Autumn

Two people struggle to find common ground in their relationship.

Autumn

It was a particularly chilly winter- a fact that was bound to crop up in conversation multiple times a day as people huddled around heaters, with hands stuffed deep into their pockets and shoulders raised upto their ears, bodies turned into themselves. “So cold,” they mumbled, “ I feel like I’ll never be warm again.” Then they reminisce about the ghosts of summers-past and count down the days.
I let those words wash over me, then settle like tiny snowflakes on my skin. The chill is comforting- the burning furnace that is my body finally lets me breathe. The freezing air winds its way under the thin layers of my clothing and cools down my rapidly heating skin. I’m in love with the weather, and also with the girl I see outside the coffee shop window.
I watch her as she comes in, every bit of her covered in wool and cashmere in all the shades of blue she could possibly get her hands on. I know that everyone doesn’t react to cold the way I do, but she seems to feel it more than usual. She orders her latte, but doesn’t take off her hat or her scarf even in the relative warmth of the cafe.
I keep watching as she takes her drink in gloved hands, her fingers curling around the cup, see her breathe in the aroma, take in the small smile she gives the barista in thanks and try to pluck up the courage to talk to her- and fail, just like I have for the past week.
She looks up at me as she’s heading to the door, her dark eyes are bottomless and mesmerising, asking questions I don’t have answers to. I blush and look down at my own cup. All I’m left with is the chimes of the door closing and the disappointment settling like a stone in my stomach.
I wait another couple of minutes then set out for classes myself- my morning ritual done, with the thought of another sighting of her tomorrow to keep me going. I swing my light jacket off of the back of my chair, a new one I bought because I saw her wear the same one a couple days ago. It was supposed to be a conversation starter- you know, for when I actually got around to it.
I glanced at my watch as I stepped outside, and almost ran into her, leaning against the lamppost very obviously waiting for me to make an appearance.
“I’ve been watching you for a while now.” Her opening sentence leaves me wide mouthed and blank. “I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me.” Some of her blond hair has escaped from under her hat, the wisps floating around her in a shifting halo. Her wonderful eyes looking at me in confusion tinged with amusement, her mouth turned up in a smile.
Flustered, I’m left grasping for words.
“Y-you have?”
“Yes. Why’re you always drinking iced coffee? I saw you eating ice cream too. Aren’t you cold?” She looks curiously at my hands and arms, left uncovered- trying to find perhaps, absent signs of cyanosis in their dark brown skin.
“ Uh um, I don’t get cold easily. It’s a condition.” She slowly takes off her gloves, I notice her long fingers have blue tips.
“ A condition, huh?” She said almost bitterly, her icy fingers danced over my own wrapped around my coffee cup. “So warm...”
There is absolutely nothing I can say past the mass in my throat- one thousand words bubble up in my heart but don’t make it to my tongue, and she leaves me there on the side walk with nothing but the sound of my blood rushing in my ears.
“I’ll see you around!” I call after her, but we don’t meet again for 2 months and 10 days. I know because I counted.
It’s spring now- the weather has shifted from freezing to what people tell me is pleasantly cool. “It’s the best weather,” they gush, a new spring in their step (no pun) now that they aren’t weighed down by heavy fabrics. “Don’t you just love it?”
No! I want to scream. There is nothing I have against spring per se, but it’s a signal that summer is coming and summer is hell. My body temperature soars out of control and the sweating leaves me feeling icky. My moroseness is compounded by the absence of my sort-of-girlfriend. My corner in the coffee shop has become a permanent fixture. I sit there most of the day, desperate eyes hardly wavering from the door while the baristas send my pitying glances. The long wait is worth it when I walk in one fine morning to see her sitting in my chair.
“Hi.”
With one word all my frustrations go up in smoke.
“Hello.” The word comes out as a sigh of contentment as I take in her beauty a new. She’s dressed differently than what I’ve come to expect- more floaty flowery, in softer pinks and creams, her skin still deathly pale, but there’s a twinkle in her eye and a little colour in her cheeks.
She takes my hand, hers is icy cold and comforting and leads me outside and I forget everything. I forget that I came in to order coffee, forget my resentment at not having seen her in so long, forget that I have classes. I stare down at the contrast of her skin against mine- her’s is a translucent white that shows the blue of her vessels, mine is a warm brown. I grip her hand more securely and follow.
She walks me around campus, points out flowers just coming to bloom and drinks hot chocolate while I eat ice cream. She talks about her degree in English literature and asks about my work in mass communication, the conversation easy and peppered with laughter. She says as much with her words as she does with her hands, her motions uninhibited and her eyes sparklingly wide. It’s like we’re lifelong friends meeting again and I fall deeper in love.
“I love spring,” she says, as she wipes the little remnant of chocolate from the corner of her lips and I take the opportunity to stare a bit longer.
“I love spring too.” I say. I’m not lying really, I love it because she loves it. Her small icy hand finds its way to mine, her cold fingers interlacing my warm ones. She turns out interlocked hands this way and that as we both stare at the contrast in fascination.
“Will I see you again?”
“Every day till you want.”
I dream of her that night, her laughter and her smiles- the soft light that danced through the strands of her hair, the music of her voice. When I wake up, I have a hard time convincing myself that I had not dreamed up the previous day. I rush through my morning routine and hurry to the coffee shop, flinging open the door and stumbling breathlessly in. I only breathe a sigh of relief when I see her sitting in my spot.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
There are a million things I want to say then, but I settle for the first thing that bubbles up my throat- “I thought I dreamed you up, but you’re more perfect than I remember.”
We spent the days wrapped in each other- she was bubbly and effervescent, and I quietly basked in her glow. She took me to music festivals where I stood next to her as she swayed to the tunes. Her skin is still cold, even as the weather has warmed drastically. Her chilly fingers are wrapped around my arm and she burrows into my side whenever she can. I don’t complain, those moments feel like heaven.
She laughed when I put flowers in her hair, and gave me a beatific smile when I finally let her braid ribbons into mine.
“So pretty...” she sighed, as she picked the colours-red, orange, and yellow.
“They remind me of you, and of summer, because you’re both so warm and lovely.”
No! I want to scream, Summers are horrible! They’re so difficult to bear! But I say nothing, because I can’t stand to destroy the happiness in her eyes.
But she says nothings as the days get longer and the temperature rises to new heights. My clothes are down to the thinnest cotton and shortest shorts. I sit as close to the air conditioner as possible and refuse to go out. I can’t let anything touch me; my own skin folds heat up unbearably and sweat seems to perpetually dampen my clothes. I hate her then- I hate how she thrives in the heat, how her face glows with vitality while I languish in a puddle of my own sweat. I hate how she doesn’t need to borrow my warmth any more- there is warmth everywhere. She goes to music festivals alone now, and shows me pictures when she comes back. There are new people in them every time, and some of them invite her out for drinks. She’s started accepting invitations. I hate myself then- if I was normal, I would have been with her in all seasons. She knows my fuse is short, and she says nothing. We both know this distance is lengthening, and it makes me want to wail. We stay silent. It will be over soon, I console myself. It can’t last forever.

