"November Story"

I curled up in the corner and wrapped the One Hundred Year Old Quilt around me. Its name was Quilt. That’s what I called it, especially when it was cold outside. I’d just call its name and through the door Quilt would walk just like it had done earlier that evening. It was very cold outside-- so cold, even the mittens didn’t like it. I wished for a fire but had no fireplace to keep it in. If I had, I would’ve named it Fireplace. The cold continued to knock at my doors and windows, deceptive, repeating, “Let me in, I’ll make you feel better” but I knew enough not to listen. Rain spattered on the roof, sometimes liquid, sometimes solid, and I thought of the ship at sea, rocking back and forth, creaking, rolling in the amniotic ocean... I knew it was cold on Ship (as I thought of it in my mind) and I could see his black coat flapping like a flag, puffs of breath issuing from his mouth and red nose-- the stars to him looked like pieces of ice frozen in the sky... cruel, sharp ice like razors. The ship tossed and turned in its restless sleep and he tried his best to keep his footing. I tried to imagine a bird, maybe a dove or perhaps a starling flying by my window but instead, I accidentally thought of a truck stop diner, washed with enormous drops of rain that looked like silver dollars, almost floating by the roadside, and of Brian wearing a flannel shirt that contained his precious body heat. I thought of donuts and pastries under glass domes and thick white coffee mugs and stray newspapers littering the counter. I saw the waitress’ nametag, heard breathy comments about the rain, smelled something burning like toast or meat. It was then that I remembered the map with the lines of red marker like veins, outlining highways, freeways, turnpikes, roads-- I remembered the itinerary and as I opened my eyes, I could feel it coming...

©JEF 2009