Dead of Winter

There are two types of cold: the kind that numbs you slowly, and the kind that strikes all at once. I learned to live with both. I used to think winter was benign, clean and innocent. But that was before I understood what it could take from you.

The morning winter breeze was freezing as Uncle Ross and I strolled through the soft pile of snow that barely reached our ankles. The sky was a gentle shade of grey that gave an oddly pleasant feeling of solitude. Of stillness. As if the cascade of snowflakes should not be bothered, and should be kept as it is. The clemency of it all contrasted so sharply with what winter is depicted to be: a dangerous species that froze everything it touched, dousing out flames with freezing winds. But instead, everything seemed harmless. I stood for a while, watching the sky fill with snowflakes. My breath condensed in the air, forming small clouds that drifted upwards. I was almost fooled by its gentleness, and I hated it.

Most of the time, the cold nips at you mercilessly, and you've no way to shield yourself from a ferocious snowstorm except pray that the warmth of your home or of your jacket is enough to keep you alive.

"You seem fine now," Uncle Ross said, standing beside me as I watched the soft snowfall.

I turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You used to break down whenever you saw the snow," he clarified.

I huffed a laugh. "Right. I still hate it."

—

Five years ago, I had watched the first fall of snowflakes drift by in early December, like little sprites dancing in the wind. It repulsed me so much, I thought I was going to be sick. My hatred for winter was beyond imagination. It was so awful that even Uncle Ross felt concerned.

"What's going on?" he asked, and I stared back at him, wide-eyed and quivering.

"Cold," I said in response, forcing a smile that didn't seem to reach my eyes. Uncle Ross had brushed it off at first. A fifteen-year-old boy couldn't be scared of the snow, could he? He placed more logs in the fireplace, but no amount of heat could thaw what I had frozen in my chest.

Was it the cold? Or was it fear? I thought to myself one day, buried under blankets. My vision started to blur as I stared at the frost-laced windows. Every characteristic of winter, every part of it, made me nauseous. It made me think. It made me remember, and I despised that feeling.

But looking beyond that frosted window, I could almost see two boys running wild outside, laughing while throwing snowballs at each other.

The snow was gentle. The wind had not picked up yet.

"Look!" Andri shouted at me, and I rushed over to him. His hair was sprinkled with snowflakes, and his cheeks were pink from the chill outside. He pointed to the snowman he made—if you could even call it that. It was a lazy effort; two round snowballs sat atop each other lopsided, and two small pebbles made the eyes, but one of them slowly slid off. It looked stupid, and I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Andri frowned, and I stopped giggling, patting his shoulder encouragingly.

"Nothing. It looks nice," I smiled, forcing down a laugh. Andri seemed to hear my suppressed tone, and his expression dropped.

"I thought big brothers were supposed to be encouraging," he spoke matter-of-factly, and I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

I chuckled this time. "I am being encouraging! Keep it up, bud."

Andri didn't reply.

"Okay, I'll make another one with you," I said after a beat of silence, ruffling his hair. Andri found his smile again.

"What's with all of these blankets?" Uncle Ross asked, patting down the layers of blankets I wrapped around me. I blinked a few times, breaking free of my trance, and got up.

"Oh, I was cold," I sniffled. Uncle Ross looked at me, and his expression softened.

"What's going on? Talk to me," he sat down beside me, slowly. "You're crying."

"What?" I blurted out, then touched my face, my fingertips feeling wet. Oh.

I subconsciously looked towards the window again, the wind now becoming a raging god outside. I clutched the blankets tighter to my chest.

—

"Andri! It's getting dark, c'mon!" I exclaimed, the coldness starting to creep up on my hands and feet. Andri stood a few feet away from me, his small body unmoving near the thicket of snow-dusted trees.

"No! One more, it's not that cold yet!" Andri yelled back, and I didn't know how else to convince him. The wind swirled savagely in front of me, blurring Andri's figure in the storm. I could still see the small sled he held onto.

Stupid kid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Andri, just come back, please. Mom'll be worried," I shouted over the growing snowstorm, but my attempt was fruitless. Andri ran back into the forest, and I swore under my breath. I took two steps forward, feeling the resistance of the wind against me. Every step felt like my feet were anchored to the ground, and the coldness had numbed parts of my feet.

"Andri!" I shouted. The flurry of snow blinded me. I gritted my teeth and kept going. I ran. I stopped. I panted. I ran again. I stopped. My knees hit the snow.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

It was all I could think of. My mind was numb and my legs were numb. But I couldn't stop there. I stood up, painfully, and trudged through the snow; each step felt almost impossible. I started to feel hot for some reason, and I thought I was hallucinating. My steps were wobbly and I kept going off track. The cold had made me heavily disoriented. It was as if a fog had hovered over my mind, and I lost control of some parts of my body. Something kept switching off in my brain, and black spots danced in my vision. I struggled through the snow for god knows how long, trying to keep my posture upright and move forward, but the wind bit at me like an untamed beast I couldn't fight back. Breaths came out ragged, but strangely my breathing was shallow. My knees gave out again, and I stumbled, falling onto the blanket of white. Fatigue clouded my head and I blinked furiously, trying to stay awake, resisting the urge to fall over and sleep.

Maybe I could just sleep. To let the cold take over me and let the snowfall cover me up like a blanket. To let myself be buried in this storm. Maybe Andri might come back and find me. Maybe he was also buried in this snow.

Why am I here? I suddenly thought to myself. Why am I here instead of being back home? The knot in my brain wouldn't untangle. My hands felt like they were someone else's and I couldn't feel anything in my fingers. I tried to wiggle them but they were stiff.

Why am I here?

I blinked again. Colors blurred ahead of me, and I thought I saw Andri's tiny figure in front of me. Of course.

Andri was lost in the storm, and I was trying to chase after him. That's why I was here. The thought pushed me forward, and I used every bit of my strength to stand back up, my motions mechanical and flimsy like a baby who just learned to walk. All I could see now was white, the snowflakes striking my face. The cold didn't feel cold anymore, just hot sharp pain. But despite that, I kept walking. I lost track of time. I didn't know where I was going, until I stepped on something that did not feel like snow.

I stumbled back, then looked down. Andri's jacket was a sharp contrast to the white ground. Suddenly, the fog in my head started to clear and my heart clenched. I staggered forward, and through the blanket of snow, I saw the outline of something small and still.

All I remembered was crying and screaming, tears turned to ice. It felt as if an elephant stood on my chest, squeezing every breath out of me and I found it harder to breathe with each second. I thought I was dying and it felt as if something was being torn out from me by the storm. By this stupid winter storm. I screamed so hard that someone had found me and dragged me back. I flailed and struggled. I wanted to stay there, to be there with Andri, to tell him that we'd go sledding tomorrow when the storm cleared. But I never got to.

Now, in front of me, the snow was merciful, and I daresay, it was beautiful. A haunting kind of beauty. Uncle Ross stood beside me, his cabin just behind us, radiating a familiar warmth. Christmas was tomorrow. The memory of losing Andri was still a weight tied to my ankle, but standing here in this calm scenery of snow, I thought about forgiving winter. Forgiving the terrible cold that took him away from me. Maybe, as time went by, that weight would lighten. The thought gave me a dangerous sense of hope that warmed my chest slightly. Winter was still winter, and Mother Nature couldn't be controlled. No amount of begging could bring Andri back to me. But even amidst the bad memories, there would still be good ones to come. I stopped staring at the snowfall and turned to Uncle Ross.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I went sledding with my brother?" I asked.

He glanced over, surprised. "I don't think you have. Tell me about it."

And so I did.