Frozen Heart

It was in December when we first met. How could anyone forget it? It’s a memory so much a part of me I doubt I would exist if I ever left it behind.

The snow flurried in dizzying spirals from an ivory-white sky. My breath shone bright in the pale sunlight, flurrying up to the clouds to give a little back. At that point, it was all I could do. My hands could barely move in their mittens while the rest of my body shook as if that was all it was made to do. It felt like the weight of the entire world had been stuffed into my backpack. I was tired, and I was cold. And of course, I was alone. I always walked home from school alone. 

It wasn’t that people hated me. They actually couldn’t spare the effort to hate me. Or to even notice me. To be fair, I had stopped noticing them too. It was easier to just pass by each other. 

That’s why I didn’t notice you. Not until you had noticed me first. 

“Hey!” A face, just as small and rosy as mine, was suddenly right in my way, giving me nowhere to run. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” 

“W-what?” I hoped it was the cold that made me stutter. I don’t think anyone had ever put their face that close to mine before. 

“You were lookin’ up real hard. Is there somethin’ up there? Doesn’t look like it to me. But you didn’t say hi back so I thought there had to be.” 

“N-no, there’s nothin’ up t-there. Just snow,” I mumbled into my scarf as I quickly looked down at my feet. I didn’t want to have to look you in the eyes. They were so dark I thought I could get lost forever if I looked too long. That hasn’t changed.

“Then what’s down there? More snow?” I couldn’t escape. Those eyes were right back in front of me, and I’m sure they got me then. Not sure if I ever returned. Maybe I’ve been lost ever since. 

“No... ” At that point, it was all I could do to think a coherent thought. I certainly didn’t know what to say. I still don’t know if that was the right answer. 

“Just me then.” You smiled and laughed. You sounded like you were trying to be a songbird when you laughed.  A shrill, bouncy ordeal that wasn’t completely unpleasant. It’s been a while since I heard you laugh like that. It made me smile. 

“Gotcha! You smiled which means you have to be my friend which means you have to help me or else you’re gonna get it!” You were making sure to follow me wherever I looked, chasing my eyes with your own. The added finger across the neck at your last point was somehow less threatening than the radiant smile you had yet to let up. 

“I—” I had no chance. You had already grabbed my hand and led me over to a mound of snow and a half-buried, fully neglected backpack before I knew what had happened. 

You presented me with the vaguely shaped snowmound with pride. “I don’t know how to make a snowman, so you better help me,” you said, posing with one hands on your hips in an incredible display of inept confidence. With that, you had me completely. 

We spent that afternoon building our first snowman. My hands have probably never forgiven me for it, but I didn’t care how cold the wind bit and you didn’t seem to notice. Our minds were too busy contemplating the perfect shape for him. We decided to play it safe. The face was where we had to get creative. A pencil for the nose, erasers for the eyes, and you decided to carve out his mouth in an expression of immense surprise. You said it was because he couldn’t believe how good he looked. 

And he did look good. We spent that whole December walking home from school together, building more snowmen to join the first. None filled me with quite the same amount of wonder as him, though the last one we made remains clear in my mind. 

As far as I remember, the last one was about the same as the ones before. We had been getting smarter about “borrowing” things from home to dress them with. This one had a baseball cap on its head and a fork for a nose. Once we had finished, though, you asked me something that’s stuck with me since. 

“Hey, how long d’ya think these guys’ll last? Will people remember ‘em when the snow’s gone?” Your voice had a strange quality to it, a quavering uncertainty I’d never heard in it before. 

“I dunno. Doesn’t seem like a lot of people notice them now.” Although there are countless times where I still don’t know if I said the right thing, I am certain that I said exactly the wrong thing here. It seemed like the world went still.

“Oh.” You started walking away. 

After a second of confusion, I picked up your backpack and ran in front of you.

“If you’re going home, you forgot this.” I looked right at your face; you had made it a point to not let me look anywhere else when we talked. Your eyes met mine for just a moment before they found your feet again. 

