It seemed like High School all over again. She ran out the door as soon as he pulled into the drive, so he didn’t have to talk to her father or brothers. She sailed over the front porch step and landed with a bounce on the fresh snow. She got to the car just as he stepped out and shut the door behind him. Standing there, shoulders set at an angle with his back to the car, he looked down at her. For several moments they stood, inches from one another, not saying anything—just staring—taking each other in for the first time in what seemed like too long. Finally, he broke into the first honest smile he’d had in a long time. “Well,” he said, “Are we gonna go or not?” She shook out of the moment and skipped to the other side of the car, but he got there before her and opened the door—“Since you wouldn’t let me come up the porch properly,” he explained.
It’d been over three years since they’d been for a drive like this; yet it seemed as natural as if they did it every day. Off into the darkness, cocooned in the stillness of fresh snow and the silence of a night when people opted to remain in their houses, they drove. And talked. They talked like they were trying to find their voices again after having been mute for three years. She recited all about college while he diligently asked about her classes—requesting details of every semester, every class, wanting to know about professors and papers. He asked her about parties and her friends. What had happened to the roommate with whom she hadn’t gotten along sophomore year? Had they reconciled—yes, yes, she’d answered, they’d slowly reconciled; they were civil now, at least. What was the East like, he’d asked her. He’d only ever been to New York and not liked it. What was the town like where she lived? She chattered on about everything as if they owned time. She asked him about his life on the West coast. What was it like working there? What sort of people did he encounter? She prompted him to tell her stories about his adventures. He could tell stories so well, he’d carve out of her emotions she hadn’t even known existed. With him around, she never wanted for entertainment. She understood entire paragraphs from his tone and inflection, such that she could always get out of his stories so much more meaning than anyone else could—though they felt it. It was as if he painted a landscape with his pitch and she was the only one who could see how all the colors fit together.
They talked until they felt hoarse, opting to miss their dinner reservation because eating took too much time away from talking. Instead they drove down streets they never knew existed though they both grew up in this town. They continued until the lake extinguished the sun and darkness closed them in. Soon they sat in silence, quietly watching the headlights illuminate their next steps.
“I can’t drive around like this forever, you know,” he said.
“Yeah yeah, well, I’m not the one who planned this.”
He laughed. “Very true. Alright, I know what we’ll do.”
He wound his way with purpose through suburban streets until they got onto the freeway. “Where’re we going?”
“You can’t wait ten minutes to find out?”
She started to clear her throat to lecture him about how she loathed surprises, but he cut her off, “I know, you always want to know what’s going on—but I’m not going to tell you. I’m sure you can guess. We don’t keep things from one another very well.”
They parked downtown away from the office buildings. As she reached for her door-handle he chastised “HEY!” and she immediately put her hands in a fist in her lap, trying to look demure. As he opened her door he sheepishly took her hand and said, “ I didn’t want you getting out onto the ice by yourself. What if you fell?”
He kept her hand firmly in his as they walked past the houses pressed up against the life of the city. “Mm, I like that one,” she pointed to a brick house with a pitched roof and a sloping yard. “It’s small,” he commented.
“I like small.”
“It’s old.”
“I’ll bet it has beautiful hardwood-floors. Besides, it’s not about how a house looks, but how it feels. You think those houses you see in home-shows with their great rooms and home-theaters feel like home?”
He squeezed her hand, “You’re right. I agree.”
They walked until they got to the heart of downtown, where there were so many Christmas lights you had to look up to remind yourself it wasn’t the middle of the day. They walked around, observing the Nativity scenes from different countries and commenting on the lights. As they walked past one of the fountains, he looked at her and frowned. “What?”
“Your ears are bright red.”
“Yes, did you know it’s winter? I hear it gets cold this time of year.”
“I just wasn’t thinking about you being cold. I’m sorry. We should go back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have a hood.” She reached behind her head with her free hand to try and get it, but only looked silly, flailing her arm in many failed attempts. He laughed and took both his hands and situated the fur-trimmed hood around her head, which made him laugh harder.
“Stop. Why are you laughing?”
“Because you look… you just look… so…”
“So what?”
“You’re just this little pixie of a thing in a huge down coat and fur-lined boots and this little head peeking out underneath your furry hood. You look like an Eskimo.”
“That’s incredibly racist of you. I’m horribly affronted.”
He chuckled and grabbed her hand again, walking away, “Come on.” Yet she continued to stand there. “No. How do you know I’m not really upset? You just made fun of me. And the Eskimos!”
“How do I know,” he repeated, looking back at her—defiance detailing her features, “How do I ever know anything about you? How do you know anything about me? It’s not like I’m just reading a book. It’s like reading a book I wrote. I know all the rhetorical devices, all the particulars of the diction, all the secrets of punctuation. It’s always been that way. Even when our only mode of contact was letters I could understand even what you weren’t saying by your penmanship. Vocal inflection isn’t any different.”
“That’s annoying. I don’t want you to know everything.”
“That’s why you’re the same way about me. It makes us even.” She took it as an acceptable answer and walked on with him, closer than they’d been before.
They stopped under a giant chestnut tree covered in warm orange lights. They looked above them at the web of spindly arms forming a glowing canopy beyond their heads. Looking up at the infinity of lights, she thought about what he’d said, about her being able to understand him the same way. It was true, she thought. She thought of all the sorts of animals that communicated using only sound-radar, and how they were almost the same way. Even then, when they didn’t say anything or when she couldn’t hear his voice, she knew exactly what he was thinking.
