BRANCE + RINNEY

dont eat the yellow snow !

Do you remember the day that we met?

Winter had just shaken the leaves from every tree on the block, save for the pine trees tucked beneath snow blankets. The sky melted into white mist, brighter than the sun that disappeared behind the clouds most days.

I remember I had been kicked out of my house, or chased out more like. I had a bottle thrown at my head and I didn't even realize, not until you pointed it out. You always pointed things out, didn't you?

I had walked all the way down Morris Street to the convenience store. My hands were freezing and red but all I wanted was those cheap, powder-coated suckers. I loved the lime green ones, littered your room with their wrappers every chance I got. You hated it, but I thought it was funny.

Anyways, I remember walking into the convenience store and stomping the snow off my shoes. I can still hear the cashier complaining about it; "I just cleaned this floor!". I stuck my tongue out at them as I walked to the candy isle, almost slipping on the melted snow I had tracked in.

You were already standing in the candy isle when I got there, sucking on a raspberry sucker with wide eyes. You looked like a raccoon, unusually happy about the world. I think that's what I liked so much about you. How happy you always seemed.

I remember you turned to me when I started digging through the bucket of candy the owner always left around. "No gloves?", that's the first thing you ever said to me. Even though I probably looked weird, with bruises and cuts shielded beneath my snow-sprinkled curly hair, you only seemed to notice my red hands. You never asked me personal things, not unless I brought them up first.

I never answered your question, not verbally. I was too busy sticking a lime-green sucker in my mouth, laughing at the memory of a 'taste the rainbow' commercial I had seen hours before. I remember turning towards you and seeing your smile. It made me smile wider.

"You don't have gloves?", I heard you that time. You pointed to your own hands that were tucked into thin cloths, hand-me-down mittens. I told you no, that I didn't have gloves. I never did, not that I ever really cared.

I was surprised, really surprised, when you took off one of your gloves and handed it to me. Your smile never wavered, it made me feel safe. I remember the warmth that lingered from where your hand had been into my skin, reducing the red that crept against it.

"What's your name?", your words sounded broken when you chewed up your sucker, the sound of your tongue tapping against the roof of your mouth made me want to plug my ears. I told you my name, quicker than I thought I could ever speak, and you told me yours.

No offense, but you looked like a girl when we first met. You had your hair tied into a short ponytail, it fell a little past your shoulders. Your jaw was sharp but your face was chubby, cute. I was taken aback when you said a boy's name.

"You have something in your hair by the way.", I flinched when your hand reached into my hair, not that you cared. You put your other hand on my shoulder and kept me still long enough to remove that one glass shard from between my curls.

"You should be more careful.", even though your tone was light, you weren't smiling. My mouth was too dry for me to respond then, probably from the sourness of the sucker. I could only nod my head.

"Do you want your mitten back?", you were nearly out the door, keen on not paying for the candy so obviously stuffed in your pocket. "No, keep it. You can give it back when we see each other again!", your smile was back when you waved at me and that was when I first noticed you had dimples. I wanted to poke them.

I didn't think much about you saying we'd meet again. Which we did, two days later.

It was nighttime and quiet, too cold for crickets to even chirp. We had met at the playground for different reasons. My dad hadn't been home to let me in, you just wanted to play.

I tried to give you your mitten back as you rushed down the slide but you insisted that I keep it for awhile longer. Your hair had fallen in front of your face and it made me upset that I couldn't hear you fully. So I brushed it away. You blushed then, I remember. I thought it had just been the cold.

"What's the purpose of only having one mitten? Our other hand is still cold.", you looked at me weird when I said that, like antlers had just popped onto my head and I'd grown hooves. "If you have something of mine, we're always connected. This means we're friends, right?"

Your voice had gotten quiet and it worried me, I didn't think before nodding quickly. I wanted your smile and slightly loud voice back.

"Yeah, 'course we are.", I sat on the swing and watched as your smile returned. The cold didn't bother me nearly as much after that. Our laughter probably rang through the whole neighborhood. I enjoyed watching you fall so many times when you'd slide down on your stomach, your cheeks puffed out as you'd take a mouthful of dirty snow.

We stayed there until the sun rose and we didn't even realize. Not until I had to shield the orange sunlight with my hand, only then noticing how tired I was. We agreed on going home, me to an empty house and you to your worried mom.

It was fine though, because we'd meet again. And again. And again. It'd turn into our little thing, a habit of the heart. You never did take your mitten back. I stopped trying after it got its first tear, I didn't know how to stitch it up.

It's stitched up now though, all clean and brand-new on my dresser. Our photos are sitting around it, pictures your mom and uncle took of us from the past few years. Your smile is the first and last thing I see everyday, though it doesn't nearly compare to the real thing.

I wonder if you ever got rid of your mitten. Or if you ever stopped liking raspberry suckers. I wonder if you still childishly play on the playground, laying on your stomach as you wear down the slide.

I wish I knew how you were doing up there, and if you're being taken care of.

I wish you had left me a note, a sign, anything.

It sucks that I have to say I love you for the first time on paper, one that you'll never get to touch or read.

But I do, I do love you.

Always have.

I'm sure everyone knows that, I wish you had. I should've said it sooner.

Anyways, I hope you're doing well and that you're at peace. I left your favorite flowers, those crinkly pink ones, near your slide. I'm sure you'll see them if I know you as much as I think I do.

Six months, it hasn't gotten easier.

I don't think it ever will.

- Finney Blake, to my best friend and soulmate, Robin Arellano .

(p.s we'll see each other soon.)