The Wintry Wind That Blows

Dec 5 -It's getting cold. I'm not the biggest fan of the fall season, autumn to be more precise. Unless it's by name only, but second summer by experience. Then I love fall. Otherwise it's crispy cool winds that blow through my hair sends shivers down my spine. I can't stand it. You might as well call it winter's beginning. Cold is cold, no transitioning. Unless it's second summer of course. Not this year. Baby, it's cold outside! All warm memories of the summer have quickly faded away into the atmospheric distortion that fall brings. I've forgotten the warmth of the sun. I've forgotten the days spent outdoors, too beautiful to go inside. Those warm memories have instantaneously gotten replaced by a relentless chill that overwhelms my entire being, right down into my bones. Brrr, I hate it.

The feelings I've been having towards him have been sending the same chills down my spine. Today's icy breeze solidifies my gut feeling that things have to end. A change is coming.

***

We sit down to eat, knowing we are no longer whole and that something has to happen to solidify our souls once again or else we will end. Everything we have built these past 6 years will be done. Over. Finito. I can tell she wants to say something, but her chewing is too slow, her mouth keeping itself occupied, purposefully stopping up the words from coming out. She finally swallows. Hesitantly she takes another bite. I want to beg, 'let's get counseling,' but what guy suggests that. I want to hold her and make love to her right here and now, making everything better. Instead, I quietly take another bite. The frightening and relentless autumn wind beating against the kitchen window has more life in it than she has had lately. The food that sits before me, now an uncomfortable cold, has more heat in it than she has had toward me lately. I don't know what's been going on with her. But I love her. I have to try.

The grease from the butter roasted chicken coagulates in my throat, preventing me from saying anything, even a simple 'I love you, let's try to make this work.' So, I sit quietly. We won't brake up, we are in this, in this for the long haul, or so we promised each other. A promise is a promise, right?

She won't look up from her plate at me. Her cobalt blue eye shadow glistens. I love the way she wears her makeup, subtle yet classy. Her cheeks are rosier than usual tonight. Maybe she's thinking warm thoughts about us.

***

"Dinner was lovely, thank you." He sweeps my stray hairs from my forehead to behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead like he's been doing for the past 6 years. It's superficially warm, but I feel nothing inside. I'd have rathered he not do it and instead say something, something about us. Something about making it work. Maybe that we should get counseling. But what guy suggests counseling. He'd never brave up and say it, always trying to be macho and manly. Macho my ass - he was a stubborn one at that. Stubborn to the point that I'm tired of it. If I tell you what you need to improve on and you keep on going with the same old crap, I can't help anymore and I don't want to be a casualty of such childish nonsense. It's exhausting. He can be so incredibly selfish.

He's washing the dishes. That's an improvement. 'Maybe he will change,' said the old me. But now I say this is my chance to get into bed and pretend to sleep so he doesn't think to try anything in hopes of rekindling our dying, or most certainly, our already dead flame. Making love has been more like a band-aid lately. It doesn't fix anything.

***

Dec 6, the anniversary of Dad's death. It's been 8 years. It feels just like yesterday. My heart skips a beat. I usually reminisce about our good old days with her, but today she has plans with her friends after work. She's never done that before. Not for the past 6 years. She said she would always be here for me and that I could cry as much as I needed to. 'It shows that you're a strong man,' she once said. I've been trying to keep it all in these past few years though. She seems almost annoyed when I get emotional about anything. I think I caught her rolling her eyes once, as if to say, here we go again with the tear fest. That's what it felt like anyway. Maybe I do need to man up. I'm working on it.

She's changed a lot and all she can argue about is how much I should change too. I don't get it. I'm the same old me she fell in love with, why should I change that. She's not the girl I fell in love with though I wish she would go back. It's hard to keep up with. It's exhausting. She can be so selfish. But I love her.

She isn't home yet, but I'm exhausted from all the lonely reminiscing, and not even about my dad, but about us. I miss her. I miss her so much. Where did we go wrong? When did we stop working? How did we get so broken? I can't figure it out. But I have to fix it!

The wind howls through the apartment buildings as if trying to find their long lost love. 'Take me with you.' It doesn't hear me. I'll go to bed now. Tomorrow is a new day. I'll muster up the courage to talk to her in the morning over her favourite breakfast, hot chocolate and croissants, that I get for her every Saturday morning.

