It was a cold night, even for October. I had brought gloves and a scarf, and my pea coat had buttons I knew how to use.
She always looked beautiful when she was cold. When I first noticed her she was shivering and it beguiled me. At night I’d imagine her underdressed and embracing herself.
As I walked her home on that cold night I found myself lost. I asked her what she thought about when she had nothing to think about and she couldn’t answer. I told her that when I have nothing to think about I think about how I’d like two particular rooms in my house: one where the entire floor is a bed, and another that’s a huge ball pit.
She laughed. I noticed her cramming her cold hands into her pockets. The night was breathing a frozen wind softly upon us. I thought about giving her my coat but I’d done that before and didn’t want to mingle the girls.
Here, I said, handing her my left glove, lined with fur. She took it questioningly. Put it on, I said. You don’t want to lose your fingers.
She put on the glove.
Then I gave her my gloveless hand.
Take it, I said. It’s still a while until your place. We don’t want to lose our fingers.
After a moment she took it and our bare hands clung together in the cold night.
We walked like that and we didn’t say anything. There was a silent fire burning between us, and we held our palms tight together to protect the world from its flames.
After a while she looked at me; after a while we stopped and sat on a cold bench. After a while our breath-fogs mingled and we thought about nothing in particular.
