Final.

A winter of horrible snowstorms and unbearable coldness

A winter of horrible snowstorms and unbearable coldness had just passed; the whole neighborhood looked white and the sky beautiful blue and grey too. Snowflakes fell down as little crystals. Though sometimes they would pile and look like one big snowflake in front of my bedroom window and I would be sad because I wasn’t able to draw the small white flakes and I wasn’t able to go out either. So all I could do was get bored.

 

Sometimes, when they were small and little, I’d be packed in five T-shirts and two jackets when going out to play with my friend, and still feel cold.

 

We were still young back then. While it was hard to move with all those clothes, the snow so high didn't help me at all and I’d stumble down and fall face first in the thick snow. The skin that couldn’t be hidden with my jacket or underneath my big scarf would sting and burn though I would feel warm after a few minutes instead of cold. My friend would laugh, when I lied down almost invisible between the high snow and he’d help me up with that admirable smile and such an innocent face that I did believe he really would help me that once, but then he’d push me back down again.

 

We joked a lot with each other, and for us the age gap made no difference.

 

We walked down the roads in the forest, that is, if we could see them and wouldn’t walk next to them, going to his house. I always told myself we were neighbors because both our houses were somewhere in the middle of nowhere and they weren’t that far from each other anyway. On the way there we’d hide behind the trees where the most snow had fallen off the branches and search each other. We’d spend hours playing in that forest and not once were we bored.

 

Unlike me in my bedroom during those snowstorms.

 

We would almost always go to his house because my parents were always busy and right before I would enter his warm and cozy house he would throw a snowball right against the back of my head. I would curse a small word in English and then quickly make one myself, throw it at him but miss. He was much better at throwing. He was also better at running, because when I would chase him, he would always be faster. That's probably why he always wanted to become a baseball-player.

 

Eventually, when we were tired enough we would enter his house and fall into the couch with our clothes and shoes still on while breathing the tiredness away. Then his mother would come and scold us for leaving wet trails behind and making the couch drain with the water of our soaked pants. She would usually yell at him those times but when he left to his bedroom she would hold me from following him by grabbing my shoulder and shaking me violently. She would bend over so she was hovering over me and she’d tell me that if I would do it again she would tell my mother so I wouldn't be able to come here anymore. She looked very ugly when doing that, and I had to keep looking at her or she’d slap me in the face. His mother didn't like me.

 

We would play in his room and read a few comics. I mean; I read them and he watched the pictures. His mother would always use those little things as excuse for me being too old for him, but we didn't mind, did we? We enjoyed the feeling of sitting together in one room, the warmth of each other when we would sit close and the knowledge of the other's presence.

 

Right?

 

In the evening we would go to my house for a bit and run around with my dog or play four-in-a-row. I would always win, and that's when my mother whispered in my ear to let him win once, on purpose. I would look up at my friend to find him staring back at me, wondering what my mother had told me. I immediately averted my eyes then, something I never did because I liked watching him too much. But my mother kept standing behind me, her hand sternly leaning on my shoulder; the same one his mother had held me with and it made me bite my lip. Even my mother didn't like us being friends.

 

Would he have known how hard it was for me to hold us together?

 

 

 

The day he went to his baseball training for the first time, I came with him. I did not want him to go alone on his first day, or maybe it was because there was nothing else for me to do. It could also be that I didn’t want to do anything else other than being with him and so I followed him the whole way. The snow was already melting because it was spring, which made the paths in the forest visible. This time we knew for sure we weren’t walking next to those paths. We also couldn’t hide behind the trees now that snow didn’t pile up against the trunk anymore, so they weren’t thick enough. Or maybe we were growing too much.

 

Before he went off and played with all the kids of his age I took his wrist and held him back. He turned around, forcing me to hold my breath and making me forget to tell my heart it couldn’t beat faster right now because that made me only more nervous. He had looked at me many times, but this time I wanted him to look at me differently. And I still remember exactly how he had looked at me back then.

 

A face full of questions and expectation, wanting to know why I held him back. His small eyes showed almost no emotion, they always seemed to not show any kind of expression at all, yet they shone so bright and beautiful. If I had to ever describe his eyes I would say that they always seemed happy, or that was what I saw. There was nothing to read in them that moment and I breathed deeply before I decided to lean forward and kiss him for the first time. Yes, on the lips, careful and quick.

