Frozen Breath

I am crying. Again. Fat tears, rolling down my cheeks, onto my maple desk. My mother will kill me.

I do not know why I am crying, only that it starts whenever I glance at the picture beside my computer. It becomes even more confusing when noted that the picture has been there for years. There is nothing new or special about it—just a simple picture of me and my younger brother, smiling at the beach, with ice cream cones perched in our hands. There is nothing particularly sad about the picture, no reason to burst into tears.

And yet they flow, like a river, down my cheeks. They are quite different from my usual hot angry ones. Serene, cool, and somnolent.

“You’re graduating Nadia, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We’ll have to get you a new dress then.”

“I guess.”

The first time I started crying was when I was going through my “hoarder” draw, as Georgie calls it. It’s the draw where I put everything I want to keep. I decided it was getting too full, since I could no longer close it. I was going to put the knickknacks in a box and store it away.

I found a Valentine’s Day Card Ince had given me a few years back. He was five then.

It read: ‘Make this Valentine’s Day Sweeeeeet! Nadia—I love you!! –Ince’. There was a pink heart under the message that he had drawn himself.

I cried.

It was a foreign type of crying because, of course I’d cried before, but I always had a reason. Things at school got bad. I didn’t like my life; myself.

But this kind of crying—this was crying without a reason, crying in confusion.

Nadia was ten and Ince was two.

“Come on Incy—you can do it. Just a little bit forward.”

Nadia was trying to teach Ince how to crawl. But at no avail. Whenever Nadia motioned for Ince to crawl forward, he went back, and back, until he hit the wall.

Nadia ran a hand through her hair in exasperation.

Ince blubbered and giggled, sitting down so his back was against the wall. He clapped his hands.

Nadia laughed.

“Let’s try this again.”

Again and again and again. Ince just wouldn’t crawl forward.

Nadia gave up. She picked up Ince and touched his soft cheek.

“You don’t know any better, do you Incy?”

Ince stared at her.

“Come on Nadia, I know you want to. Everybody wants to. It’s a human urge.”

“Yes, I know, but I don’t know if I’m ready or not. I’m only eighteen.”

“What if we never see each other again? We’re graduating. We’re finishing high school…”

“I know.”

“And I love you, and you love me. There’s no problem.”

“What if we regret it?”

“But it’s love.”

I am an emotional wreck. Georgie tells me it is probably because of graduation. I am nervous. I am scared. She doesn’t know the half of it. I try to occupy myself. I try to do something—anything.

“Want to colour with me, Ince?”

“No! Are you kidding? Colouring’s for girls. Plus it’s stupid and boring.”

“But you love to colour.”

“What the heck? Maybe when I was five, dumbo. But if you want we can play Sims III!”

“No…thanks…”

Nadia was

His first loose tooth.

“What’s gonna happen Na-da? If my toothf falls out, won’t it hurt? Won’t I beed?!”

Nadia smiled. “No. The tooth fairy’s gonna come.”

“The toothf fairy! Who’s that?”

“When your tooth falls out, you’re supposed to put it under your pillow and while you’re sleeping the tooth fairy comes out and takes the tooth and leaves money.”

“Really?! But why??”

“Because she needs to build her tooth castle.”

There was a pause.

“Can I leave her a note?”

“Yes.”

“Can you help me?”

“Of course.”

At the graduation, they give us flowers. They aren’t real flowers. They are glass flowers. In an effort to be meaningful and poetic, the school says real flowers would die and they want the memories to live on forever, preserved. Glass will never die. Only break.

This gives me an idea.

Caldwell was my boyfriend of five years. He was sweet, fun, loving, caring—everything a girl could hope for in a guy. Best of all, he loved me. And I loved him. I loved him. I loved him. I really did.

Didn’t I?

Nadia was twelve and Ince was four.

Nadia had become quite a cook. She loved mixing things in the kitchen, creating things foreign to the nose and tongue. She baked too—cookies, cakes, brownies, soufflés—you name it, she’d make it. Her creations were perfect with her time and patience.

“Nadia can I pleeeaassee help you make cookies!! Just this once?!” Nadia was met with this outburst every time she set foot in the kitchen. Even if cookies were not on the menu that day.

After the tenth time, Nadia finally gave in. “Fine. Just this once.”

Ince did a cartwheel. He shouted with joy and danced around the kitchen. Nadia smiled.

Ince was a hard worker. He got out all the ingredients, he put them all away. He wanted to put the sugar in the bowl. He wanted to crack the eggs. He wanted to get a stool and stand on it and watch as the mess of ingredients turn from chaos into a smooth, creamy, beige mixture. He wanted to level the flour and push the mixer buttons. He wanted to help pick out which chocolate chips to use and he wanted to be the first one to round a mound of dough and drop it on the cookie sheet. He also wanted to be the first taste tester.

“To make sure they aren’t poisonous,” he said.

But he spilled the sugar and cracked shell into the batter. He tripped Nadia with the stool. He didn’t level the flour properly and most of it ended up on the floor. He pushed the wrong buttons and dumped too many chocolates into the cookies. His hands were not the cleanest when he went to shape a cookie.

And still, Nadia did not say a thing to dampen his mood—did not yell or scream or get angry. She patted his back and lightly squeezed his cheek. And Ince was not surprised, for little kids never expect to be yelled at. They expect to be treated with kindness and love.

But when he got older, boy was he in for a surprise.

I used to be like that once. I was like Ince. But something happened. I guess I grew up and lost energy along the way. And I’m not talking about the energy that comes from food.

I do not want to go back. The moment is perfect. It feels perfect. Everything fits. I understand life now. I understand what it is about. This surge of happiness—this surge of relief from the cold, iron fist of depression—it comes from knowing. The water is clear, I can finally see. My decision was right, my instincts wrong.

If only it could have lasted.

Longer than the night.

“I hate waking up in the morning, right when my alarm clock goes off.” Georgie sips her coffee.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I feel the effects from the night before—even if it wasn’t a late night. In that moment all I want to do is give into the sleep. I feel so crappy it’s not even funny.”

But I loved him.

“Want to colour?”

Glass flowers.

But I loved him.

“You don’t know any better.”

The blade is cold in my hand. And yet, somehow a reassurance. I feel along its edges—so strong, so sturdy, so alive. The black curtain is around me. All is still, waiting for my move. There is no traffic tonight, no sirens in the distance. The sirens are long gone now—and yet they will be back very soon.

I see him breathing, so rhythmically. Like me. We move together, body and soul. And then…only one of us continues. One beat now, the other stopped dead. I lay myself down, alongside the bed and this time there are no more beats in the small room.

I grin.

This time, my decision was wrong. Very, very wrong.

But my instincts were right on target.

A/N: I hope no one is confused about what happened at the end. I had to get this story done. It came upon inspiration because I was graduating.

Review!

Abby