7 Day Challenge

Day 1: Snow

I've heard people curse the wintertime, swearing that they will have their revenge against the cold as they lace up their boots and pull heavy woolen mittens over chapped, red fingers. They open their front doors only to be blasted by a gust of arctic wind as they make the precarious journey across their ice-glazed driveways, eager to make it to the safety of their cars. Winter gets the flak for car wrecks and bad moods and morose, overcast days when our beds become the lovers whose arms we never want to leave. Winter makes you dread the moment when you have to stick a leg out of the warmth of your blankets to place a naked foot on an icy floor.

But what about Christmas? What about the smell of gingerbread and cinnamon and the warmth of a hot chocolate mug wrapped in your hands? What about tinsel and nostalgic ornaments and the internal warmth that comes from being surrounded by those we love the most?

What about snow? The dead branches of trees stretch towards a soggy gray sky, skeletal and bare, and yet when snow falls they become dressed in white velvet cloaks, their arms brushing against the stars that make their crisp, porcelain finery glitter and shine. The frost coats the earth, burying blades of dry grass and the black tar of streets, and everything is new. Spring steals the credit for fresh beginnings and new birth, yet Winter presents the blank page of nature when snow dusts the surface, like an eraser clearing away an old drawing to make way for something new.

Some love Summer, and many love Fall, but I love Winter, because for those short nights I can look out my window to see snow blanketing the Earth, and the blank freshness assures me that just like nature can have its blank canvas, I too can be made new.

Day 2: Secret

The words are ripping away at the flesh of my heart. I can feel them fluttering around, trapped beneath my rib cage, desperate to escape and flee my lips so that this burden can be shared with someone else. But my mouth stays shut, and my hands stay folded demurely in my lap, and I keep my eyes focused only on the scene playing out before me. There are hugs, cries of congratulations, and the expected request for suggested names. She is pregnant. She released the news to our gathered extended family in the kitchen of our home once everyone was present; her cheeks probably ache from smiling, and yet she glows with a happiness that touches all who are near her.

I keep my distance. I do not want to feel the false brightness that leaks from her charming smile, nor do I want to hear the congratulatory whispers that pass into her ear as each member of the family wraps their arms around her. My brother stands proudly by his wife, receiving just as many congratulations, and looking even more exuberant than she does, his lifelong dream of being a father coming into actualization. I cannot look any longer, and I drop my eyes down to where my fingers are fidgeting in my lap. I feel my mother's glare on me, her eyes screaming at me to get up, to be polite, to congratulate my brother and sister-in-law on their upcoming child, but I do not meet her gaze. I glance again at my sister-in-law, see her chipper smile and her sparkling eyes, searching for some sign of the guilt that I hope is ravaging her from the inside out. But there is nothing but glittering smugness at being the center of everyone's attention.

I swallow down my words, choke back the thing that I know that does not let me celebrate with the rest of my family, gag on the knowledge that will not permit me to feel the joy of becoming an aunt.

That child is not my brother's. She knows it. And I know it, too. When she glances my way and meets my cold eyes, she gives only a smirk, and the deep aching sadness I feel for my brother opens up like a yawning pit in my chest. She knows I will say nothing, that I will not share this secret in order to protect my brother.

And she is right.

Day 3: Dream

I feel the same familiar weight pressing down on my chest, and squeeze my eyes shut even more tightly. I have the sneaking feeling that my alarm is about to ring, and I pray a silent prayer that I could have only an hour or so more to sleep. The softness of my duvet rubs against my arms as I try to roll over, and the sleepy scent of my lavender fabric softener floats up from my pillow. As I’m trying to lift myself up onto my side so that I can roll onto my stomach, I feel the weight that’s pushing down on my chest shift, and a happy purr fills my ears. I open my eyes, and there he is, my silly cat is sitting on my chest, smiling down at me with sleepy green eyes and a soft pink nose, his white whiskers pointed forward and his soft white paws kneading my chest as he chirps at me. I sigh heavily, knowing that there is no going back to sleep now that he knows I’m awake. I sit up, and he slips off my chest and down into my lap, still purring and kneading his little claws into whatever he can reach. I pet his soft orange fur and scoop him into my arms, hugging him as tightly as I can. I’m just about to kiss his head when my alarm goes off, its shrill beeping startling me into total wakefulness.

I open my eyes. My cat is gone, my alarm is ringing, and I am hugging a pillow in my arms. I blink once, twice, three times. My alarm is still ringing, the sound piercing my ears and making me wince. I look at the pillow that’s wrapped up in my arms. It was a dream then, a dream that I had almost every night. The same familiar weight settles on my chest, but this time I know it’s not my cat. I turn off my alarm and push the pillow away, letting the same empty ache spread through me, piercing into my heart. I close my eyes and pull my duvet up over my head. Perhaps I won’t get out of bed today.