Fact: I wrote some fiction.

It is cold.  Not the light jacket cold or the raise the thermometer a notch cold.  The cold that can’t be inhaled.  It shocks your lungs, it gets stuck inside your nose, and it creates ice on the tips of your eyelashes.  Shallow breath.  Folded arms.  Adjust your hat to fit your ears more snuggly.  Inhaling scarf fibers.  Clunky boots. 

It is quiet.  The snow swallows the sound of the city.  All you can hear is the traction of your boots making weak attempts to grab the snow as you walk as briskly as you are able. 

You are starting to sweat from the back and forth movement of the coat.  Step. Step. Step. Left Right Left Right.  The quiet, the aloneness of your boots is unnerving.  You glance around nervously expecting to see someone.  Footprints, tire tracks, small patches of snow undisturbed, a cloudy night sky bright enough to bring feelings of hope and peace.  Step step step, left right left right.  Hat adjustment.  Check nose for numbness.  Almost there. 

Why did I think this was a good idea??  Nervous glance, quick step.  Finally!

Force the gate open against the resistance of the pile of accumulated snow.  Up the steps, knock on the door  not too eager, not too slow--its cold.  Shift, shift again.  Rub gloves together.  Adjust hat.  Nose is numb, that’s going to hurt. 

Door opens.  He smiles.  “Come in!”  I remind myself not to rush even though my body would like to dive into the warm oasis.  “How was the walk?” 

I hear myself say “Good, pretty.” 

“I love the snow…it’s so beautiful.”

 I fail to muster more than a nod.  Small talk portion of the evening...check.  He invites me to sit.  I chose the chair furthest from the one I know he prefers.  I like chairs that surround you.  I was going to be needing that tonight. 

“So, have you thought about it,” he says casually and yet we both know more of my effort has been spent in trying not to think about it. 

“Yeah…yeah I did.” 

He waits.  I hate it when he waits.  Sometimes I just want to scream “What do you want from me?!” 

“I don’t know, it’s just hard….I don’t know what to do.”  He nods.  I hate it when he nods. 

“I just don’t know what the point is anymore.  What’s the point?” 

“What do you think the point is?” 

I could just leave.  I could leave his stupid reflective listening and go.  My slightly defrosted nose begins to protest my plan to return to the cold.  “The point is that I need to do better.” 

No response..really?

 Fine.  “I mean, I do want to do better I just don’t think I can.”

 “What makes you think that you aren’t doing adequately?” 

Duh.  “How can what I’m doing possibly be adequate?” 

“That wasn’t my question.”  What does he want from me?? 

“Fine, I know that I can do better, I just need to stop acting like a dumbass.” 

He shifts in his chair, “I am just struggling with how simple you make it sound.” 

Okay, okay I’m intrigued.  “What do you mean?” 

“Your belief is that you need to do better AND that you are not doing better because you are making stupid decisions, correct?”

 “Yeeaaah….” 

He shrugs, leans back into his chair, “I’m just not convinced.” 

“Isn’t the point to be better?!”

“It depends on what better means.”

 “Better means…better!  If I was better, things woudn’t be so hard!”

 “Ahhhhh.”  What is ahh??  Ahh???

 “Well, that’s different.  You are assuming that things aren’t hard in and of themselves, that it’s you that is the problem.”  

Skeptical eyes.  “I mean, things can be hard, I just feel like…I don’t know.” 

He knows what I know.  “You should be better.” 

I can’t look.  I can feel my heart beating fast.  I feel ashamed.

I consider bolting right now when he stands up and walks out of the room. 

Sigh.  Arms fold.  Shift in seat.  Where did he go?  Why would he just leave?  I hear footsteps again.  Sit up, unfold arms, refold arms. 

He reenters the room, smiling again, food in hand. 

“Here,” he hands me a big bowl of chips and a coke.  I manage a “thanks.”  He sits next to me and takes some chips.  I follow his lead. 

After a few chips and a dramatic conversation with myself, I engage…”so what do you think?” 

I wish I could stuff it back into my mouth and break in into little chip size pieces. 

He looks at me, confidently and says “Its just not that simple.  Someday, not today, but someday I promise that you won’t feel like you have to protect yourself against me.  But, until then…how about tomorrow?” 

Sometimes I think he tries to distract me while I’m trying to process, “Sure.” 

Sure?  

A few more chips.  A sip of coke.  Scarf, check.  Protesting nose, check.  Adjust hat. 

He opens the door, I walk out and through the gate that has appeared to accumulate more snow, further impeding passage.  “Don’t forget, it’s just not that simple!” He yells to remind me, as I begin the trek back home.  Step step step left right left right.