Moment 2: A Year and Two Months Earlier
December has always been my favorite month. I love building snowmen and walking in the cold; the bitter clearness that comes with winter. I love how the days become short just as much as I did when I was little, when I thought that it was cool to be awake when it is dark. I love hot chocolate and feeling the warm cup in my fingers; feeling the warmth of the fireplace and the scent of burning wood. But most of all, I love snow.
It is snowing the day I first meet her. It is the coldest December day yet and I am untangling my scarf to feel the biting air against my face. I look down at the scarf and back up and in that moment she appears, wearing nothing other than a t-shirt and jeans and I am shocked. Maybe that is why I am so quickly drawn to her, but I am not usually one that enjoys craziness. I will take off my scarf, perhaps, but in my normal household of a mother and a father, two jobs, a white fence and one and a half inch grass, insanity (especially in the form of too little clothing on freezing cold days) is not what I am used to.
Insanity is not what I am drawn to. I like hot chocolate out of little generic brand packets. I like it containing fires in a pit in my house. I like it when it’s cold because it should cold in winter. But maybe all that means something other than I think it does, because I stare at that girl like she is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, which in fact, she is not. She is not at all ugly, but her nose is too long, her lips are too thin and there is a pimple above her left eyebrow. But I notice all those things less than the vibrant red hair that hangs around her like a lion’s mane. The red hair is speckled with snow.
I have never been outgoing, but in that moment, I want to talk to her. I want to know her more than I’ve ever wanted to know anyone. Which is strange, I think. But in my mind, I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. I will go talk to this girl right now.
Smiling, I wrap the scarf back around my head and look back up. She left in that short moment, just like she came. I stare into the falling snow around me, unable to find even the smallest speck of red in the air around me. I sigh and sit down.
Within minutes, I realize that it has stopped snowing.
A month goes before I see her again. To be honest, I forget about her. My moment of insanity is pushed to the back of my mind, because I don’t believe in insanity and because I don’t believe that someone you stumbled upon in a park one day will suddenly show up as a new student at school.
But apparently, those kind of things happen.