He squinted up into the sun, using his hand as a shade against the glare. It felt like it hadn’t moved from directly above him in the entire hour he’d been sitting there. His bottle of water, full when he got to the park, was now nothing but a wisp of steam clinging to the inside of a crinkled plastic shell. In every direction were happy families having cookouts under shelters; directly ahead of him, a pair of squirrels skittered around a massive old maple tree, playing a seemingly never-ending game of tag. From time to time, a brave runner or walker chugged by, streaming sweat in the sweltering heat. In the distance was the low hum of passing traffic on the street that bordered the park. There were lots of things to see and hear. But she was none of those things.

He checked his Batman watch. Just looking at it gave him a pang of sadness. It had been a birthday present from her just six months ago. Its golden hands told him she was now more than 45 minutes late. He decided he would give her a whole hour. He checked his phone for about the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. As he knew before he even actually looked, there were no texts from her. He put it face-down on the bench beside him, as if not looking at it might cause a message to magically appear.

Ten more minutes passed. It had been a full hour. One last time, he stared longingly at the blank screen, willing her to text him. Nothing. He had promised himself he wouldn’t do it, but he found himself swiping the screen and punching the text icon. He scrolled down until he found her name. He regretted it as soon as he pulled up the exchange. The last message she had sent to him, four months earlier, was emblazoned across the top of the screen.

“I wanted you to fight for me and you didn’t.”

Below that were the four messages he’d sent after that, when she wouldn’t take his calls, but she’d never responded. Finally, he’d sent her one last desperate message asking her to meet him on their bench. The bench where they’d met, what, five years ago? Yes, it had been five years. They felt like five weeks, whereas the last six months seemed more like years. She never replied, but he held out hope that she would come. He felt certain if he could just talk to her, just explain, she would understand. He had wanted to fight for her, to ask her not to go. But he was sure that wasn’t what she wanted of him. He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought she would see his act of sacrifice as just that—a sacrifice. A noble deed done for the woman he loved. He thought she wanted him to prove his love by letting her go, not by trying to stop her. If only she would listen.

He touched the bottom of the screen where it said, “Enter message.” The keyboard appeared. He typed haltingly, unsure what to say to convince her to come see him. To let him show her how much he still loved her. How much he would always love her. So that’s what he typed. His thumb hovered over the send button for a few seconds. Why was he hesitating? He couldn’t come up with a good reason, so he sent it, dropping the phone on the bench like it was burning his hand.

Thirty seconds later, his heart leapt when it chimed to inform him that he’d received a reply. He grabbed up the device and slid his finger across the phone to clear the lock screen. He read the words three times, unable to convince himself they were real. He closed the texting app, but activated it again immediately, convinced he’d read the wrong message. But he hadn’t.

“This number is no longer in service.”

The post I Wanted You to Fight for Me and You Didn’t appeared first on Clutch MOV.

He pursed his lips and blew gently on the rich, brown liquid, creating tiny decaffeinated tsunamis that crashed on the far shore of his cup. He needn’t have bothered. It was barely above warm. He’d let it sit too long. But he wasn’t upset. Good coffee is still good, even if it’s a little cold. Only bad coffee suffers appreciably from not being piping hot. And he would trade cold coffee for extra time drinking her in.

Her name was Mel. Short for Melliflua, she’d told him with a laugh the first time he beheld her. He’d stopped at the Coffee Bar on a friend’s recommendation. To be honest, he didn’t remember anything about the beverage he’d ordered. He was too captivated by her. She told him that her mother was a hippie and her father was a bibliophile. They’d agreed on the name because she said it had a musical quality and he liked that it sounded like a Greek goddess. And it perfectly fit her melodious laugh and quiet but confident voice.

Despite how stalkerish it felt, he figured out her schedule and made sure he was there every day that his work allowed. He hadn’t gone so far as asking his boss to change his hours, but it crossed his mind. And it wasn’t always easy because he lived in Mineral Wells and worked in Williamstown. Going to work by way of downtown Parkersburg instead of just hopping on the interstate meant having to leave even earlier than normal when he worked late. But it was worth it.  She always seemed so happy to see him come in, but he was sure that was just her being a professional server.

Being a little chubby and, in his mind, hopelessly plain and boring, he knew she, an exotic, dark beauty with flowing black hair and a face that inspired poets, was so far out of his league that it never even occurred to him to ask her out. She deserved so much better than someone like him. She should be on the arm of some bronzed Adonis.

Which is why it was so puzzling that she would go out with that numbskull Ever. “Who, he asked her from his table, “would ever go by the name Ever?”

