Demarcating Hoarfrost

I sat on a staircase leaning my head down on the banister. Exhausted depressed, aching back. He looked up at me from under and smiled. I took him to the eighth floor. He came after me despite the long distance. He says he is twenty-five. He was tall with wintry blonde locks. I was scared of our ages, yet I said “It’s fine right?”

“Yeah.” He said.

We walked to the road to my bus stop and he held me real close to him, wanting me.

I watched him as the bus drove further and further away from him until he was completely blurred out by the snow flakes and gray fog. The enigmatic human, yet he made more sense than anything else.

We wrote songs and poems to each other. Not romance. If even, that was more on his part. It was kind of like an impressing game for me. Show him how much deeper I could be than how I thought he felt I was.

We walked many nights in a forest. Black, slick, wintry, and scary, yet welcoming. A place where no one judges you and heaven is not so far away. Although whenever we were out there, he would avoid contact with my eyes. Sometimes, he would look up at the sky. I think he cried.

I bought some chocolate one day. I ate everything. I heard that it makes you fall in love. My mother just threw a fit about how bad I am doing in school. “Eighties don’t make it to the best colleges!!! You should know, we went through this already, what a thousand times?! The reality is that you’ll be living on the streets when you grow up if you do not focus on your studies.” I wished to see him so bad. He erases all reality. He creates a different galaxy from the one I live in. It’s not exactly that he was born from a different galaxy, it’s how when we are together, we remember that we are. We saw each other often, or at least it felt like it.

One moment, he and his friends and I were talking around in my room. It was winter, and the heater was on really high. I was drinking boiling hot tea on top of the itchy synthetic carpet of my floor. We were getting very horny. I grew tense and uncomfortable inside. I didn’t know what to do: how to control these kids: how to guarantee my safety: What if mom found out?

He asked if I want to have a kiss. I was appalled. I denied him by closing myself inside the closet. I sat watching the light from the dark. He went inside after me. I whispered faintly: “Yes.” Just like the wind circling in the blizzard of the night.

I think I blushed madly and tried to hide it even more. He didn’t really smile. He looked slightly lifeless. It was contagious pleasure. And after a little, the guilt was making it bitterly unbearable. Even at times, he didn’t look like himself; he looked like a practical, restrained person.

Once I went shopping with my mother at some kind of huge supermarket. It was one of those elite ones, with obsequious workers, and perfectly arranged shelves. It was also heated. I guess I was the only one who could feel how truly hot it was. I was as sweaty as can be. I HATED IT: Always being so safe, and cradled, and bored. I can never go out to him freely; he was winter.

What about the soul? It cries louder than this body! My weak body, sometimes I wish I could fly out of it. Yet, is that not dying?

I went to the back of the store with the alibi of getting some pickles. I was to make sure that they were fermented, pasteurized, and organic. Fine, because for some reason, behind it all, I knew I would see him.

I walked outside the store. He was skateboarding with a bunch of hard-looking boys. They did not even notice me until I stood there for several minutes. I looked straight at him the eyes, I inquired in my mind:


I felt as if I was beat up inside and out. There was nowhere to look forward to now. Not even to death. He walked up at first like a dreamy deer in the headlights, and then with his smile: “Hi.”

“I don’t think I can see you anymore.” Tears fell down without my chest warming up like ice melting. He looked right at me. The boys behind him just kept doing their skates and tricks. Going on with their passions. Their free souls, doing whatever they want. Ditching practicality and going on to real life. What is real? That’s the question that kept running around me.

I went back, without forgetting the pickles. It was all second nature for me to go on with, life, I suppose. My mom greeted me smiling.

As we checked out at the cashiers, I saw some red boxes. Suddenly, everything around me turned red. Bright marischan cherry. Blurry red. Extremely hot too. Almost burning. That’s when my chest began to rummage through the past and ejaculate feelings of hoarse wind up my throat.

I woke up. It was six in the morning, but still dark out. The heater was blasting. I slid open the window and the freezing wind sprawled out on me with its sharp currents. Then, strange answers came from the rugged, crusty rim of my heart’s skin.

Alexandra Chipilo
Age 15, Grade 10
Fiorello H Laguardia High School of Music
Silver Key

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