Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #26

I can't explain to you what it's like to have words sitting inside your head. For me, they come out at the most inopportune moments (popping into my head while I'm in the shower or riding the bus. In class.) My fingers itch to get them on the page before they clot in my mind or on the tip of my tongue.

They linger in shadows and pools of light, on Post-its and margins, clambering for release.

They are always here. Loud as a hurricane and soft as whispers of silk.

Beautiful as morning light spilling through cathedral windows. Or slipping over a ridge, bathing the world in the new glow of dawn.

The morning dawns cold and grey. A breath of frost lingers on the ground, crunching when you shift your feet. The only semblance of warmth comes from your side, where you and Clair have huddled closer over the night. Draped over your shoulders (snaked around both you and Clair, your knuckles white from gripping so tightly) is a blanket emblazoned with a Minnesota State Parks logo. You have no recollection of how you got it.

Sometime during the night, the fire died down to ash, which is kicked up by a fierce breeze.

It is c o l d.

But besides being cold (and hungry), you're in good spirits. The forest is coolly beautiful, dark trees leaned against a sky silver with clouds. Gorgeous.

Clair stirs beside you. She rubs her eyes to clear them of dreams and tosses you a sleepy smile.

"'Morning." She yawns.

"'Morning." Shivering, you tighten your grip on the blanket. Clair scoots closer to you, making sharing easier.

"We should start the fire again." You nod to the fire-pit, then tuck your chin to your chest, tugging the quilt over half your face.

"We should."

A moment of silence for the death of that idea.

As far as you can tell, the problem is as follows: if you start the fire, you'll have to abandon the blanket and be damnably cold until you get it lit. You can feel gears clicking in Clair's mind as she does the math and reaches a similar conclusion.

"If I dibs not getting up, will you hate me?"

"Absolutely."

She grins. "There goes that plan."

You stand, still clutching the blanket. Clair's warmth leaves you and the space between you is like a gasp, a cold shock to the system. Without thinking, you reach out your hand and she grasps it. Warm and firm. Pulling her up, the warmth returns when you huddle side by side.

It reminds you of elementary school, those Track & Field days, complete with wacky races. Like the two of you are some bizarre take on a three-legged race. You say as much to Clair.

Her laugh echoes through the chill morning. "Except we'll be playing with fire, too. Adult Track & Field days. I think I would've liked them more if fire was involved actually."

"Yeah, until someone gets lit on fire."

"Well, what fun is it if that doesn't happen?"

You shake your head, but your lips quirk up. "Then I guess we're not having fun yet."

You fumble for Tyler's lighter (numb fingers) and drop it. Clair crouches to reach it, and you follow suit, simply to keep both of you from freezing.

"Firewood?"

"Kindling first."

You trip over roots and underbrush, gathering twigs and leaves in one hand, the other keeping the blanket taut across your shoulder. There you are, shoulder to shoulder, crashing through thick branches and forest.

Ungainly and ungraceful. Like a pair of ugly ducks.

Clair stumbles, pitching forward. Caught off guard, you both tumble to the forest floor, fall padded by leaves. Tangled together on the ground. Cussing. Hair mussed and leaves caught in it, and your clothes. Laughter rumbling through your chest before you can pick yourselves up. Gasping, doubled over, howling with mirth.

I feel like crying, thinking about how happy we were.