Blast from my past

I knew before he said it, honestly. We hadn't talked since my visit two months ago, save for brief chatter, meaningless. The words were out of his e-mouth and I felt no surprise at being told, that he had felt a need to inform me over the ocean. Sure it was covered by another ass comment, but that is beyond the point. I was going to write about it last night, but got carried away into sleep. What surprised me more was my reaction. Some people get under your skin and never go away. I guess he is one to add to the short-list, and that made me happy in a strange, nostalgic kind of way. Like 'oh muffin if only' and similar thoughts racing through my mind, he cut things short, almost reluctant to get into it, knowing where it would likely go. Perhaps he was remembering, as I was, our summer apart. Regardless, I chattered about my life and we said our goodbyes again. But I can't shake that moment when he told me she was on the way out, and that jump I couldn't help. Some things will always be a surprise.

We walked in the snow. The first time this year, and like that moment with leaves and colder air, my instincts took over. Swayed by seasons. And I missed Montreal, real winter, Gardner Gardens and the smell of snow. The way the air is so cold that snow doesn't fall as flakes, but as glitter. Somehow I missed the sensation of frozen air in my lungs, face, hands numbed from my walk home, kicking the gravel off my boots and tracking it through my entryway and up the stairs regardless. Spending all morning in bed because I couldn't face the day. The glare of sunlight off the resevoir and the crunch of my feet through a layer of ice, down to the powder, blinded on my way to 215, worsened by my habitual beer pong hangover. That morning after Jo's party when we escaped his stalker, fled down the street, and somehow the mild -10 of the previous night had dropped to an ungodly -35, our substandard coats unprepared, and we drove into town, gasped past our usual breakfast place (closed for the holidays) and ran to St. Laurent, screeching, our boots squeaking, bodies protesting. How we couldn't warm up until we reached my apartment more than an hour later and collapsed, blocks of ice slowly thawing, melting out over that orange couch, blue rug, hardwood floor, trickling underneath the door and into the hallway, down the stairs and out once more into the cold, to refreeze in a new shape one last time.

Last night I felt like I had done something wrong, despite the smile on my face. And I guess I just get tired of the merry-go-round, but this time... this time was different, like I wasn't faking or forcing things. And maybe that is all I needed. Tim's comments and all potentially-ruined surprises aside, I'm really curious and somehow excited. So another morning, still feeling pulled and prodded and hoping I can manage not one, but two nights this week in heels without damaging myself further. Today will not be wasted as yesterday was.