 

I had closed my eyes, not seeing what kind of reaction he would have although I actually really wanted to know. The touch was so soft and so innocent that it could be hardly called a kiss, but I still liked to call it that. I liked to call it my first kiss. I never knew how such a simple touch and soft pressure on my lips could feel this good, but that was probably because I liked my friend so much that it was possibly something very close to love. Love made everything feel better or worse than it actually was. And that’s why ‘like’ and ‘love’ are so different. ‘Friend’ and ‘lover’, people say the difference isn’t big, but it is.

 

"Did you like it?" I had asked with a soft voice when I pulled away. I had opened my eyes again, staring right back in his eyes that hadn’t even closed during the short connection of our lips. Our eyes kept being locked in a long and unbreakable stare, an action that made the beat of my heart quicken as the baseball ball being thrown behind my friend. I wasn’t sure if it was quick; because everything seemed to go so slow at the moment. I had wanted to look away in fright of rejection, but I couldn’t and the stare lasted longer than I had ever looked at someone. And for some reason I was still holding my friends wrist with a gentle grip, not too strong yet not too loose, wanting to hear his answer before he’d go away.

 

His eyes kept looking in mine, making me almost believe that what I did was good. That what I did was something he understood. And that what I did changed our lives since that day. Right that second. But then, just before a smile could make it’s way up to my lips his eyes blinked in a childish manner, not taking anything serious like I had thought he did.

 

"I don't know." He had said, making my eyes go wide so slowly that it hurt. His words were breaking the pieces of my heart I was trying so hard to hold. It was a feeling as I had wanted to rip the skin off of my face and he didn’t even see my teary eyes nor felt my shaky hand around his wrist. He ran off…

 

To his training which had already started.

 

I frowned right then, aching all over my chest. I shook my head ever so slightly, not wanting to believe any of this. He never rejected me. He never hurt me. He would never do that to me because we were friends, so why did I have to feel like this?

 

Those were times the age gap did matter.

 

 

 

Years had passed and he had become a perfect baseball-player. 'You're one of the best' his coach would always say with a pat on his shoulder. But I knew better and I would squint my eyes and glare at the teacher from my seat, too far for him to see. Or maybe his coach had very good eyes, because he never had liked me, maybe because he always saw my glares. But I didn’t care. For me my friend was always the best.

 

Even when no one liked me.

 

We were still friends and we still went to each other's house. We were close and told each other every little secret and he’d still throw a snowball to the back of my head before I entered his house in the winter. We still read comics in his bedroom and he still only watched the pictures, but now because he was too lazy to read. We still went to my house late in the evening and play four-in-a-row, although my dog had passed away the night I had given him my first kiss.

 

I had cried a lot back then, but that was forgotten. Just like the kiss was long forgotten. He had long forgotten. But I didn't lie, I just hid the truth; he didn't ask.

 

 

 

Time never stopped and much earlier than I’d like, school had already ended for me. That meant I wouldn't be able to see him as often as before, but didn't mean I could never see him again. If I had time I would go to his house, but most of the time he came to my house and I had to send him away again; I was too busy with studying.

 

It had always been a dream of mine to go to the university. Not without him though, but I had to move on. We weren’t going to be together forever anyway, that was my knowledge. Everything passes. Just like snow melts, just like flowers wither, like the sun goes down and a friendship breaks into pieces.

 

Sometimes my mother would open the door when he ringed the bell, but then she would immediately close the door again when she only saw a glimpse of him.  I would sit in my room and hear it. He wasn’t even allowed to say a little word like ‘hi’, because my mother wouldn’t even want to hear his voice. I would hope my mother would come to me and say my friend stood in front of the door, but no matter how much I hoped, that time never came. I would sigh when I’d hear footsteps fade away in the living and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on my studying again. Stupid me, why couldn’t I forget him?

