Saturday Is The Coldest Day of The Year

Monday. 

I am freezing. My hands are stiff, tight, and red, nearing purple. I’m walking forward. One foot in front of the other. What else did I do but continue to walk forward on Monday? Just going forward isn’t enough to keep my blood moving. I feel it thicken with every step.

Saturday…

Tuesday. 

My girlfriend has been texting me, and I just feel bothered. She says that I’ve been distant and she wants the same amount of effort. That’s not right. It’s Tuesday, and my girlfriend is texting me. I’m trying to respond, but my hands are too cold to type. I try so hard to call, but I can’t because my lips are blue and my breath comes out in little fluffy puffs. I look like I’ve inhaled the fattest smoke, and even my voice comes out in shriveled little coughs lost in my white puffs.

I don’t want to talk about Saturday.

Wednesday. 

I had dinner with my friends that day. I shivered through every bite of my soup. Who puts ice cubes in tomato soup? I tried to dip my grilled cheese in it, but it was just too cold. My teeth felt like they were going to crack. Shoots of pain went up and down each tooth. There’s blood running down my gums and choking me. My blood tastes like icy iron, and that makes me want to retch. That’s not right. I thought my gums would bleed from the cold; they didn’t.

Saturday was bad.

Thursday. 

It’s date night. Well, an all-day date. It starts the second I wake up at one p.m. because there’s no more school. It’s been my favorite day because it’s been my girlfriend’s and my college tradition. I love her, and I love it when it’s just her and me every week; she could never bother me. We’re in the study period for finals week now. She picks me up, and we go to our coffee spot because the cold has been making me so tired my eyes can barely stay focused. Caffeine can fix that.

She sees my now-purple hands and warms them in hers. It only lasts a minute. Each minute seems shorter. Fifty seconds equals a minute. Thirty seconds equals a minute. Twenty, ten, five, four, three, two, none. Minutes are ridiculous measurements of time. I think we should get rid of them.

Saturday I think I made a mistake.

Friday. 

I am numb. I just can’t get warm, and nobody can help me. I don’t ask because I know it won’t work. The steps I took forward on Monday, the grilled cheese and tomato soup with my friends, the texts from my girlfriend, and even her hands—nothing can stop this bitter fucking cold that is stabbing me over and over and deadening my heart. Pause, that’s not right, I’m just being dramatic. On Friday, I napped all day. I was just a little run-down, which is to be expected. I’ve done a lot these past couple of months. I’ve just started college, which, as anyone would say, is a tough transition. I, as a first-year college student, am in my study period for finals week. That, as I’m sure everybody who has ever taken finals before would say, is tiring. And yes, have I been a bit chilly this past week? Maybe, but I know how to deal with this chill. I have been cold all my life, and being here in college has fixed that. On Friday, I took a nap because I was exhausted. I covered, bundled, and layered myself in clothes and blankets because I know how to stave off the cold on my own.

Saturday. 

Saturday is the coldest day of the year. I am shaking, spirals going up and down my back, blinding me to any thoughts in my mind. It’s so tiring, but I smile and lay out the gift I’ve prepared. This is the day we’ve been waiting for. It’s my girlfriend’s and my one-month anniversary. It’s important because becoming us was hard. I made it hard. I was scared before us. I was scared of recatching my cold that coming to college cured. But there is no reason to be scared because I love her.

“I love you,” is what she said to me exactly one month ago. That is what convinced me. I watched her speak it as each individual word floated out of her mouth. Dark red and safe, and every word warm. I couldn’t keep ignoring us anymore. Which I had been for good reason because I knew it wasn’t safe. I had been blessed by the cold to know every bad thing that could happen. Knowledge that had been given to me in the subtle frost embedded in my skin. But her words burrowed into me. Squeezing through the scratches on my arms I’d used to chip off some of the frost.

On Saturday, I use makeup to cover the doubts, to instill rest and patience for us into my eyes. I paint my lips and cheeks rosy to cover the dull, pale blue-tinged skin. I need to paint my shaking spirals away because they’re not right. She texts me that she’s here, and I practice my emotions. The joy I feel when she looks at me. The peace I feel when she holds me. The warmth I know she’ll emit with her words. I am complete. I am ready. My dorm is on the third floor, which is the top floor of my building. As I walk down each flight of stairs, I hover my hand over the railing. My toes are like dead blocks in my shoes that throw off my balance. I’m scared to topple over and ruin the image of myself I’ve so perfectly weaved together. When I open the door, she’s so excited to see me; I feel my mouth curve into a smile again. I hold her hand as we head up to my room and give her a basket of all her favorite things. Gold hoops, chocolates. I watch as she unwraps everything, takes pictures to send to her friends, and kisses me. Her kisses are supposed to settle the doubt that I somehow got her wrong. I scratch the backs of my arms and rub my eyelids. My skin is prickling, and I know I’m happy that she’s delighted by her gift. I know that I am supposed to feel soothed when she hugs me and kisses me in joy. When she tells me she loves the basket and me, I should see those scarlet letters wiggling their way into my heart and defrosting my mind. Today is meant to be a special day.

Instead, I feel it—the frost biting back, clawing through her warmth. Her words, once red, now fade to pale gray. I know what’s coming. I slip in and out of our date. It’s dinner off-campus, someplace trendy and expensive she’d picked. I can barely bite the food; it’s all frozen solid. Every time I pop back into our date, I see her try to keep me with her. My heart, wrapped in ice, rejects her every gesture. It doesn’t feel right anymore. I ask to go home early; I just need to bundle myself like Friday. I need help. My blankets can fix this. The frost that is spreading up my calves pulls me in the direction of home.

She walks me home, insisting the whole way that I tell her what’s wrong. What she doesn’t get is that nothing is wrong. This isn’t right. I don’t feel right.

“Are you okay?” she askswhen we’re back, her voice hesitant and concerned. She’s holding my hand, her touch so warm it burns, but I can’t hold it. I let go.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper. My voice cracks, brittle as the ice spreading through me. I needed today to be something that, as the day went on, was not. She is who I needed to bring me back to myself, and her words were supposed to spark that for me. I can’t handle being a disappointment to her. I can’t handle standing here not being able to smile and laugh with her.

Her face falls. The color drains from her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“I love you, and I’m sorry. I’m just so tired,” says the frost to my girlfriend. It’s crusted over my lips to help me speak. “You deserve… someone warm.” Its words hang in the air, white and sharp, piercing the space between us.

“I love you,” she says, her voice cracking.

“I know,” I reply, and I see the warmth in her eyes flicker and fade. The words that used to embrace me in the loving fiery light are ashen.

She stares at me, searching my face for something to hold onto, but I can’t give her anything. I’ve been petrified, the frost encrusting me to preserve my body. I know for sure that Saturday is the coldest day of the year as she picks up her things and walks out of my room. Out of my life. Frosty little icicles stab into my mind to comfort the absence of her. I know it’s for the best. This is what will help. I can be alone to rest. This is what is right. I climb into bed and stare at the ceiling. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, beginning to block my vision. The last thing I see is the frost spreading, beautiful and final encompassing every inch of me.