“Come over.” The quiet words on the other end of the phone startled Sylvia. She and Lauren hadn’t hung out in years. If she was guiltily honest, she was sort of hoping that Lauren would never call again.
Her thumb ghosted over the blaring red end call button, yet it didn’t press down. Over the speaker, Lauren could make out a static “Alright” from Sylvia. Before she could revel in her victory, however, Sylvia hung up the phone.
The last time either of the girls had made snow angels together, they were twelve years old. Sylvia remembered it like it was yesterday—Lauren pulled her to the ground and Sylvia was complaining that she’d lost her hat, so now her hair would be all wet. Although, as soon as the pair started moving their arms up and down, all troubles were forgotten. Sylvia still remembered how bright her blonde curls looked in contrast to Lauren’s dark hair. To exist at that moment with Lauren by her side became Sylvia’s biggest concern.
Now, four years later, they once again stood next to each other. Sylvia turned over to her companion and whispered, “I missed this. I missed you.” Her winter blues bored into Lauren’s side, but Lauren trained her eyes upwards, cowardice overtaking the urge to stare back. Sylvia slipped her gloved fingers into the crevices of Lauren’s and squeezed as if to convince her to turn over.
“I missed you too.” It was clearer than Lauren anticipated.
The fingers that had found a home in between Lauren’s moved up and down. “Hey, where did your gloves go?” Sylvia giggled.
“I’m moving.”
There was a pause and the world sounded like plane engines before taking off. “Where?” Sylvia giggled awkwardly. The engines stopped. “Is it the house down Wheeler Street? That one’s been on sale for, like, ever, and I heard you talking about how much you—”
“No, Sylvia.” Lauren interrupted, turning her head and facing her greatest fear. “I’m moving away. Like, to Seattle away. Forever.” The last part came out as a whisper. It made her realize that this was as much of a confession to herself as it was to Sylvia.
Snowflakes, previously raining down from the cloudy sky, abruptly stopped. The world was momentarily frozen into a perfect picture. Sylvia scrunched her nose upwards and squinted her eyes. She wondered how such things as time stopping and Lauren leaving forever could happen. They seemed along the same percentage of possibility: zero. For a selfish second, the same way she prayed that she would have the courage to hang up the phone, Sylvia prayed that Seattle would explode. Or that the world would never unpause. That way, they could lay down, hands in ungloved hands, making snow angels that wouldn’t melt the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.
She pondered the frozen air for a bit and then squeezed Lauren’s bare hand as hard as she could. She was ready for the snowflakes to fall again. Sylvia tried to say something: I’m sorry.
I should’ve been there.
I miss you even more now.
But the words clawed onto her throat and refused to let go. So instead, like an idiot, Sylvia just said “Oh.”
“Yea. We’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” Lauren was quieter than ever, which Sylvia didn’t think was possible. Lauren had always been soft-spoken, but it’s not like that bothered Sylvia. Sometimes it was nice to get away from the loud conversations that everyone else seemed to constantly be having and slip into Lauren’s pillowy voice. She was often going about listing random things like the best places to ski or her favorite books, but Sylvia would’ve listened to her no matter what she was talking about.
Sylvia said nothing. She took her bare hand out of the warmth of Lauren’s.
She returned to her previous coping mechanism of stopping time and pretending that nothing existed apart from her and her companion, imprinted side by side in the white cold. The more she took time to think about absolutely nothing, the more she became aware of the world around her. Sylvia became particularly fixated on a snowflake making a beeline towards Lauren’s hand. Natural phenomena like snowflakes had always fascinated Sylvia. It was one of the many reasons why winter was her favorite season. The fact that something so intricately beautiful could be created by nature seemed impossible, yet here they were. In front of Sylvia’s very eyes–millions of them, painting the sky and the ground. She watched as the snowflake melted away in Lauren’s palm. How unfair, she thought, that something so beautiful could be gone so quickly.