"Look outside!" she demanded excitingly. "It's snowing!"
She had seen snow before, but every time it fell, she always reacted as if meteors were barraging down from the sky. It always seemed a little over the top, but I loved that about her. She could always take something common and make it unusually beautiful.
I slouched below the half-drawn blinds in the kitchen window and peered through.
"It's snowing, alright," I agreed. "Hard."
I stepped into the garage to get a better view. This was the one time her dramatic reaction was warranted. Snowflakes were savagely plummeting down as if they were frozen meteors. Without any forewarning from the forecasting psychics, it seemed like it was going to be a blizzard. I had been through numerous blizzards before. She had dealt with a plentiful amount, as well. We had even been through a couple together. None of those blizzards were as fierce or abundant as this one seemed to be, but a blizzard is a blizzard nonetheless.
"Let's go out and play," she said looking up to me.
"Oh, alright, but we have to make it fast... before it gets too dangerous," I mundanely replied. I hated that about me. I always took adventurous shenanigans and put a safety label on them. I still do.
We put on our winter-wear and made our way outdoors. She frolicked along in the blustery storm as if she were in a field of flowers on a balmy spring day. I followed close behind, hands in pockets, sporting my best half-smile. She knelt to the ground and started piling heaps of snow toward her. Picking up as much as she possibly could, she firmly pressed the snow together into a tight round lump.
"Do you like my snowball?" she asked looking up to me.
I nodded in cold agreement. The winds started to battle.
She got onto her knees and started rolling the snowball on the white terrain surrounding us. After it almost doubled in size, she paused.
"How does it look now?" she asked looking up to me.
I lifted my glacial hands out of their pockets and gave her two thumps up. The dark was storming in.
I watched her as the lump of snow grew larger and larger to the point when she had to stand up to keep rolling it around. Every minute or so she would look up to me and ask what I thought of her snowball, but all I could do was worry about the blizzard. It was relentlessly rushing away any hopes I had of grasping warmth. I don't know why I had such a fiery exigency to be warm at that moment, but I was done playing in the cold.
"What do you think of my snowball now?" she asked. "I'm going to name him..."
"I don't care what he looks like! What IT looks like!" I viciously corrected. "I've seen snow before, _____. It doesn't change. You can roll it up all you want. It can grow and grow and grow, but it's still going to be snow! It's just fucking snow!"
I kicked her snowball in a murderous rage. It fell beside and atop the white terrain surrounding us. She couldn't tell which flurries were hers or which were untouched, unnamed. She looked up at me one last time, icicles hanging from her eyes. She ran. She ran until I couldn't see her amidst the storm. She ran in a desperate search to be warm again, and if she hasn't been frozen to death, I bet she's still running.
I am the worst blizzard she has ever been in.
- Alexander McCurdy