***

Dec 7, it's past midnight. I should get home. Today has finally come. It's been months in the making. I can't move forward if I don't make this step. Hopefully he's sleeping. The wind has been quite brutal all night. He hates autumn too. I think it's because he found his dad laying on the couch cold, stiff, and lifeless after not returning his phone calls for a whole day. The back door had been left open. 'It was so cold,' he would say. I hated the icy cold autumn wind, and now he no doubt did too. It had given him a chill he hadn't been able to shake all these years later, I'm sure of it. So, I made sure to keep the windows tightly locked as soon as the first chill rolled in. I didn't want him to be reminded of that dreadful day. How can he not see what a great girlfriend I am. How could he not try to be a better boyfriend. So selfish.

I forgot! It's his dad's death anniversary today, well yesterday! Well, he didn't call. I guess he didn't need me. Maybe he's finally grown up. He's cried about it enough all these years. What man does that? I'm always rolling my eyes at him lately. He can be so annoying.

~

It's feeling more like winter out there. I quietly and gratefully climb into bed. Mmmm, it's so warm. He grunts an 'I love you.' The warmth dissipates from my body. I can't do this. I pretend to not hear him and go to sleep to the lull of the wintry wind that blows.

~

I'm up earlier than I usually am on a Saturday. It's typically my day to sleep in. The first Saturday after we first moved in together he snuck out that morning and bought pastries and hot chocolate from a cafe around the corner. We stayed in bed all day that day. I thought I'd found the one. Every Saturday, rain or shine, wind or snow, I would wake up to my favourite, croissants and a cup of hot chocolate. It's been 6 years. You'd think he would try something new already. Today I'll get breakfast. Something different. A change. I can't do another Saturday of hot chocolate and croissants.

~

Fall has turned into winter over night. I quietly take off my boots, keeping my coat on as I'm still chilled from being outside. He's up. Brushing his teeth. I wonder if he even noticed I was gone.

***

I wonder where she went. Her things aren't packed. Thank God. She didn't sneak away into the night. She hasn't left me. Maybe we can mend our relationship after all.

~

"What's this?" This isn't the same Saturday breakfast we've had for the past 6 years. She's off. Something is off. Everything is off.

"I thought you'd like to try something new."

She attempts to take a sip of what looks like black coffee. What a contrast to her usual. It was too hot. She blows it and forces another attempt. She grimaces. It's bitter. Maybe she forgot how much she hates coffee.

I push my cup of coffee aside, I've never been a big fan. I take the container out of the bag. "Fruit salad?" I throw the container of mixed off season, no doubt sour, fruit on the table. What was she thinking. Maybe she forgot about this too.

"Well, try it. You might like it. You can't have the same old thing your whole life!" Her voice was shrill and annoyed. But why? What had I done to deserve this?

"I'm allergic to pineapple." I'm dumbfounded. She looks dumbfounded. I can't look at her right now so I turn to look out the window and hold myself up on the frame. One, two, three, four flakes...it's starting to snow. A deep, soothing breath overtakes me by force. It's welcomed. It's much needed. The snow instantly falls heavier and heavier. The wind swirls each flake into clusters around and around and slams them against the window, which echoes through the thick silence that we've created. I've recently started hating the snow and the icy cold wind but something prompted my hands to unlock the windows latch. The strength of the wind blew through the mesh sieving out the snow, leaving just the icy cold breath of the clouds. I close my eyes and see my dad standing by the back door of his house. He opens the inside door and locks the screen door latch. The cool wind blows through as he turns to 10 year old me now shivering on the floor while I play with my Lego and says, "it's good to have a little fresh air come in, even if it's icy cold." He turns to face the cold and takes another deep breath in. It hits me. That's why the door was opened when I found him. He was letting the fresh air in. I remember. I used to let the fresh air in.

I take another deep icy breath and remember how rejuvenating it is to stand in the warmth of inside while the snowy air from outside envelopes you just for a moment. It's been 6 years since I've done that. I've missed it, and didn't realize until now.

I snap back to the reality that was upon me. She's trying to break up with me. Or kill me. Either way, I know what I need to do. I deserve better than to be served pineapple after 6 years. I deserve a breath of fresh air.