First Snow

It very well may be the one thing that eased the protective barrier between my brain and utter insanity, as I wasted away in my dorm, void of color and warmth of some real proportion.

Not to mention no one besides the sympathetic pigeons to carry on some form of a conversation with.

For my roommate was convinced I was amongst the "riff-raff" ranks of the younger students and therefore, I was in no way beneficial to his mental health. He told me this over his thin, expensive wire brimmed specs with a degrading frown.

I sighed and returned to my languishment; poring uselessly over equations I would never again encounter outside the campus.

The real world is quite different than this entrapping box of controlled etiquette; preparing us for a life that will never arrive.

I watched the students slowly die inside; a slow painful death, like a dull ax to a thick, old oak. Feeling every bitter stroke, knowing where it's all leading and being unable to do anything to prevent it.

Or so they thought.

See, I simply wouldn't allow it:

The sweet rebellion blazing in my heart refused to die down; instead she just grew stronger.

And my teacher hated me fiercely because of it.

But when the sun dropped and the tensity of the day's classes lulled as we all retired to our rooms like broken, fatigued cart horses, my heart would ache in the acutest of all manners.

In the dim, dull, grayness of my half of the room I would bite my tongue to keep from letting my feelings out in a hushed, mournful sob.

I outlawed tears; never even let them come close to the rims of my eyelids.

I am the youngest son of a English sailor and I never cried.

Instead, I wrote bitter poetry on the floorboards beneath my cot with a stiff lump of charcoal when my roommate left for the library.

The time came, only weeks later, in the raw frigidness of a late October afternoon, that I began to feel the early symptoms of a breaking heart.

So I threw myself into my work; cold droplets of sweat gathering below my eyes against the purplish fatigued rings and beneath my lower lip.

The cold wind came from Delaware; don't ask me how. I just knew.


It weaved itself through my half-buttoned vest, stained with thick droplets of the black ink which lingered on my quill's tip and slipped across my fingertips.


"I wish you wouldn't torment me with your idiocies this early." That's what my roommate sighed in my direction, as he rose to slam shut the warped window.


I replied nothing at all, but shoved my fingers deeper into my tangled 'ecru', as Momma declared it was, hair.


I liked the window open. Just enough to let me taste the sweet Earth and lament the fact that I could not be part of it.


I might have gone mad then and there,


had I not glanced up.


Above the disaster scene of ink and distressed, tea stained pages scrawled with Latin and who-knows-what-else, was a silent shroud of healing; blanketing the Earth from the sky down.


The first snow.


I couldn't help but stare out the window for a full minute; my eyes aching to cry, or at least willing my body to take action.


And action I took;


Quite erratically, I leapt up from the chair, sending it flailing to the hardwood, drawing stares and groping frantically for my overcoat.


My roommate propped himself up on his boney elbows, neglecting the book of Greek root words and looking at me with quizzical softness. "Are you mad? You can't just go out during study hours you, dunderhead."


I turned in my collar, pressing the felt up against my faded skin. "I'm mad. Pr'aps in a good way."


He stared at me, a ghost of a smile from some other world chancing to cross his lips. He shook his head slowly. "Yes."


I looked at him for a moment, surprised at his sudden small air of agreeability.


Then I smiled and slipped from the room without waiting to see if I received one in return; for, I thought, I'd rather not know after all.


I raced down the frozen staircase; my heart too burning within my chest to allow for any lightness of my clogged feet.


The only sound daring to override the commotion, was consequentially that of a door or two from one side of the hall or the other, echoing from floor to floor; no doubt created by the curiosity of a lonely and perhaps a bit jealous observer.


I leapt the last few stairs, not quite aware of just how many, and caught my breath in an astonishment; my white knuckles taking in the shapes and curves of the carved mahogany door.


I didn't allow myself to hesitate; I threw the doors open, and pushed myself out into the light of a strictly forbidden day.


I'd broken the law.

And it was beautiful.


Not daring to breath, I froze in the soft whiteness of the falling snow.


The silence of the weather-worn courtyard, crackled with thorn bushes and long-dead plant growth, broken only by a soft something from across the street.


The crisp song of the rapturous mandolin: the mandolin whom dwells in the home of the young girl across the river of cobblestone beyond the school gates. The seamstress's daughter, whom I have not met nor seen but at a distance from the window in my room: a soft shade of green and pale pink in the distance. Indecisive. Unreachable. Living in another world, but there all the same.


Sinking down in the thin sheet of granulous white beside the silenced fountain, I let the shivers crawling under my skin somehow prevail; allowing me to breath again.


And sending down the tears;


And with the tears, a new presence I feel within.


Not only within, but around. As something far mightier embraces my aching heart and I feel the presence of forty other young souls, unlocking their own cells; watching from the bulls-eye glass windows, gracing the stairs and joining the liberation and hope, lingering in the midst of the courtyard.














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4 people commented on this post.

  1. This is just. . . O_O
    Amazing.
    I require this to become a story.

    ReplyDelete
  2. <3333 YOU'RE THE BEST. I must admit, I've thought about it..^.^
    Thank you so much, Kaitie. *HUGS*

    ReplyDelete
  3. My eyes sparkle with enchantment.
    The way you write is Scarce and strikes awe into my easily enamoured heart.
    I can't even say how much I loved it.
    Thanks for following my blog, I wait in anticipation for your next post. ;)
    -Kate

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  4. Thank you so much Kate! That means so much to me; I'm so glad you liked it! Your blog totally rocks, by the way. :-)
    -Kate (The Sailor)

    ReplyDelete

comments are like dark chocolate and they make this kid way happy. I love hearing from you guys! (check back because I reply...and I love checking out your blogs, so don't leave me without a link to yours!) ♥