Prompt Entry 2

10:40 am. 21F, Wind Chill -1F

I would give anything for summer. It doesn't matter how many winters I've spent in this godforsaken part of the world; I never get used to the cold, and I certainly never enjoy it. I can wax poetic about the crisp air and the reflection of moonlight on icicles but, mostly, winter is nothing to me except a mumbled string of curse-words every time I set foot outside. Twenty feet from my front door to the car. Shitgoddamnitsonofa. I hate the instantaneous coldburn on exposed skin. I hate that it is impossible to cover yourself completely. Lips, eyeballs, wrists. Something is always left exposed.

10:44 am. 20F, Wind Chill -1F

My dad died on the most lovely spring day. It was the end of April and the lilac bushes were beginning to bloom. Their heavy, sweet scent hung in the dense, pollinated air. I remember in the days before his death the temperatures had risen sharply, which often happens in Michigan in the springtime. The whole state is frozen well into March and April, and then one day the sun burns hotter, the snow drifts melt and the cold disappears.

10:45 am. 20F, Wind Chill -2F

I sit in my car as it begins to warm up. I could go back inside but I'd rather not expose myself to the wind again. I bundle further into myself, sinking into the seat, chin to chest, hands over my face, knees pulling toward my hips. What is it like to be born in a warm place? I always wondered that. I never liked winter, even as a child, and envied those kids who got to grow up in Florida or Texas or California. What would it be like to never know the cruel indifference of a bitter, sneering winter? What would it be like to never feel tears freeze in the corners of your eyes?

10:47 am. 22F, Wind Chill 0F

My first experience with death happened in the dead of the winter. I was 10 and in fifth grade. My grandmother got sick before Christmas, went into the hospital as I started winter break and died in January after I returned to school. My mother had melted into a pool of grief. I remember listening to my father on the phone after the funeral. I'm not sure who he was talking to.
"Oh, yeah, Michelle's really having a rough time with it, crying all the time, you know. Her and Jimmy are both really upset. Yeah, you know how it is. Yeah, Cassie's doing alright. She's kind of like me-- kind of cold."

I've never forgotten the way I felt at that moment, the way my heart fluttered as my face hardened. I'll never forget how it felt to be called the thing I hated most. I didn't cry.

My mother swears this never happened.

But she wasn't there.

10:48 am. 22F, Wind Chill -1F

It takes an extraordinary amount of effort to pilot an automobile on the ice. My city has been losing money steadily since the 90's and infrequently salts the side streets. I begin my drive to work slowly. I keep my gaze steely and direct. I maintain control.

10:59 am. 23F, Wind Chill 0F

The world is cruel. The world is cruel and indifferent and cold. I learned this mere months into life, when below-freezing winds crystallized the newborn tears in my eyes.