The wind, she blows

hard against the glass of my window. She is carrying ice crystals like weapons in her hands, knocking, and threatening to break in if I don't open up my window and let her come and lie in bed with me. She is stripping down this big, strong house and making it feel weak and vulnerable under all this pressure. Little by little she is carrying off chips of yellow paint and well-being, they're rolling down the street with knocked-over trash cans and discarded bottles of 7-Up. Everything and everyone is getting out of here as fast and they can, pushed along by her indignation.

I tried to hide from her, curled up under my graygreen covers. I tried not to make a sound so that she wouldn't know I was there and, in fact, I stayed so still and quiet that I forgot I was there, too. I drifted off into a land where the wind wasn't blowing quite so hard and it was so hot that our clothes were sticking to our chests and my hair was dripping sweat onto the carpet. I was dancing with a boy in his fourth floor apartment. The neighbors below were pounding their ceiling, informing us that our good time had gone on for too long and was beginning to hinder the hush they had worked so hard to protect. I threw my head back and laughed at their taciturn request and pounded my heels while I spun around the room. Later, a friend told me a secret and kissed my ear while shivers ran down my spine and conducted electricity through the wet-with-sweat carpet.

I woke up craving something sweet and filling, something that would stick with me for a good, long time and help weather these fronts that keep blowing through.