Last year, it snowed on the first day of spring.
I think there’s something very special about March. Winter has not quite thawed; it comes and goes, holding onto the grass with its pale skeleton fingers. But spring is insistent. It pushes through the earth like a newborn baby, that inevitable dominance of life.
The way the sun hits my face through the trees, the wind brushing my hair out of my eyes, and the undetectable scent of warmth in the air call memories to the forefront of my mind. They push up my throat, bringing bile with them and leaving their sour residue on my tongue. But Spring is coming once again, and all I can do is wait.
–
Two drinks down, and it’s a long wait for my turn on karaoke. My first Friday night off in months, and we are celebrating out on the town. Last minute plans landed us in tight quarters, surrounded by warm bodies–mostly people our age. I’ve decided to pick a cheesy 80s ballad that the kids will complain about and the middle-aged men scattered around will sing along to with beer-laden tongues. While we wait for what feels like an eternity, college students mull around, gathering in tiny groups, playing billiards. In the soft, round booths sit intimate groups of people. The three of us stand on the edge of the bar, near a claw game no one wants to play.
We gather within inches of each other, chatting idly about whatever comes to mind. Several people, guys and gals alike, interrupt to praise my outfit and I blossom under the attention. Pushed together by the crowds, The Boy’s legs and my own entwine like two hands might and I try not to blush when his face is inches from my chest.
Someone makes an inappropriate joke and The Boy stares me down with bedroom eyes. I challenge him, eyeing him up myself. But we both do nothing because it’s my turn on the mic. I sing the ballad with theatrical passion, words I can never say falling from me like leaves in autumn. As I predicted, the older guys love it. Once the song is over, we close out and bail for an emptier bar.
–
His arms fly out to catch me when I slip on the ice. The heels I’m wearing have no traction on the slick, snowy pavement and the booze in my system isn’t helping anything. I hold on to the car door handle for dear life, trying to regain my footing, and he steadies me. After unlocking the door, I waddle around to the other side.
While The Boy started the night with substances, I showed up sober. Now that I’m several cocktails in, he’s the one to drive us home. In the darkness of the late night, I watch him manipulating my vehicle, eyes alert for any threats on the road, and I sing along dimly to the music playing. My eyes wander against my will and as I check him out, I feel a familiar twinge in my chest, the ache I’ve been battling for months.
As he drives me home, the weight of time is heavy in my cells. I find myself longing for those early months when being near him was still easy, before it was ever painful, before I had to learn how to distance myself. Now I sit inches from him and it feels like a sea between us. He smiles at me and my heart races like an olympian. His scent permeates the air like a poisonous gas and I choke on it greedily.
I always want to return to last spring, those beautiful, sunny days together when everything was so much different…
–
This year, it snows on the first day of spring.