The Ghost of Winter's Past

‘Why did you leave me?’

‘It wasn’t intentional. It was just a wrong place wrong time kind of thing.’

‘I know I shouldn’t be mad at you. But part of me still is, you know? You shouldn’t have been anywhere near the town.’

‘I know.’ Silence. Then, a sigh.

‘I sometimes wonder what life would be like if you hadn’t left. I wonder where we’d be now.’

‘Not stuck in shitty traffic, I imagine.’ Sarah smiled, tying her red curls out of her face. John did not. He continued to stare out of the windscreen at the white hurricane that was whirling around them. The brake light from the car in front reflected back onto his face. Sarah couldn’t tell if it was that which was making his face look like a strawberry, or the booze. She knew he shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, but she couldn’t stop him. Her words would have fallen on deaf ears. John had always been stubborn.

He reached to turn the radio on, but a static – that was much worse than the deafening silence that had filled the atmosphere prior – burst into the air. John’s teeth grinded against each other, and he hastily turned it off again.

‘Damn blizzard. Can’t even listen to any goddamn music,’ he growled, folding his arms.

‘I like them.’ Sarah stared out of the passenger window, observing one or two pedestrians who had decided to brave the storm.

‘I know you like them.’

‘John, please don’t be mad at me.’ Sarah looked over at him, eyebrows meeting at the top of her nose, green eyes pleading. ‘I never meant to abandon you.’

John didn’t reply. He just rubbed the place where the ring used to be.

Sarah noticed this. Tears filled her eyes and she averted her gaze back to the scenery. The whole sidewalk was thick with snow, and the roofs of the shops were covered with the stuff, too. Buildings stood tall in the background, untouched by the blizzard; the tops of them protruding the grey clouds that patrolled the skies. The snow seemed never-ending. Sarah didn’t care. It reminded her of purity. Freshness.

Her eyes moved from the skies to the mail box across the road from her. The colour of it juxtaposed the glaring white; all it needed was a robin on top to make it look like the kind of picture you get on a Christmas card. She went to get her phone out to take a shot of it. Disappointment filled her when she realised it wasn’t in her pocket.

‘Look at how pretty that mail box is, John. I love red and white together. They complement each other perfectly.' A pause. 'Just like me and you.’

John turned his head away from the car in front. He looked to his right, and the mail box caught his attention, too. He smiled.

‘I’d be surprised if you didn’t spot that. Those are your favourite colours.’

Movement. John inched the car forward a couple of paces.

‘This pissing traffic. Why did it decide to snow today? Couldn’t it have waited until I’d gotten home?’

‘You don’t change,’ Sarah said, with a laugh that held a certain amount of cynicism to it. ‘You always did think the whole world had to revolve around you.’

‘God, I sounded like a dick then, didn’t I?’ He leant his elbow on the window ledge and started to bite his thumb nail; a habit he had when he was nervous or annoyed.

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Sorry. I know you hate it.’ John’s hand slumped and his fingers tapped on the glass impatiently. Traffic rolled forward bit by bit. Horns could be heard in the distance which annoyed John. He turned his head towards Sarah, but he wasn’t looking at her; more like looking through her, his eyes fixated on the street behind. A supercut played in John’s mind. He tried to block the memory. The wind roared outside, shaking the car in fury as the skies cried more white tears. John’s eyes mimicked it.

‘It kills me to see you like this.’ Sarah lifted her hand to comfort him but thought better of it. She knew it wouldn’t make much difference.

‘I know it wasn’t your fault, Sarah. And I hate to keep bringing it up. But, to tell you the truth, it’s all I ever think about.’

Sarah was crying, too. Her heart ached.

‘I wish I could’ve done something to make you stay,’ John continued.

‘Nothing could have done, my love,’ Sarah said, pity filling her eyes. John choked on a sob. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were as white as the snow.

‘A year ago, everything was so different. But now…look at me! Drowning myself in whiskey, wishing I were dead!’

‘Don’t say things like that! You know you don’t mean it.’

‘Maybe I don’t mean it. But I do wonder sometimes whether death would be easier than this.’

Sarah was silent for a moment. And, just as she opened her mouth to comfort her husband, a tapping came from her side. John wiped his eyes with haste and then rolled down the window. A man stood beside the car, shaking from the cold. His blue puffer jacket was spotted with dark dots from the melted snow, and his matching yellow gloves and hat were jiggling in time with the wind. He ignored the fact that John had obviously been crying, and shouted above the roars.

‘Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was wonderin’ if you could give me a ride? I live about six blocks away, but I’m not sure I wanna risk walking any further in this weather. The storm’s gettin’ worse by the second.’

Shouldn’t have come out in it then, John thought. He had not been a charitable man since the accident. Sarah, however, still possessed the same loving heart.

‘Come on, John. The man’s frozen. Look at him.’ John’s eyes scanned the strangers face for a moment. It was blotchy from wind burn, and he shook furiously. John sighed.

‘Hop on in.’

The stranger nodded with gratitude, opened the passenger door, and slid onto the seat. John flinched, like the stranger had cut him. Sarah had always sat in the front.

The stranger’s eyes immediately noticed the photograph that was perched on top of the review mirror.

‘Pretty wife ya got there.’

John’s heart was confronted with multiple knives. ‘Yeah. I know.’

The stranger fell silent, racking his brain. Then, after a moment,

‘Say, I recognise her from somewhere. On TV maybe? Yeah, that’s it. Is she famous or?’

‘No.’ His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and his gaze bored into the car in front.

‘Oh. I coulda sworn I saw her on some channel…’ And then, the stranger remembered. 10 o’clock news. Red and blue lights. Yellow tape. Bodies. So many bodies. The hero. The lady with the red hair. White skin. Deathly. Gunshot. Pools of maroon.

He didn’t speak anymore.

Movement in the back seat caught John’s attention. He did a double take. He thought, just for a second, he’d caught a glimpse of a mass of red curls. When he looked back in the rear view, though, there was nothing but emptiness and the car behind. The sadness deepened.

Silence reigned. The wind continued to sweep the snow up into a hurricane.

Memories of Sarah in John’s mind did the same.