A fierce wind blows, causing a wave of shivers to overtake me. The biting cold is every bit as painful as my ankle.
And I’m alone.
So totally, helplessly alone.
A hundred memories sting like the wind, but my mind settles on one, maybe a year after my dad went to prison.
Mom had picked up a late shift at the restaurant after finishing her receptionist job, so I was watching Wheel of Fortune and eating my usual ramen dinner alone when the power went out.
Our apartment was already an ice box because we couldn’t afford to heat it above 65°, and I knew it would get cold, fast.
So I took my ramen into my room, threw on blankets, and lit some candles, thinking even that small amount of warmth would help. As I was huddled around one candle, suddenly my bedroom got lighter. I looked over to see the Depeche Mode poster my dad had given me was on fire. The candle I’d put on my small dresser had somehow caught it.
I screamed and did the first thing that came to mind:
I threw my ramen at it.
And miraculously, it doused most of the flames. I was able to run into the bathroom, fill up my bowl with more water, and the next splash extinguished the rest of them.
The poster went right into the kitchen garbage, stuffed down beneath wrappers and potato peels so Mom would never know.
Then I grabbed towels and cleaned up the mess, scooping noodles back into the bowl and soaking up as much of the broth and water as I could. Knowing I couldn’t go down to the laundry room in the basement, I hand washed the towels in the bathroom. Thankfully, our old gas water heater was working, or I probably would have gotten frost bite washing, rinsing, and wringing the towels out.
When I was done, I was sweating in spite of the cold. I hung the towels over the shower curtain rod and then blew all the other candles out and threw myself onto my bed.
And I cried myself to sleep.
By the time my mom came home after midnight, the power had come back on, but something in me hadn’t.
I was huddled under a huge pile of blankets, and she came into my room and kissed my head. Then she went into the bathroom, and I heard her slip and then curse.
“What is all this water doing here?” she asked out loud. Sounds came from the bathroom, and I knew she was probably mopping up the water dripping from the towels. “What did that girl do?”
She let out the loudest sigh, and my sobs resumed.
She had no idea.
She wouldneverhave any idea.
Because I knew it was just as bad for her as it was for me. She was drained—I could hear it in her voice—and all she wanted to do was sleep, but because of my mistake, she was cleaning up instead of resting.
I would never let that happen again.
It was maybe a week or two before Mom noticed the Depeche Mode poster was missing. Somehow, the fire hadn’t scorched the walls, so she had no idea what happened.
“I noticed you took down the poster in your room. Everything okay?” she asked as she handed me toast.
“I’ve outgrown them,” I lied. Depeche Mode was my favorite band. My dad’s favorite, too.
“That’s good. I never understood why your dad liked them so much,” she said.
And that was as close as she ever got to the truth.
I wish I could erase the memory, but it clings like the snow does to my corduroy pants.
The streets are silent except for the occasional gale of wind that howls as it whips past me. The cold is brutal and I’m not sure where I am, but I recognize the name of the street I’m on—it’s the one we took to come down to see the egg. I’m at least a couple of blocks past where we turned to see it.
The path back up to the hotel is clear enough I could limp back, but I don’t want to run into Oliver right now. So with the tears I was crying now frozen on my face, I look around and spot tracks. Actually, multiple sets of tracks.
