In From the Snow

What are we doing here?

This snow is getting thicker, turning into a snowstorm with each passing minute, and my life in this town has been far too short to be aware of that prospect before we drove out here. But, if we are to be honest, which I hope we will not be, you are the one who decided to come along. I try to convince myself I do not know why, but, frankly, we both got into the car as the snow was already softening everything around us.

I had to bundle up and get to the moors, but you?

You wanted to be here. On the eve of your wedding, nonetheless. The beautiful bride-to-be and the still-stranger-to-the-town, together, making their way through the night. You made your choice to be here, with me, on a snowy night, before your wedding.

So, what are we doing here?

Well, I know what I am doing here. Tonight I am to help an old lady to make her crossing to the other side as gently as possible. But, death had other plans. Seeing a life come to its natural end is sad to most, yet to me, the death rattle coaxes out a well-hidden envy from the depths of my stomach. The death itself tends to avoid me, and it proved its point once again tonight. The old Mrs Merdell will make it to another day, and the even older doctor, cursed with the face of a young man, lives on.

The only question that remains is what becomes of you, the beautiful young bride?

I glanced at you, sitting, curled up deep in an old sofa. Warm flames from the stone fireplace cast dancing shadows softly on your face. You glanced at me, and I settled into the worn-down chair closer to the window, matching your smile. You're cold, yet I dare not move because I cannot allow myself to get any closer than this.

“What's on your mind, August?”

Whatever I want to say seems like an incorrect answer

“The fact that we shouldn't have come here.”

It wasn't a lie. I was thinking I shouldn't have brought you here, you shouldn't have offered to keep me company, I should have left the practice without being noticed, and I ended up stopping myself before adding another thing to this series of things that should or shouldn't have been. You did not seem happy with my answer, but the spark of amusement in your eyes tells me I already told you enough. Perhaps too much.

The fire was about to go out, and I needed a reason to walk past you as much as I needed a reason to look away. Another log lodged in with the others; it's going to be a long night trying to sleep on that armchair. One glance over my shoulder, your feet are on the sofa, tucked under your thick woollen skirt, and it keeps reminding me of how the moors of Yorkshire were not a forgiving land, no.

Your face doesn't show it yet. The blessed lines around your lips come from smiling, and there is nothing but the glow on your cheeks, and I struggle to look back into the fire. You smile again, mouthing a short thank you before I return to my corner, to a safe distance, completely unprepared for another round.

“Who would have kept you company if I weren't here?”

I had forgotten I gave you an answer to the previous question. “Who, indeed?”

“Oh, don't tell me you still feel bad about this?” Your own joke places a wide smile on your lips, and I manage a tight one, nodding. No, not for a moment, not for a heartbeat, I do not have any regrets about you being here.

“Of course I do,” I say it and regret it as soon as it leaves my lips. “I should have known better than this.”

The look you gave me was unlike anything I had seen on you before, both loving and dismissive at the same time, and I would have been happy to see a bit of resentment there. If you had known better, it would have been pure resentment, and it would have made things easier for both of us.

And to think I hoped my life would be easier once I got here, and I came, not knowing, not suspecting I could meet you in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of meadows, between stone houses, caught in this country of never-ending hail. Yet, there you were, and here we are, aren’t we?

I don't say it out loud, of course.

You settled in your place a bit more, the warmth reaching you, and it feels like you're about to fall asleep, as you should. Because it’s going to be a long drive tomorrow, and you are still getting married.

But the snow is falling, a little bit lighter, and you can see the skies and the moon again.

“You should sleep,” I speak as you fight to keep your eyes open, but all it does is awaken your stubborn streak, so you sit up, your back straight, a playful smirk lighting up your face.

“Don't tell me what to do, August.” Your accent is thicker when you're annoyed. I smile at it, nodding in promise that, alright, I will not tell you what to do.

“I would not dream of it,” I chuckled, as your threat seemed like a playful banter you’d hear at the playground. You do not seem amused, but it felt like it.

“Good,” comes out as a threat, as you tuck your skirt under you, shoulders pulled tighter together.

I chuckled again, getting up to slowly cover you with my jacket, hand brushing on your shoulder, eyes locked tightly.

“You're mocking me, aren't you?”

“I would never,” I replied. And I never would. Probably never will. And I must have sounded like it, because you drop it, soon enough, stare out the window for a second.

The snow stopped.

I've noticed it a few moments ago, but your face demanded my full attention, and while it did not change the fact that it was no longer snowing, it made for a better choice. We will be able to get back at dawn, which sounds like we have an eternity, and I should know about that.

But you don't.

I do.

“Do you really regret this?”

I furrowed my brows, and you tried a smile, interrupting the silence.

“Mrs Merdell needed me here,” I play dumb. You are not going along with it, brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Do you regret anything since you came here, August?”

It sounds like a cliche, and I would have called you out on it if only this weren't you.

It sounds like a way out, and I would have taken it if I weren’t myself.

“Do I regret anything?” I parroted, buying time, which seemed quite ironic since I had nothing else to offer.

I knew the answer to that, and if I were to be true, I would have told you I did regret a few things. For a second, I believe maybe I should be.

“A few things, perhaps,” I replied softly, looking at you, waiting for me to continue. I deflected with a smile. “For example, not wearing warmer clothes today, or..."

Or, for example, not telling you my real name, the one that was lost in time before you were born. Before this town existed.

I regret knowing I will not have the courage to admit any of those things to you. Who I am, nor who I have become.

I regret not telling you I loved you months ago. I truly regret that, too.

“I regret not telling you to stay home tonight,” I concluded, and a small whisper of sadness extinguished the glimmer in your eyes, which I had hoped I would not see.

All these years behind me, all these lives I have lived, and I still cannot wrap my head around some things. Both mortal and timeless. Things such as this burden of being torn between feeling the heavy sadness in my chest, and knowing better at the same time.

There was nothing I could offer you.

You smiled, mussing some words of comfort as I settled into the armchair before a soft sigh left your lips. And, for the love of anything I might have found holy someone else ago, I could not determine if it was a sigh of sadness or of relief.

What am I doing here?

I stopped my mind from spiralling again and remembered I came here to escape. To hide out from this curse, to live out Augustus in solitude. So, there was no space for anything else, nor anyone.

I will endure the drive, but I know you would not want me to put myself through the torture of watching you make your way down the aisle. You know better than to hope I would stand up and say anything.

And I will not regret not seeing you grow old next to me while I remain trapped right here. Begged and borrowed time is not what you deserve.