Her Name Was December

Day 22

It was January 9th, and Greyson's eyes were glazed over with more than a night's worth of staring at a computer screen. The artificial light was all that illuminated the room, dully bouncing off of the tired features of his face. His email's inbox was a wasteland, and the small cursor in the 'Compose' window blinked mockingly. He had sent dozens of worried messages in his restlessness.

<1:37pm: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

I'm so sorry about this morning. I hope you know that I wasn't trying to be overbearing. I just... I care about you. You don't deserve homelessness. Have a nice day.

<5:16pm: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

Was that insensitive? The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I hope you're okay.

<6:22pm: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

It's supposed to snow tonight. Be safe, December.

<9:24pm: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

It's getting late. Know that if it gets too cold out there, my door is always open.

<2:49am: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

December?

<3:05am: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

I'm such a desperate prick, aren't I? It's clear you don't want to talk to me, and I should respect that.

<3:34am: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

I'd understand if you'd never want to see my face again. I ruin everything.

<3:51am: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

It went on like that for hours, and Greyson's monologue was only met by silence. He watched out his window as snowflakes drifted to the ground, each one feeling like a prick to the heart and a dip in the temperature. I should be the one left out there to freeze, not her.

On the horizon, he could see the sky fading from a deep, black aether into a sea of blue. The sunrise was coming.

<6:57am: greykaye95@yahoo.com>

I wonder how beautiful the sunrise looks in the snow. I'll be on the hill at 7:15 if you want to find out.

Time seemed to drag on unbelievably slowly, but Greyson's mind ran in fast-motion. It was 7:15 and he sat alone on the hood of his car as the sun fought its way through the thick cotton of the clouds. He was right about the view being beautiful, but he never could have imagined the blissful peace that came from watching snow drift down over the town, peppering the cracked streets with fragments of light they had absorbed on their way down. Greyson wished December were there to see it.

He'd decided to not to wear a coat. The frigid breeze blew through his thin t-shirt, and snowflakes landed on his bare arms. Even in his numbness, he could have sworn that he could feel each individual crystal melt upon his skin. It didn't bother him, though, when he thought about the wintry nights December had to spend huddled in her metal frame of a home. He thought, maybe if they were both cold, they'd finally have something in common.

* * * * *

The bookstore felt barren without the girl with the silver eyes. Greyson had the afternoon shift on January 9th, and even if Emily was lying when she said December hadn't been there all morning, she wasn't there now. He'd skipped work the day before without hesitation, and Emily was pissed. After the events of the previous night, he didn't have it in him to deal with his passive aggressive coworker or dick of a boss.

It was nearing the end of the night, and it was rare that any customers came in to shop this late. Fenton Woods was a small town, and an even smaller reading community. The regulars were recognizable to Greyson, like the middle-aged women buying books for a book club where they never actually read, the few veterans and history buffs, and the occasional single mother and her army of kids. It was only 7:30, but even they had better things to do than sit in a dusty old bookstore and keep the pale, lanky cashier company.

Greyson let out a sigh of relief when it was time to leave. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder lazily and grabbed his backpack from behind the counter, sulking out the door and fiddling with his keyring to lock it. He heard quick, faint footsteps behind him and he pressed close to the door to let them pass. But they didn't pass.

"Hi." December said. It was quiet, but to Greyson, it was clear as day.

He turned around to see her in a burgundy peacoat and a messy bun, holding a pizza box from the parlor down the street. She smiled so faintly it could have been mistaken for a frown.

"Wanna go watch the sunset?" She asked, nudging her thick-brimmed glasses up the ridge of her nose with her shoulder awkwardly.

Greyson pulled away from the door slowly, shrugging his jacket on as he nodded with a smile. They drove up to the hill in December's truck and sat for hours, sharing a pizza and talking about life. They talked about how lost they were, one wanderer with nothing to show but some blankets and a pickup, and one lonely boy trying to figure out how to be a man. It was almost like nothing had ever happened. Almost.