It was cold...that he remembered. The kind of cold that was blanketing...it sought out your ears, your neck...your hands. It blew unkindly into him...it was grimacing.
But as he walked past the Christmas tree lot he slowed...the lure of the lights, the scent of the pines. The hawkers extolling the virtues of their trees, the spirit of the piped-in music...it felt like a holiday, like a time that was worth slowing down and tucking away minutes into your pocket so you could relax, could realize...it was that...a realization.
He dialed her up as he stood freezing, gazing at the trees pristine in their condition, knowing they only had weeks to live.
He got her voicemail. Hey...I'm just standing here in the biggest city of the world...and they have these amazing christmas trees...amazing probably because there are so very few trees in this city so it's this dichotomy...and anyways, I just wanted to tell you---
and then the call stopped, the recording space cut out. He looked at his phone.
Fuck.
He stood amongst the greens and the lights and the dark sky above with the million lights of the city. He stood beneath a smeared full moon that everybody could see and appreciate...but he harbored the secret that he was one of the so very few that knew her, and had seen her, and could appreciate her for the very things that were unique and worth studying.
He glanced down and noticed a needle fallen on the ground, a green sliver from a tree in the lot. He picked it up, this sparse remnant of the full blown tree and put it in his palm. Its tiny point pricked him, bit into his skin like teeth, incisors, sharp and pointy.
He looked at his phone again. Thought about calling.
Like the piece of the tree that had fallen, like the tiny needle in his hand, he merely wanted to be part of her...actually he took that back. He wanted to be a bigger part of her...he actually wanted to tell her that he wanted to be the city to her, the moon smeared across the sky...the first thing she saw at night and the first thing she saw in the morning. That he wanted to be in her view, in her eyesight. He wanted to bring her packages and favors...that he would wrap her in warmth like a coat from a closet, and unwrap her in an evening when she came home...that he would draw baths for her and hold the towel when she emerged.
She was the evening, the darkened beauty against a city full of lights, the curve of the earth when the sun first touched...she was the crisp stark features of night against the cold, the weight of a hand that was held in a snowstorm...the way you get out of the weather...indoors and safe. He wanted her to be there, wanted her to share there...to be clothed and close. Bulky clothes and layers but ultimately a mouth that was warm and inviting. Allowing. He held up the small needle and realized she had been inside him all this time, like this tiny part, piercing and bleeding...feeling alive and loving, warming, touching. He didn't call her back, but he knew what he would say the next time she was next to him.
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