january 12.

It comes as a shock to me that the wooden benches with the shiny finish – tacky and sticky to your fingers – or the stiff lounge chaises are functional. I always thought that they were simply a part of the mall, much like the beams supporting the roof, the guard rails separating levels. Who sits in them? And why? They're magnets for waiting. The faux leather or clementine orange fabric attract people in transit. Maybe strangers give each other a nod, much like runners. Maybe it's a secret club. You're waiting too? You can stay.

There was a woman fiddling on her phone in a long chair better suited for a living room than the middle of a mall. She looked behind her, checked her phone, turned it on, turned it off, leaned back in the chair, sat up. A man with a kind face walked up. I say kind face in utter sincerity, because he had the sort of smile that makes you want to stay. Maybe his name was David and hers Katie. Or maybe it was Jeremy and Liz. I never asked. He pulled a chair closer to the table dividing the two, and the woman pulled out a game – Farkle. They ignored the people walking, talking, coming, going, passing them. She gestured, he laughed. He rolled the dice, maybe she won. I didn't ask. In the middle of the mall, a picture of leaving, they carved out reason enough to stay. It made me want to cry.
*I'm currently on my third cup of tea this morning. The floor is cold under my feet and the kitchen is soft with gray winter light. Sad winter light. We bought a tin of tea 75% off, called Dragonfruit. I prefer sharp, spicy teas, with cinnamon or ginger undertones, and this one is floral, almost peachy. It's pale and drinking it makes me think of a pink book of Japanese mythology sitting under my bed in a box of abandoned fiction. Most little girls loved horses. I loved Mythology. I devoured Norse, Greek, Celtic, Roman, Chinese, Japanese, myths. I could name all the major and minor deities and tell you their stories. Norse mythology was my favorite, though Greek came close. I think I nearly cried when Sif's long, lovely hair was cut off.
*My hair is starting to grow out. I count the months on my fingers, one, two, three? Sometimes I pull the ends to see if they fall lower on my shoulders than before. Yes, I nod to my reflection in the mirror. I can finally put the strands into a bun, though the back falls out if it's too high, and I've been wearing it up lately, out of my face. I need new shampoo. It's funny how you get older and have to focus on mundane things. Like toothpaste. Who thinks about toothpaste? It's always been an afterthought, until the last has been squeezed from the tube. Now I have to buy toothpaste, among other things. I've perfected the art of shopping for something and buying other things to cloak your real cart. No, I'm not purchasing the sixth season of The Office. All this chocolate isn't for me, of course. Maybe you don't understand. Maybe you do. It doesn't matter. I need new shampoo.
*I wish I could remember what normal feels like. I wake up and for a moment, I can forget. It's like waking up the morning after coming home from the lake. You still have the smell on your skin. It won't come off until several washes later. If you close your eyes, slip back into an almost slumber, you're still there. It takes effort, but yes, that's the water against the rocks, not the air conditioner. Those birds are sitting on the trees outside your door. Someone is making bacon. That night, it will rain.
*"Hannah loves this weather." "You do?" "Mhm." "How about that..." It's easier to say yes than explain. How do you describe a love based on needs, that white ice days and snow like rain are allowances for being sad? You don't. You put on an extra sweater, pull out a winter blanket. I never have enough socks so I have to borrow everyone else's. That's another thing you don't think about buying, socks. Getting them for Christmas wouldn't be so bad after all.
*We didn't get a tree until a week before the day. I didn't put ornaments up this year. Not even one. Too busy, or I forgot. For the first time in six years, we didn't put up lights outside. Even last year, when we had what we took to calling 'the death flu', and it hurt to celebrate, we had lights outside. This year was a different kind of hurting. I wish I had made cookies, even just from a box. One year, I went to a cookie decorating party, except there were four of us, two being my sister and I, and we decorated fifty sugar cookies with frosting. They were Betty Crocker, and the frosting, generic. I think we ended up throwing them away. Your favorite cookie, like your favorite anything, says a lot about you. Are you a melting moments kind of girl? And do you struggle with holding the present, just so, in your hands as well? Meringues require patience, situations approached just right. I haven't mastered the technique yet. The last time I made meringues, I used brown sugar and burnt them, and they were like caramel. My aunt's favorites are spritz. She makes extra of the green fluted, buttery cookies so she can freeze them and eat them later. My mom loves thick, hearty gingerbread, most likely because when she was a little girl, her grandmother made tables of them, royal white icing delicately lining the edge. Every year, she and her siblings talk about the cookie table, and how they would sneak broken ones without their grandma knowing. I wonder what I will someday tell my children about my Christmas traditions.
*Outside the kitchen window, the next door neighbor is attached to a tree and is hanging, floating in mid air, suspended by a cable. He's kicking his legs. He carries a chainsaw. I'm waiting to watch branches fall. Snow is slipping from the roof like rain. Winter too, is ending.