanie in the breeze amongst the pale gray and white of the miserable January day. Dormant trees danced back and forth in concert. The normally busy shopping center where we had met up a million times before seemed as deserted as an arctic snowfield. A few people who were unfortunate enough to want to eat something they didn’t have at home trudged through the dirty, plowed slush and snow into the supermarket or whatever restaurant dared to open today.
“What’s the difference to you?” Kara replied, hot air visibly swirling out of her nose like an angered dragon. When she was about to say something hurtful, her nostrils flared pretty obviously, and the septum piercing I’d never seen her without was even more noticeable. “You’d go weeks without speaking to me if you could.”
“I keep telling you. It’s not like that. I’m just kind of a recluse.” I responded defensively. I didn’t think my behavior was neglectful. At times, Kara had even said that my “writer-ly nature” was charming. Kept saying I’d end up renting a cabin in the woods outside a small town, like that one Stephen King story.
Pet Sematary, right?
“We haven’t spent any time together for the past month, you know? I’m not particularly demanding, but a text might be nice once in a while.” Kara’s words, spoken softly through cold-chapped lips, hit like a small van. I really didn’t think twice about it while it was happening. It was usually a “I’ll respond later” type of thing.
Except the later never came until it was too late.
It reached that point where you felt awkward responding to the message after so long. It gets even later, then you wonder if that strange social rule you likely made up in your head even applies when it’s the girl you’re dating.
Probably not. But it’s too late to respond by then, right?
Just as well, it was likely too late to explain it to Kara.
Her large, round glasses fogged up as she exhaled loudly, awaiting my likely insufficient response. Truthfully, I was glad. Every moment she spent staring into my eyes between sparse blinks felt like another layer of emotional armor I had built up was being stripped away.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” I spoke meekly. I didn’t really have anything I could say besides a long-winded explanation. To be honest, I have friends online that I don’t speak to for several months and as soon as I message them, it’s like I never stopped.
At least, it feels that way. In truth, every one of them could be as upset as my beloved Kara was right now. I silently noted that I should probably ask several of my online friends if they were mad at me, later. I probably shouldn’t, but I knew that I’d do it regardless.
Oh, right. It was Salem’s Lot. Silly me.
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