Frozen Moment #1

Wet.

And cold, too. Uncomfortably stiff, red fingertips stuck in a stiff bent formation, clutching the simple black umbrella.

Parce- que il est un jour demie, it is 12:45 p.m. And I wait for the bus.

I see her before she sees me. Never really friends, I had lost nothing when she parted with her closest amies to join up with "cooler" people. Apparently, though, she was in a life-destroying state of misery.

I didn't blame her. I have seen the dangers of those people. The sacrifices she must have made...

But we were always somewhat friendly.

So now, without her new "buddies" she greets me with a small smile and a hello. I return it.

I stronly believe that I am a neutral for her- a medium and a relief. No awkwardness like with the friends she used to be close with, and no forced ecstasy like with the newer ones. That is all fake. She can relax for the moment, knowing that I won't sit and judge her based on every little movement; the jokes she makes, the way she laughs and what she reacts to, how she eats, etc.

We share a two seater near the back once the dry shelter of the bus finally arrives and is given to us. After about five seconds of small talk, she announces that she is going to "enter the world of her book."

I know she's intelligent, and her intentions are good. She just made some really bad choices.

Which I, of all people, can most definitely relate to.

I multitask, attempting to read her and devour my final forty or so pages of The Elegance of the Hedgehog. But I think we understand eachother. She shuts me out.

I quietly exit the bus at my stop with a goodbye smile. Pushing up the simple black umbrella, I walk through the wet, attempting to keep it bent in the right direction despite the persistently blowing wind. I look up. Snow is falling.

Precipitation happens.

Mear unnoticably, the blowing fall calms, nearly ceasing to exist much further. But I can already feel it starting up again.

My fingers, clenched around the umbrella, are raw. Cold and wet...