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Lonely Winter Day
by S.J. Tyler
Its cold today so I am wrapped in my leopard quilt on my parents bed. Everything feels so cozy and I could drift away easily. Only I cant. My mind is thought-filled and my eyes cant stand to be closed. Other than that though, my body is completely at ease, molded into the mattress and quilt like a rag doll. Im not shivering anymore but my head is firing thoughts at the wavering rate of a shiver. What am I to do?
I get up and walk the halls of my empty house. There is nothing to distract me, and I am now remembering the temperature, so I lie back down.
After thousands of faulty neural impulses, I find the correct one. I am missing something. Someone. I cant feel right lying here alone with nothing to do on a weekday afternoon. I always have to be doing something, I guess. So instead of trying to force my mind free of its shackles that keep me awake, I let it fire.
My very first thoughts are of a girl. She is lying in front of me, warming up the front of my body, as my arms wrap around her, pulling her close. She can feel my breath in her ears and on her neck, which she tenses up, to keep out the cold. I nuzzle into her neck and pull the quilt up to her ears to keep them warm. My frozen hands tug at her shirt and slide underneath it to feel her warm stomach. As she shivers, my bent leg rests itself high on her hip and we lie like monkeys; I am clinging dependently to her back.
But as that thought comes to a close, I imagine that she is in the next room cooking. Despite the cold, I know that when I get up she will be over the stove, toiling in the heat. Disheveled and surrounded by bubbling pots, she will collect loose strands of hair that have fallen onto her face and scoop them back out of her eyes. I can smell pasta and garlic swirling around her beauty and mixing with her own intoxicating scents. Pasta doesnt have a smell, I think again.
She doesnt want me to see this scene so, alone in my bundle, I fast forward to when she has cleaned up and set the table. It is a perfect small table for two, with two perfect dishes. Her perfect red hair has been re-combed; she thinks that I dont know how she sweated to surprise me. That I could not smell the garlic, minutes before, from the next room. I sit down and as I lift the fork to my mouth, I hear her muffled voice hit my insulated ears.
Puppy? Where are you? Its so cold in here! a quivering voice from my dreams tickles my brain and makes me feel cozy like a limp rag doll again. I shed my quilt and beg her to join me but when I peek out of the room, there is no one there.
01/27/2004 Posted on 01/27/2004
Copyright © 2025 S.J. Tyler
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