a brief escape

It is early, and I am tired. There is no noise, but for clomping snow boots, zippers, and yawns. I am trying to breathe deep and mindfully, but I can't find my mittens.

The cold steals my breath as I step outside, but for once I almost laugh. Exhaust clouds billow across the freeway. The skyline is beautiful in the morning.

We slowly merge like sleepy bees up to the curb. I strip off my coat and boots and mittens, and I kiss him goodbye. The cold chases me as I run to the safety of the big glass doors.

I find my seat on the aisle. That one. The one next to a frowning middle aged man.

"Tight space." Is all he remarks. His knees are pressing against the seat in front of him.

I fit nicely into my small space, and smile politely.

A couple hours later, I glance out the window and spots dance in front of my startled eyes. How long has it been since I've really seen the sun?

There are palm trees growing out of the ground. I stare at them through the glass. Palm trees! Growing there in the ground. Real palm trees. And the sun! The sun is brilliant. I can't wait to get outside.

My friend, one of my best friends, is waiting for me on the other side of the secured doors. Amused bystanders watch our enthusiastic reunion, and I am truly happy. We drive with the windows down, and I am overwhelmed by the desert. She grew up in the sun, surrounded by cacti, but this world is brand new to me. Around us people move and talk and shop and scold their children and are entirely unimpressed by their surroundings. I have to resist the urge to shake them. 

"Don't ever take the sun for granted!" I'd shout, like a crazy person.

It is a brief trip. Fifty-two hours in paradise. We laugh and talk and talk and talk some more. She shows me the past pieces of her life. High schools and the house where she grew up. We walk into a tattoo parlor and walk out with new matching tattoos. We eat food and drink beer and sit in the sunshine and play with her cat and dog and watch movies and talk over a bonfire on the patio at night. 

It is perfect.

I have a middle seat on the return plane ride. The woman to my right explains twice that the sauce from her burrito has leaked. She dozes off halfway through the flight, but startles awake to tell me about her parents' thirteen year old golden retriever who likes rides on the ATV. The woman to my left is dignified and calm with her paperback book. She looks at me over her glasses, and I feel like a specimen on display. I buy a package of peanut m&m's during the flight, and I eat the entire thing.

It is not quite so cold when I step outside, but I run anyways. The Mr. is waiting, and his smile warms the entire car.

The next morning, reality is a whirling snowstorm, windblown drifts up to my knees, and a crawling commute on icy roads. I leave work early to attend DBT, but the lines of cars and the way my car slides as it plows through the snow chokes me. I take the exit for my house instead. I can't face the cold, the snow, the icy roads. Not now. Not today. 

Today it's hard to believe that the sun is still shining anywhere.