 

 

 

One day, when I was taking a break and fell into my couch with a relieved sigh, my phone went off. I sighed, because I just sat down and I was too lazy to stand up again. But I did so anyway, too curious who had texted me. I took my phone from the salon table and looked at the screen. To say I was glad I had stood up again was an understatement, because my tiredness faded away the moment I saw who it was that texted me and what he asked.

 

My best friend was turning 16 in a few days and he was planning to throw a party, inviting me too, if I had time. Of course I had no time, but I couldn’t not go, right? I haven’t had time to see my friend in a few months, and maybe it was good to take a break from studying once in a while. And it was a chance for me to see him again too, so that was once again another reason to accept the invitation.

 

 

 

It was the same winter as all those years ago when I first kissed him and for me… it meant bad luck.

 

Yet I dressed myself up completely, put on some make up, combed my hair and chose some matching clothes. I disliked making myself look pretty, but I liked the results. Who would know, I might meet someone new. There were probably a lot of other people coming to the party as well.

 

And yes, I was right. Partially. There were a lot of people, probably friends from his school, to which I didn’t attend anymore. In the past he used to only play with me, but that had changed drastically. I didn’t like it, and it pained me to tell myself over and over I didn’t have to think about him anymore. But, even after all that happened, for some reason, I wanted to think about him. I wanted to look at him. I wanted to smell his nice scent and play games with him, no matter how childish that sounded.

 

Everyone was unknown to me, and yet I was the stranger there. I couldn’t do a lot, just take a small drink and move a bit along with the beating music, but nothing more. No matter how much I let my eyes drift through the crowd there was no one I recognized and no one who recognized me.

 

I was ready to go back home when suddenly someone grabbed my wrist, making me turn around automatically just to look into those emotionless yet bright eyes. I stood there for a while, speechless as I stared at him. He was wearing a nice suit and his hair was styled back, making his sharp and handsome features more visible. And of course, he was wearing matching shoes too. He looked good, extremely good.

 

“Where are you going?” My friend, the birthday boy, had asked, pulling me back to the harsh reality of rejection and loneliness. I looked down at the ground, again a movement I hated doing because his appearance was so captivating and overwhelming that the least I wanted to do was look away.

 

“Home.” I answered softly, looking at him again, but at the wrong time. He frowned and lowered his gaze himself this time. He wanted to say something, I knew that from his expression, but he didn’t know how. I bit the inside of my bottom lip; suddenly feeling guilty and I wanted to make it up to him. But we hadn’t seen each other so long that I seriously had no idea how. He probably had the same problem.

 

So I leaned down a bit, trying to see his face so I could cheer him up by saying I would stay a bit longer, but before I could do anything… he catched my lips.

 

He was still holding my wrist in a gentle grip, not too strong yet not too loose, as if wanting to see my reaction before I’d turn around and go.

 

The touch was so soft and so innocent that it could be hardly called a kiss, but I still liked to call it like that. I liked to call it my second kiss. I had forgotten how such a simple touch and soft pressure on my lips could feel this good, but I knew that it was probably because I liked my friend so much that it was possibly something very close to love. Love made everything feel better or worse than it actually was. And that’s why ‘like’ and ‘love’ are so different. ‘Friend’ and ‘lover’, people say the difference isn’t big, but it is.

 

"Did you like it?" He asked in a slightly hoarse voice, his twinkling eyes looking right back into mine, as he snaked his arms around my waist. It was warm and the snow felt as if it faded the moment it touched our skin. Maybe horrible snowstorms and unbearable coldness wasn't the image for bad luck, maybe it was just the opposite.

 

No, not ‘maybe’, it really was, because I couldn’t help the shy smile that made it’s way up to my lips. I couldn’t help the way my arms automatically raised to lean onto my friend’s shoulders and how I felt the lump in the back of my throat come up until I felt like I could cry.

 

It felt as if we were young again, little him and little me, playing with each other and I couldn't hold the joke from rolling off my tongue.

 

"I don't know." I had said teasingly, repeating the same words as a few years ago, only now the roles were switched.

 

His smile immediately faltered and his ears became red. His eyes wide as his grip around me loosened until I was scared his arms would fall off my body. Then I smiled when I quickly said:

 

"Maybe we should try that again."

A winter of horrible snowstorms and unbearable coldness