Soft Body Made Of Bark

The crisp January wind attacks my exposed ears and neck. My arms cross automatically at my chest, trying and failing to seek warmth. The air is so cold, so clean, that I can no longer smell the waft of marijuana that I know clings to my dirty hoodie and raggedy sweatpants. I dug through my closet for clean clothes, but ultimately gave up and stuck with what I already had on.

My friends are a couple of feet ahead of me now, not so far that I’m alone, but far enough that I have to shout just to be a part of the conversation. A muffled pop song plays from one of my friends’ winter jackets. Unlike me, her golden hair is perfectly styled, and she looks warm under her black fur coat. It’s been days since I washed my knotty hair, so it’s thrown in a messy bun. My other friend is a middleman. He isn’t as dirty as I, but still not as put together as our other friend. He is protected from the chill in a North Face jacket, black sweatpants, and a fuzzy hat.

My old, rundown Ugg boots move through the dirty, sloshy snow that I know was once pure white. We’re walking up a small hill in the road now. Just a quarter mile away from my house. The snow on the branches is a lovely ivory that glows and swirls under my glazed eyes. The branches bend and dance thanks to the tasteless square that absorbed on my tongue an hour ago. The road is quiet except for us three. It's as if we are in a world of our own, which I guess we are. Fluorescent icicles form on the top of the doors of the colonial houses.  As we ascend the hill, my breath comes out more rapidly. I'm not used to this much exercise. But I’m not complaining.

I feel like I am a part of the trees. Alive and beautiful.

I continue to stare at the trees and the ethereal glow that radiates off them. I begin telling my friends we’re just like the trees, but before I can get the full sentence out, the glow disappears.

Everything disappears.

There is only darkness.

                                                               ***

I can feel it before I see it. The cold seeps past my clothes, into my skin, reaching my bones. The harsh frost prickles my skin and revives my body. I wake with a jolt, releasing a long breath that I feel like I have been holding for minutes. It escapes me and makes a home in the air. I see it dancing in front of me.

Proof of life.

            My gaze is blurry, but I register that I am not alone. Above me stands my friend, who, I am sure, looks terrified. Or at least, I hope.  I notice it’s only him. My other friend has vanished. Next to him are two people wearing uniforms.

  Cops, I realize.

They stand doing nothing. No one moves to touch me.

To warm me.

 One of them asks me what year it is. I think it’s a strange request.

2020, I answer. My throat feels dry, and there’s a copper taste that sits on my tongue.

Blood.

They ask what month it is.

October is my answer. They exchange worried glances with each other.

I hear one of them say an ambulance is on the way, but it feels as though I am trapped underwater. The voices are muffled. I think they try to say more, but nothing seems to register. My already hazy vision is worsening. Black dots dance across my eyes. Making home in the twirling trees.

 I try to follow them. I want to dance. 

Eventually, my eyes give up and roll back. I fall back into the familiar embrace of the snow-covered ground.

  I don’t feel the harsh chill of the snow this time. Instead, I feel a thin layer of snowflakes blanketing me.

I feel light.

                                                       ***

The small bed scratches my back uncomfortably. The lights are duller here, and looking at them for too long makes my head throb and my stomach revolt its contents. A small plastic bag covers a garbage pail next to me, just in case I look at the lights too long again.

 My chin throbs with a heat I don't recognize. My neck aches whenever I move it, and when I do manage to move, I'm slow with my movements. Try as I might, my body refuses to speed up. I'm vaguely aware of an episode of South Park playing on the small TV above me, and I can't help but laugh at the jokes. The square paper must still be affecting my wilting body.

But then I hear something else.

Something clearer.

A steady, high-pitched beep tingles in my left ear.

My neck turns automatically toward the noise, and I inwardly cringe at the pain.

Then I see it.

A tiny monitor that I have only seen in movies. Numbers I don’t understand blink across the screen. I follow the unfamiliar wire's path until finally I see where it ends, on my finger.

I say nothing, and I'm too tired to move my body. So instead, I let my head rest on my left side, towards the window. It's dark now, but I can see the white birch still glowing outside.

The snow falls freely onto the branches. This tree looks just like the ones I saw earlier.

But this one does not dance.

Erica is currently in the Creative Writing program at UNCW.