“Thanks.” And then you were gone. 

After Christmas, you didn’t walk home with me again. I thought you might’ve been avoiding me, but I couldn’t find you at all to know for sure. You were nowhere to be found at school and I had never learned where your house was before. In the end, that didn’t matter, though. Your family had moved. 

I don’t know why you didn’t tell me. I wanted to know more than anything. Maybe you didn’t know beforehand. Maybe the truth was too hard to face head on. 

When I entered middle school the next year, I brought you with me. I met a couple more people I could look in the eyes, who didn’t see past me as I walked through the halls. They weren’t you though. I still needed to know why you didn’t tell me. I still needed to know if you cared about me. 

I lived like that for the next few years, a deep ache in my chest always present, always reminding me of you. I became more mature as I entered high school and gained more unforgettable experiences. Everything paled in comparison to that one December. No matter how much I learned, you remained a mystery to me, and you were the only one I wanted to know about. And so I survived, until a miracle appeared in the last year of high school. 

You had returned. Of course, you too had become older and changed as well. But it was you all the same. I couldn’t mistake those eyes. I passed you in the hall and caught a glimpse of them, and I was lost once again. 

I froze. I didn’t know what to say. Despite having an entire life to prepare, I had nothing once again. You didn’t even have to say anything to me this time. And you didn’t. Your eyes passed right over me, and you passed by without noticing. 

You had merely not recognized me. That’s what I told myself. I had changed a lot, just like you had. We were both taller, a little less energetic. I convinced myself that if it weren’t for those eyes, I might not have realized it was you at first glance either. A lie of course, but I needed to believe it. 

So I devised a plan. A simple plan that I knew would work. The winter dance was coming. I knew you’d want to go. The way we played before was basically dancing among the falling snow. I found your address and I grabbed my old wool hat and mittens, and a couple erasers and a pencil. Building him took less time than it took to think of it. 

You came out after I knocked and asked your parents for you. I stood next to him, shivering. He was wearing my hat and mittens after all. He would say everything I needed him to. 

“Uh… what is this?” Your brow was furrowed. You looked back inside and then at me for just a moment. Then back down to your feet. I wondered what you were looking for. I was right there, in front of you. 

“I wanted you to help me finish him.” I showed the pencil and erasers in my hands. “After all, I don’t know how to finish him myself.” I gave a little laugh and tried to flash a smile, but the aching in my chest had gotten worse. Your face twitched a little, a failed attempt at being polite.

“Oh... ok. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can right now. I’m kinda busy. Y’know, homework and stuff.” Your voice seemed a little strained, and now I was the only thing you couldn’t look at.

“Well, that’s fine. Sorry to hear that. I’ve gotten busier too, so I completely understand.” I tried a laugh again—a hollow effort. You didn’t react. 

“S-since you’re so busy, I’ll try to keep this short, then. I was wondering if you—t-that is if you’re not busy—if you wanted to go to the winter dance with me.” Neither of us were looking at each other now. There was a long pause. All I heard was the wind biting at my skin, and all I felt was the emptiness in my chest. 

“I’m sorry. You seem like a nice person, but I don’t think I’ve ever met you before. Just don’t think I want to go with someone I don’t know.”

Those words were colder than any winter wind could be. 

“W-what do you mean? It’s me. You d-don’t remember me? Or him?” I waved my arm helplessly toward the half-finished snowman. You shook your head. My breath became ragged. “What if you come help me? If you h-help me you might remember. How c-could you forget?”

“No.” It was the most confident you’d sounded yet. “No. Sorry again, but I really don’t know you. I’m gonna go now.” 

The sky was darkening to a deep ebony and the snow was drifting down in peaceful flurries. My breath was barely visible as it drifted up to join the clouds, giving little more than nothing back. Even so, it was all I could do. My hands wouldn’t move, though my body shook horribly. The half-finished snowman anchored me to the spot. Your eyes never met mine as you turned and closed the door. Of course, I was left alone.