Lonerism

Jack's Winter (R)

Jack's Winter 

I was thirteen years old, when it happened.

The day was blue and cold, around mid-winter. It had started snowing early in the morning, when I pulled myself out of bed and looked out the window.

It seemed so long ago, a time in my life clouded away from the real world. I was a happy boy. I wasn't lost or damaged. I was full and free.

I used to have such a wild imagination. The dreams of a child, where every day of my life blurred beautifully together into something never-ending and sweet. I had a mind without limitations, and I used to let it roam free. Playing in the green summer grass, or diving into piles of bright orange and yellow and red leaves. But the day it started to snow, that was the day I'd be destroyed forever.

The way I hurried over to the window and spotted the glittering white speckles drifting silently from the sky, it was one of my favourite memories. That morning, I felt so happy, so overcame with the most far-off and untouchable sense of innocence, I couldn't contain myself.

My hands touched the chilly glass of the window, slightly frosted over, and when I managed to climb up onto the windowsill, I saw that a blanket of beautiful snow had been thrown carelessly over our entire neighbourhood. Trees had turned white, lawns had turned white, streets and roads had been erased. As far as the eye could see, there was a soft white quilt hiding away the grime and filth of the world. For a moment, our street seemed perfect. But it wasn't.

The sky was still a dark blue, but it was settling lighter and cooler. In the distance, hiding behind the morning fog, I could just make out the river that traipsed through the town of Lonely Shoals like a cold steel dagger, jutting out of nowhere. And shining above it was the setting moon, waxing in its loneliness amongst the hidden stars. The sun would be up soon.

The first thing I did that morning was run down the stairs, jumping them two at a time, and reaching the front door. The house was quiet, as I slipped on my winter boots and ran outside in my firetruck pyjamas. My footprints pressed into the snow, blemishing it in a way, but it didn't matter to me at the time. I dropped to my knees and ran the cold snow through my bare fingers. They turned red with the cold, but I didn't mind.

That was when it hit me in the back of the head. A cold, hard snowball. I whipped around and found my best friend, Alex, standing there with a guilty smile on his face. A big green jacket covered his own pyjamas, his whitish blond hair still tousled with sleep. I grabbed a clump of snow and got up quickly, chasing after him, down the street, through the snow, as each of the lamp-posts that lined our neighbourhood flickered off one by one. I threw the snow at him, hitting him on the shoulder and watching him drop to the floor.

When I caught up to him the two of us lay on our backs and nestled ourselves comfortably under the sky, the snow our pillows, the world our cosy covers. In that moment, the rest of my life played out before me, like a silent black and white movie projected over the brown hue of my eyes. Memories I hadn't lived yet blew through my mind like wind through the sky, and made me smile uncontrollably. My hand reached out and took Alex's, and if only for that moment, that day was my favourite day.

"Jack!" The two of us looked over at my house quickly, and our hands fell into the snow by our sides. I saw the frame of my father standing in the doorway, looking furious, as he always was. My dad didn't like Alex, he didn't like me hanging around with him. "Get inside! Now!"

I slumped myself up off of the floor and waved goodbye to Alex, who was trying his best not to look like something was bothering him.

"Come over later," he shouted back at me, once I'd reached my front door. He was standing at the gate to his front garden, the house just opposite mine, when he asked.