Winter in the Soul

Winters in Seattle could be harsh. Bitter winds from the north seem to pierce the body; leaving the very marrow of the bones frozen. Warm breaths puff in front of the people who brave the city streets, looking for Christmas bargains. The enticing aroma of warm hot chocolate and coffee drift from a half dozen shops on the street, beckoning cold and weary shoppers.

David didn't feel the cold. He couldn't remember the cool of spring, the heat of summer; and least of all, the seasons changing from one to the next. Autumn had passed in a hazy orange blur; and summer had been the same, only in shades of green. Nothing much registered anymore. David mechanically put food in his mouth when his body demanded it, slept when he could hardly keep from collapsing, and thought as little as possible. Thinking brought pain.

Winter is a time of hibernation, of dormancy. I think the natural world has it right. Winter is for not thinking. Just survival.

David did not realize when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk; didn't see people shoot him dirty looks before scooting around him. David wore only a thin jacket to ward off the biting wind, and knew in the back of his mind that he was cold; probably close to hypothermia, but he couldn't muster up enough self preservation to care. I should just let the winter take me. I've heard that freezing to death is not so terrible a way to go. You just fall asleep, and that is that. No more pain, no more thought, no more memories.

"Why young man, you look chilled to the bone," a voice said from beside him.

David summoned up just enough curiosity to look around. The voice belonged to an older woman. David thought she was what a grandmother should look like; a bright smile, powdery white hair.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, looking him up and down through dark eyes.

David shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling without any emotion to the gesture.

The woman pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "Young people these days, no common sense, no thought for taking care of themselves," she muttered, peering into David's face, and drew in a sharp breath when David finally met her eye.

"Come with me boy," She ordered, taking him by the hand. David allowed himself to be lead away; he didn't care where he went, so going with her was no big deal. He let her guide him into one of the shops, let her order him something warm to drink, and let her rub and chaff feeling back into his hands and arms. David's cup rattled against the saucer as his body began to thaw out, a staccato rhythm that echoed his chattering teeth.

"Boy, you have winter in your soul," the woman said gravely, looking him up and down, 'I can see it in your eyes. You've stopped caring, and it will kill you if you let it."

"You're right, I don't care anymore," David's response was choppy from the spastic jerking of his body, responding at last to the warmth of the room.

"Well you should care. I am sure there are people who care for you," she said.

"Not the one that matters. She's gone. She can't come back. And anyway, why should you care?" David said.

"Does a person need a reason to care about another? I want to help you. Help your heart to heal and spring to come again," she said, looking him in the eye.

David blinked and looked away, sipping at his cup of hot chocolate. "You can try," He said finally.

The woman smiled, "My name is Mae."

"David."