Doves in Snow

My cheeks burn as the frigid air slices through them, making me even more vulnerable than I already feel. The walkway was covered with snow, taunting me as I desperately look around, but I don’t know the path as well as I should. No one was here to help.

December 31st. Two years ago, we would’ve been celebrating this day with tequila shots and drunken kisses at midnight. We would’ve danced, and laughed, and worn matching outfits that cost too much money, but was justified by the love we shared once they were off.

Trying to loosen the flask from my jacket pocket causes me to stumble, and I curse. All that’s around me is white snow and the occasional peeking gray, marble, black. 

That’s probably what you saw, too. White lights. Or were they yellow? Or that obnoxious blue that blinds every other driver except the asshole using them. The difference between them doesn’t matter, but I’m sure you saw something.

You were laughing. That’s what I do know. You were on the phone with me, laughing as you went to pick up more alcohol. Of course I wasn’t there, I’d been drinking since 3, and you volunteered to grab more beer after my brother stole most of mine for his high school party. 

I know what you were wearing. That sequined tank top and blazer combo that you bought online, swearing that it would make New Years better, somehow. And you did look damn good. Your long red hair fell too perfectly, the freckles spread across your cheeks were so prominent.

I didn’t want to match that night. Sequins “weren’t my thing.” Right now your sequined blazer has a piece cut out of it, and it’s sitting in my pocket this very moment. 

Everything was too perfect. The warmth of the whiskey licked my stomach as I try to forget just how perfect you looked and how badly I screwed up.

I was on the other end of the phone, listening to your laugh. It was only 8, but I was at the peak of intoxication, losing grip on the reality around me. The room spun even when all I saw was the back of my eyelids, and your laugh repeated for much longer than it should’ve.

I didn’t hear a thing that night. Maybe the phone fell, maybe I fell off the edge into a drunken stupor, but I didn’t even hear you. I didn’t even notice you weren’t back. But I swear I heard your laugh all of the night I remember.

Am I there yet? Your sister told me it was just ahead to the left. God, I hated her before we got married, and I still hate her now, but who else am I supposed to ask? 

Those freckles. Most people are too scared to show freckles off, but not you. You flaunted those things as much as possible, avoiding even makeup when you could. You said they were accents for your outfit, like a necklace or nose ring. Yours was just natural beauty.

The first time I saw you, your freckles caught me by surprise. I’d never seen such dark freckles perfectly sit on a nose before and the wearer not be ashamed. The first time we kissed, those freckles were right in front of me, in my hand, beside my lips. When we first danced, your chiming laugh, merry eyes, and freckles captured the moonlight on us and seemed to illuminate the very air around us.

She should’ve had freckles, too. She probably had red hair, too. 

A stone dove sat above the snow, perched atop a marble nest. A smaller dove sat beside her, and I knew. I mean, I didn’t know, I haven’t even been here before, but I could feel you two. The smaller part of me that yet consumed most of my being pulled me in the other direction like a puppeteer pulls strings, but nothing can pull me away now.

That beautiful blazer hid your bulging stomach so well. The glow that night came from more than just your clothes, and I couldn’t even stay sober with you for five more months. Just five. If I could’ve done that, you would’ve never been on the road. The drunken asshole with the bright lights would’ve never been on the road. You would’ve never been hit, or propelled through the car.

You never would’ve lain in the cold snow as the driver sped off. You probably suffered. According to the hospital, you could’ve made it if someone would’ve been there. Seen you laying there, seen the truck that hit our car. No one would’ve become your killer that night. No one would’ve killed our baby girl that night. He was caught, but he will never suffer enough for what he took from you, from the world, from my life. 

You and our daughter would be at home with me tonight, laughing and dancing and ushering in the New Year as a family. Hell, there might have been four of us. 

I fall to my knees, seeing the tombstones marking where you two lay in body alone for the first time. Like an old wineskin, I feel like I’m bursting at the seams as the whiskey from my flask flew into me all at once. The heat couldn’t numb me quick enough for my liking. 

Snow does. My love, the snow above your body is the only thing giving me comfort for the first time. This is the only thing I have left, the two of you, lying just a few feet away. Below me, at least. That’s closer than we’ve been in a long time. 

I swear I can feel your warmth. It might just be the whiskey, but I feel like you’re a blanket wrapping around me, comforting me like you always knew how to, kissing the corners of my lips, drawing me closer and closer and closer to you. My mind has been running for two years, and it’s finally stopping.

This is peace. This is love. This is our family.