Cold

Dead? That was not at all what I was expecting. I wasn't even sure what to say in response. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and waited. I wasn't even sure if I should look at him. Could I meet his eyes? What was going on?

I waited. Finally I looked over at him and the look on his face prompted my pity, and I broke.

"Dead?" I really didn't know what to say. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He began to nod slowly. "I think we should," he finally said.

"Do you want me to drive us home?" He didn't answer.

"Would it help if I asked questions, or shall I just wait?"

"You can ask," he muttered.

But where to begin? I wasn't even sure what to ask.

"Well," I began hesitantly. "Who was she? What happened?" I knew the questions were too broad, but I didn't know how to be more specific without being impertinent.

He didn't answer right away. He stayed motionless in his seat, but at last said "She fell through the ice."

"Oh, my gosh!" I whispered.

And then he was just talking. "I saw her when they finally pulled her from the water. She was like a statue. Her eyes were still open and there was nothing in her face that read "peace". She was in agony. I remember hearing her screams through the ice as the current swept her under. She was no where near the thin ice that she fell through. She died, panicking to get out, stuck under a thick layer of ice that we couldn't break through. I don't know whether she drowned or froze to death."

On the word "death" his voice cracked and he stopped talking. I could hear him swallowing. I glanced over at him and he was biting his lip. I could tell he was working hard not to cry.

"It's okay," I said softly, trying to invite him to cry if he wanted to.

"No! It's bloody well not okay!" he cried, and I recoiled. I knew that he was just trying to hide from the memory and hide from his own pain and that he was not mad at me. But being angry was easier than being sad.

"I didn't mean that!" I said.

Silence fell between us again as he sniffed slightly and shut down.

At last I ventured another question.

"Do you want to talk about it more?"

"Only if you ask the questions," he said. "I can't offer any information."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because it's too bloody hard to talk about!" he said, his voice becoming elevated again.

"We don't have to talk about it," I assured him. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to at all."

Silence again.

I looked over at him as he sat there chewing his lip. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to ask him questions or if he wanted me to leave him alone. We hadn't been dating that long. I guess that's why he had never brought this up before. It definitely explained why he was reluctant to go to hockey with me. But he had come so many time with me before and never said a word. I thought he was enjoying himself. I mean, I could tell he didn't love it, but he had been a willing participant. This was the first time I felt like I had dragged him against his will. And now I was wondering what it was about this time that had triggered him. And I still didn't know who she was. I wanted to ask so many more questions, but I felt like it was for myself; I only wanted to ask questions so that I might know what was going on. What could I say or do for him? I didn't even know if it would help for him to tell his story or to be left alone.

I shivered, and realized how cold it had gotten in the car as we sat there in this random parking lot. But the shiver was about more than the chill on my skin.

I turned the key in the ignition and Laif looked up.

"Are we going?" he asked.

"I just wanted to heat the car back up," I told him. "But we can go wherever you like."

"I'm sorry I made us late for hockey," he muttered.

I turned to face him. "Look," I said. "Hockey doesn't matter. I'm not going to hockey tonight. What do you want to do?"

He reached over and grasped my gloved hand, but said nothing. I squeezed it back, wishing I could do more.