August rolls into September and my mood lifts as the temperature begins to plummet. I can finally breathe. I tentatively open a window, test the air outside. The atmosphere is crisp, the wind is beginning to signal an oncoming chill- there is the silent promise of a freezing winter. The ground is carpeted in leaves in every colour of foliage. The colours remind me of my ribbons. I fish them out of the bottom of my drawer and present them to her as a peace offering.
“Please.”
She smiles at me, a little sadly, but braids my hair nevertheless. She takes me out for pumpkin spice lattes, and roasts marshmallows for me when I don’t want to get close to the fire.
We attend a concert that night, and she burrows into my warmth again on the way back. I’m grateful then, and wrap my arm around her shoulder to hold her more securely. Her fingers are still chilly, and she shivers even though she’s enveloped in my heat.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She doesn’t look into my eyes, but stares instead at my braids.
“We have to talk.”
The words make my stomach drop to somewhere near my feet. My chest aches and my eyes burn. I can only nod in response.
“Remember the first day we talked? You said you had a condition because of which you didn’t get cold easily. I have a condition too- I get cold too easily. Winters are difficult for me, just like summers for you.”
She looks into my eyes then, and I can see that hers are brimming with tears as well. She plays with the ends of my braid, tracing her fingers over the ribbon, her skin grazing over my neck occasionally- the contact made me shiver.
“ I was so jealous at first- it seemed like you were blessed with the one thing I wanted. You radiated so much warmth, I felt like I couldn’t get close enough. And I loved it, and I love you. But how will we live like this- both of us in hell only while the other is thriving?”
I feel a sun burst in my heart. This problem was no problem.
“It’s simple darling, we live for the inbetween. We live for spring and we live for autumn- love, winter means nothing to me if you don’t love it too.”
My fingers lace through her and I tug her closer, then wrap my arms around her as she settles against me.
“I love autumn.” I whisper in her ear. I can feel her smile against my neck.
“I love it because I can love it with you.”

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This has a beautiful storyline to it, albeit a little bit sad; but they were able to meet in the middle - autumn - and find happiness together. I think you handled this with deft and care and the romantic touches throughout (ribbons) are very nice. I do agree with Oolu about giving it one more edit. There are probably a handful of errors in spelling/grammar, and I think this story is deserving of that little bit of time to make it perfect.

[Oolu]

A beautiful piece, thank you, but you should give it one more edit.