Blog #2

Walk

It’s 7am and Bayberry is silent except for the periodic rush of wind. The clouds are threatening a snowstorm and I take the chance that I’ll be back home before it begins. My mind and body ache as I begin my walk. I watch small snowflakes floating from the clouds, down to the ground, forming a thin mist. Tiny ice pellets caress my face and feel pleasantly cool on my cheeks.

I tilt my head skyward and breath deeply. I think of his quiet strength. The patient way he taught me, gradually earning my friendship and trust. I loved the melody of his voice and how it vibrated in my ears. I remember the feel of his arm around my shoulders calming and comforting me.

On the street lies a thin layer of ice. I watch the ground as I walk. My boots only mark the tough surface once every few steps. The rhythmic crunching echoes in my ears. My breathing quickens as I trudge up the steep part of Bayberry Drive.

Snow blurs my vision and I remember his smile. It could make me happy on the worst day. His eyes, warm and bright, saw through to my soul. We didn't need words to communicate: a look, a smirk, the raise of an eyebrow, a turn of the head, a rub of our arms or a nod, all worked better.

I come to the first intersection of Bayberry and notice the snow sticking to the stop sign. I look around and realize it’s gluing itself to every surface it passes. The wind has picked up and the snow is blowing parallel to the ground. This once quiet snowfall has become an all out storm. Shards of ice are slapping my face, sharp and stinging until my nose, lips and cheeks are numb. I breathe into my scarf and the moist air warms my face.

This storm snuck up on me, like my feelings for him. One moment I was working by his side, laughing at something silly he did, the next I was catching my breath because I recognized the look in his eyes. I should have said the words he left floating between us or I should have hidden, like the animals who live on Bayberry, who are absent as this storm blankets their home. The words accumulated along with my feelings for him, like this snow: silent, slow and steady.

I push forward, against the wind, down a hill, walking as fast as I can to get back home. I wagered against the weather today and lost. I laugh and think of the times I pushed against him, silently begging him to react, because I was tired of his constant composure. His anger was explosive when provoked by others, but he never directed his ire at me. I’d like to say I trod lightly those days, but that’d be a lie. I wanted the emotion in his eyes to burst forth. I wanted to feel it wash over me.

The next bend in the road has me walking up a slight grade and my pace slows. I can barely see my gloved hands through the precipitation. My walk has become a march and my footfalls are louder. As I near my house, I notice the changes thirty minutes makes in the life of a snowstorm. Bayberry is covered with a thick layer of snow and ice. I imagine my heart is also covered this way. Today I can hear it beating in my ears, muffled but lingering, like his voice in my dreams.