Baby, It's Cold Outside | Interracial Love Story

Alternate Version.

So as an english assignment based off an essay we had read in class, I chose to write a short story/alternate version of Baby It's Cold Outside. I figured that I might as well share the alternate version with you all, because I'd honestly been insane not to share the idea with you guys!

Fair warning though, this version does take a dark turn and sadly, one of our beloved characters has a tragic end.

All the love,

Ellie

* * *

I remember that cold night we spent together in our little cabin in the woods in 2016. It was Christmas Eve and the snowstorm had prevented us from going outside. We'd been snowed in; unable to join our family, friends, and the rest of civilization for the Christmas festivities.

After you made me coffee and turned on the radio just as I was about to leave, you flashed your pretty little smirk at me as the weather man declared the roads were closed, and it was unknown how long it would take to clear them. I looked at you and laughed to myself saying, "I guess the world will have to exist without us for a little while longer."

We spent that day reminiscing the past; the memories we shared together at the place we both called home. I remember asking you when the moment you knew you were in love me was, and you teased me about why I brought up such a topic on Christmas Eve of all holidays. "I knew I was in love with you the minute I saw you in the poetry section of that bookstore." You confessed, "Your eyes scanned the books that lined the shelves with awe, and every time you picked up a book from the shelf, you'd sigh because you knew you couldn't afford it. You were so fascinated by Michael Faudet's Dirty Pretty Things, I knew I had to get it for you."

"I almost didn't go to the location you described in the note you left me, inside the book." I replied.

You just chuckled and wrapped your arms tighter around me, as we laid in our cozy little bed underneath the sheets, and continued to watch the snow fall outside saying, "My God, am I happy you decided to go."

Later on that day, you had caught me writing about being trapped inside our cabin together in the middle of a snowstorm, on Christmas Eve of all the holidays we could have been stranded together on. Although you remember it much, much differently. You remember flipping through the pages of my journal, your face lit up with excitement and infatuation as you read each of my entries. You had always been so curious to know what I was scribbling in my journal, satisfied and happy to know that most of the entries were about you.

"How come you never told me you wrote poetry?" You asked, as your eyes still sparkled with awe.

I shrugged and rested my head on your shoulder, admiring my own work, "It simply never occurred to me to tell you. I just knew I needed a hobby; a talent to pass the time." I explained, "You had music, and so I needed something; I found writing. Look at what a beautiful mixture that is."

I remember how we danced in the living room to the sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice singing the lyrics to My Funny Valentine. We danced to what we had declared as "our song" around the empty space, my head rested against your chest as I felt the vibration from your humming, escape your perfect plump lips. You told me how much I sang this song after we met, and how this song would be the song we'd dance to at our wedding; you promised me it would.

I remember your arms wrapped around my waist and your head perched on my shoulder, as we looked at all the polaroids I'd taken while at our cabin in previous months. I pinned the polaroid I'd just taken of you completely caught off guard, beside a picture of us riding shopping carts on a double date we'd gone on, with friends in November that year. I told you my favourite picture was of us wearing santa hats and sharing a kiss. You told me your favourite pictures were of us on New Year's Eve ringing in the new year together, and of us on my birthday earlier in the year having a cake fight.

I remember when you'd received an unexpected text message from your ex-girlfriend, and I overreacted thinking it was something completely different. This resulted in you walking out on me to blow some steam, and never coming back. And now here I stand in our now abandoned cabin on Christmas Eve one year later, retracing the steps to where things went wrong. I'd visited the bridge, the exact spot, where your car steered off the road and tumbled down the hill. You went out for a drive in the middle of the snowstorm, tried to avoid a patch of ice, and swerved off the narrow road; the road that should have been closed.

I pull the sweater you had given me tight around my body, as I walk from room to empty room, remembering the events that had taken place in each of them. Finally I stop in the front hall, where our story began and ended. Your first words being, "I love you to the sun and back Ivy; I promise this is forever", and your last being, "I'm going out to blow some steam, I'll see you whenever."