It wouldn't be luck if you could get out of life alive.
Nights like these, plus I can't get that look out of my head. Seriously though, good times at Lucita's, good times.
Rachel looked out her window, and it was snowing. It was a quiet snow, a soft snow. It was the kind of snow that always seemed to make you think of another time or place or person. Amazing, she thought, the way the weight of fallen snow on a tree limb can take you back to the nape of someone’s neck. A footprint brings you to the time you wished could have stayed forever, but never does. She felt impermanent, like in a moment she could be erased from existence. She watched the snow, and it seemed to her like falling crystals of time, like tiny seconds stolen from the past, present, and future all tumbling down into heaps of moments, piles of life.
Her mother was in the next room, sleeping off a drink or ten. It happened a lot these days. Rachel didn’t mind much; she was basically at the point with her mom where they just let each other screw themselves up. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, watching snow and letting thoughts drift in and out of her head. She looked at the clock; it was 3:34 in the morning. It was still dark, aimless night. Rachel hadn’t slept in days anyway, and the shadows had grown dark around her light brown eyes. Still, she was awake, her mind like falling. She got up, realizing she couldn’t feel her body anymore. She put on her winter coat. And she left the house.
She walked without purpose or direction through the dark. Maybe she should’ve been scared, not being able to see what was out there. But she couldn’t bring herself to care what happened to her. How long had she been sitting in that room, looking out that window? It could’ve been days and she wouldn’t have known. She pulled out a cigarette from her pocket and flicked her lighter. The flame surprised her with its brightness and intensity. She sucked in on it, letting the smoke mingle with her breath and generic sadness. She finished it and let it fall, profaning the pure whiteness like a scar.
Looking up, she realized where her feet had taken her. Chaney Park. The snow here held something sweeter. Sweet like strawberry Popsicles, there were memories in the snow. They were memories of the best times, the kissing times and the laughing times and the times when you get firecrackers of hopeful happiness in your chest. But she looked at the sky, the snow falling too fast to follow. New flakes were covering her snows of past joy. They were new moments that weren’t so sweet and lowdown.
Suddenly, white seemed like a mourning color, like in ancient cultures. How long ago had those happy moments been? She realized that she didn’t know, as the memories got buried. Time was truly like the snow now, for all her seconds felt the same, and there were millions of them, and she couldn’t keep track. When was the last time she kissed someone? She tried hard and remembered something. She remembered someone who tasted like smoke. That someone must have been warm, she thought. But she couldn’t remember his face or how many moments had passed since she lost him. It was all so endless now, so fatal. She looked up, and she knew that even when it stopped snowing, the seconds would never cease. And they would all feel like this one. And suddenly, for the first time in God knows how long, she was tired. She was just tired. So she lay down, and went peacefully to sleep in the snow. And let the moments bury her.
And that’s how they found her, buried in time.
Rachel looked out her window, and it was snowing. It was a quiet snow, a soft snow. It was the kind of snow that always seemed to make you think of another time or place or person. Amazing, she thought, the way the weight of fallen snow on a tree limb can take you back to the nape of someone’s neck. A footprint brings you to the time you wished could have stayed forever, but never does. She felt impermanent, like in a moment she could be erased from existence. She watched the snow, and it seemed to her like falling crystals of time, like tiny seconds stolen from the past, present, and future all tumbling down into heaps of moments, piles of life.
Her mother was in the next room, sleeping off a drink or ten. It happened a lot these days. Rachel didn’t mind much; she was basically at the point with her mom where they just let each other screw themselves up. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, watching snow and letting thoughts drift in and out of her head. She looked at the clock; it was 3:34 in the morning. It was still dark, aimless night. Rachel hadn’t slept in days anyway, and the shadows had grown dark around her light brown eyes. Still, she was awake, her mind like falling. She got up, realizing she couldn’t feel her body anymore. She put on her winter coat. And she left the house.
She walked without purpose or direction through the dark. Maybe she should’ve been scared, not being able to see what was out there. But she couldn’t bring herself to care what happened to her. How long had she been sitting in that room, looking out that window? It could’ve been days and she wouldn’t have known. She pulled out a cigarette from her pocket and flicked her lighter. The flame surprised her with its brightness and intensity. She sucked in on it, letting the smoke mingle with her breath and generic sadness. She finished it and let it fall, profaning the pure whiteness like a scar.
Looking up, she realized where her feet had taken her. Chaney Park. The snow here held something sweeter. Sweet like strawberry Popsicles, there were memories in the snow. They were memories of the best times, the kissing times and the laughing times and the times when you get firecrackers of hopeful happiness in your chest. But she looked at the sky, the snow falling too fast to follow. New flakes were covering her snows of past joy. They were new moments that weren’t so sweet and lowdown.
Suddenly, white seemed like a mourning color, like in ancient cultures. How long ago had those happy moments been? She realized that she didn’t know, as the memories got buried. Time was truly like the snow now, for all her seconds felt the same, and there were millions of them, and she couldn’t keep track. When was the last time she kissed someone? She tried hard and remembered something. She remembered someone who tasted like smoke. That someone must have been warm, she thought. But she couldn’t remember his face or how many moments had passed since she lost him. It was all so endless now, so fatal. She looked up, and she knew that even when it stopped snowing, the seconds would never cease. And they would all feel like this one. And suddenly, for the first time in God knows how long, she was tired. She was just tired. So she lay down, and went peacefully to sleep in the snow. And let the moments bury her.
And that’s how they found her, buried in time.