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It was a
surprisingly cool evening. The air sort of drifted through the darkness,
swirling around streetlights and windows, trying to break in at every
opportunity. Every time a door creaked open, the coolness was the first to slip
quietly through the crack and fill the unsuspecting room. Though the night was
not frigid, beneath the stillness there lay the slightest hint of chill that
created the overall sensation that soon, she (the cold queen) would come in all
her icy glory to sweep up unsuspecting passersby before they had time to fully
escape into the inviting embrace of the warmth that sat just inside closed
doors. What would the cold do with her victims? She would chill them till they
were sure not a bone had been left untouched. But this cruel queen would be
caged a bit longer, while her much sweeter sister filled the night with soft
coolness.
Light
emanates from the windows, softness playing at the pane, creeping along the
cracks, not desperate to get out but curious about the people that pass by. A
young girl slips into a warm black winter coat and tucks her thick scarf neatly
behind the lapels. After quickly adjusting her loose bun, she lifts a black
knitted beret over her head, and pins it snuggly in an attempt to keep her hair
from falling completely apart. Her thick brown stockings keep her legs from
freezing, as she patters softly out onto the landing. Down a quick flight of
stairs, then it’s out into the cool evening, leaving behind the comfort of all
that is warm and bright.
She
hums a song nervously, and jingles the keys as she steps in-between rows of
parked cars. She’s never been in favor of still nights.
Quietness and stillness are different.
Quietness has a full feeling, while stillness has a sense of anxiety. Or
perhaps it’s the other way around… Or more likely it implies to different
scenarios. When snow falls the night is still, but in a soothing comforting
sort of way. But snow makes even the fiercest of predicaments seem better. I
would add another qualification, but I do believe I’ve just maxed out.
Finally
locating the small vehicle, she quickly disappears inside, starts the engine,
and is out of the parking lot in a dash.
Now
if you’ll imagine with me, an indie song that no one has heard of played by
some lonely-heart boy who no one will remember except “the boy who wrote that
one song that was in that one movie.” Lights: Street lamps and cars whirr by
and create soft patterns on our heroines car. Camera: She waits at a stoplight
and leans her head against the window allowing her mind to drift over
fantastical things. Action: She pulls into the parking lot and decides to park
in front of the familiar coffee shop rather than park in the Giant parking lot
(west coasters: Giant is like Albertson’s but smaller and not nearly as cool).
Stepping
out of the car, she plunges her hands deep into her pockets, buries her chin
further into her thick scarf, and quickly patters across the parking lot into
the store. Humming a little ditty, she walks through the isles collecting the
items she needs, tea for her throat, milk for her oatmeal, nutella for her room
(and overall happiness). Her walk is not rushed, rather each moment is spent in
deliberation, as she counts the tiles between isles, as she traces her fingers across
brightly colored Christmas decorations that are already littering the “holiday”
isle. Once she has everything she needs she meanders around and just so happens
to walk past the flower stand.
She
chews on her bottom lip as she stares at the brightly colored bouquets.
Furrowing her brow, she glares in frustration at the tempting array. A sigh.
The battle has been lost. If you can even call it that. Flowers must be bought.
Her previous annoyance instantly turns to rapture as she leans down and smells
each arrangement. In the end she decides to go with a bouquet that compliments
both elements of fall (in the light and dark orange daisies that are prominent
throughout) and winter (as evidenced by the white roses and white hydrangea
that make up the rest of the bouquet). Content with her purchases, she drapes
her brown book bag around her shoulder, takes her grocery bag in one hand,
bouquet in the other and happily proceeds back into the night.
The
rest of her evening is not terribly interesting. She went back to the car,
carefully deposited all items, and went into the coffee shop for small talk and
a drink (for her beloved roommate who had so gracious let her borrow the car).
The warm smells of pumpkin, cinnamon and chai wafted though the air, as she
smiled and talk to Brian as she waited for her drink.
Then
it was back out the door, into the car (cue sappy film music), down the lighted
street, into the parking lot, out of the car, and safely back in her room. Yes.
It had been a beautiful night.
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