You are standing there as your friend talks. You had been paying attention for as long as you could remember; you had been interested, at some point. But at some point, too, your friend stopped listening to you. You stopped talking, and your friend does not notice– she is talking to someone else now, and now you let the talking wash over you into oblivion.
You look to your side: there is a window. Outside the window, there is whiteness– a blurring, whipping whiteness that wipes out everything but vague shadows of the buildings and trees beyond the glass.
The wind howls.
Hooowuuuoooohooowoooouuhhouuoohowooouuuuoohoouuuuwwooohuwoooowuuoowhooou
It picks up and lowers in pitch, and, if you can move your friend’s noises into the background of your mind, the wind sounds like singing.
Your mouth quirks upward into something of a smile, and then you are brought back into awareness by your friend.
Your friend touches you by the shoulder, tells you to come on, will you join them and grab a coffee now that the storm is over, and you look to the window once more and the whiteness is gone. All that remains is perhaps a foot of snow left on the ground, and a dusting covering the trees and buildings. The sky is now the grey of slate and shows little sign of the sun breaking through.
The storm was much shorter than last time.
You follow your friends, the apex of an inverted triangle as your friend and the other person walk side by side in front of you. Occasionally, you do get a word in edgewise, and they laugh, and it feels good, but otherwise, you resign yourself to the back. You tell yourself to enjoy the peace (is it peace?) and to look around at the beautiful nature (what are you missing?).
The wind nips at your exposed cheeks, and your friends laugh about how cold it is and try to warm each other up. They bump into each other and rub shoulders, and you pretend that the chill that envelops you is a hug.
A blast of warm air shocks you as you follow your friends into the coffee shop and the three of you huddle together, taking off mittens and hats and unzipping coats, talking about what you might get. The three of you take it very seriously, and you smile as you order and stand, waiting to receive a cup of, hopefully, heaven.
A first sip is blissful– it scalds and burns, but warms you so well and you become uncomfortably hot in your layers, so your friend asks if you’d like to sit at a table and talk. You accede but, oh, your friend’s friend has to go catch up with some other friends. You notice how your friend’s face drops, and how they force their face into a happier expression to wish their friend safe travels.
You and your friend settle into a table: you in the booth, your friend in the hard wooden chair across from you. Your hands wrap around the cardboard of the to-go coffee cup, still hot-to-the-touch. Your friend’s hands fidget, pushing the coffee cup sleeve up and down, up and down, and you hear the rustle of it falling down the cardboard and the snick of it hitting the table over and over again.
Are you alright? your friend asks suddenly.
Why wouldn’t I be? you reply.
I feel like you haven’t been speaking as much as usual, your friend says.
That’s because you haven’t given me the chance. It’s a bitter thought, and maybe unfair and mean and untrue, so you don’t say it. Instead, it’s: I haven’t had much to say, with a shrug and wry smile, assuring your friend that everything is alright.
Your friend shakes their head, not true. But with a crash, the moment is broken and your friend’s attention is taken away from you as they notice a different friend, whom they wave over. Your friend’s friend asks if it is okay to sit next to you. Yes, of course, is the only correct answer, and so your friend has a much more entertaining conversation and you look out the window, diagonal across the table, to the left of your friend.
Wind whips a few stray flakes of white across the street, not as strong as last time, but if you strain, you can hear it:
Hoowuouuuuoooohooowohuouuhouuoohowooouhouoohoououuwhooowuwoooowuuwhuuouo
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