“Well, who goes by the name of Newberry?” she asked as she fished something from under the counter.

“It’s the one my parents gave me. What’s his excuse?”

“It’s short for Everett,” she said, cutting a slice from a pastry he didn’t recognize.

“Everett’s a human name,” he said. “What, is he too good to be an Everett?”

She laughed. It caused a reaction in him he’d literally never experienced before he met her. It could only be described as painfully joyous. He resolved to spend the rest of his life getting her to laugh as often as possible.

She stopped at his table after delivering the dessert to someone in the back. Her eyes were downcast. “It doesn’t matter. He’s moving to Charleston.”

“That’s only an hour.” He felt like throat-punching himself as the words came out of his mouth. He intensely disliked Ever and he hated that she was with him.

“And you’re right. He’s full of himself.”

He stopped with the cup halfway to his lips, his eyes wide. “I never said he was full of himself.”

She leaned over and patted his head. He got a faint whiff of her perfume. It was lightly floral and yet spicy with a little musky undertone. It was mesmerizing. “You didn’t have to, sweetie.”

He put down his cup, reminding himself that she called everyone sweetie. “Am I that transparent?”

“You are to me.”

He took a micro-sip of his coffee, now somehow less than room temperature. He had to nurse what little was left because he couldn’t afford another cup and he didn’t want to have to leave. As she glided back to her work station, he took in her lovely silhouette and contemplated the fact that, if he were truly transparent to her, she would see that he loved her with all his heart.

His coffee finally finished, he felt he had no choice but go home. She gave him a broad smile full of straight white teeth and a friendly wave when he walked out. He waved back trying not to have too goofy a grin on his face. His car was a couple blocks up Market and across the street, but it was a pleasant late spring evening, so the walk was comfortable. As he hit the keyless entry to unlock the driver’s door, his phone dinged, telling him he had a text. After climbing in his car, he slid his finger across the touch screen. It was a number he didn’t recognize, though it was local.

“Hey Newberry, it’s Mel. I looked up your number from when you joined our drink club. Hope that’s ok.” His heart sped up as another text came through. “We’re having a poetry open mic night tomorrow. Know you like poetry. Was wondering if you’d like to come.”

He stared at the screen, reading the two texts over and over until a car horn reminded him that he was sitting at the side of the road with his door open in traffic. He closed the door and started the engine before he read the words one last time. What did they mean? Was she being a good salesperson or was this a personal invitation? And if it was personal, was there any chance it was romantic? No, he laughed to himself. That was a one-way street for sure. Wasn’t it? Regardless, if it gave him an opportunity to be around her again, he wasn’t passing it up.

“Sure. What time?”

“Yay! 7pm. :-D”

He couldn’t sleep no matter what he tried. He knew it was going to be a long day at work, but knowing that didn’t change anything. Finally, after reading a magazine cover to cover, paying some bills, and flipping through a million infomercials on TV, he gave up and pulled out his writing journal. It was always the thing that calmed him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done it sooner. Maybe what he wanted to write needed to simmer a while. Whatever the reason, the words flowed out without interruption. Usually when he wrote poems, the page was a mess of scratches and lines and arrows where he wrote and rewrote and rearranged. But not this time. It was perfect the first time. With a contented smile, he closed the book and finally fell into a deep sleep.

Work had indeed been torture, but not nearly as much as the three hours between when he left there and when he could go to the Coffee Bar and see her. He showered and shaved, even though he’d showered and shaved that morning and he worked at a desk in an air-conditioned office. He got dressed, decided he didn’t like what he was wearing, changed, felt like a moron and put the original clothes back on. He made himself a sandwich, but his stomach felt funny and he could only eat half of it, so he wrapped the rest up for later. Finally, he brushed his teeth and flossed.

“What am I doing?” He spoke the question out loud. “This isn’t a date. Calm down.”

Finally, it was time to go. Halfway to his car, though, he turned and ran back inside to pick up his writing journal. Maybe he’d work up the courage to read one of his poems. He’d been told they were good, but that was by his friends. At the least, he may get some inspiration from hearing others and take some notes.

Assuming the crowd would be bigger than the night before, he parked a block further up from the restaurant, but passed mostly empty spaces as he approached the front door. And inside, the place was all but empty. He looked at his watch. It was 7:00 pm precisely. And he could see the chairs set up for the event, but other than a young hipster-looking couple in the back and Mel, no one was there.

He leaned against the open door. “Did no one come?”

“Hi sweetie,” she said with her heart-stopping smile. “What do you mean?”

“The poetry night. Was it not tonight?”

“Oh yeah, it’s at eight. Is that not when I told you?”

“You said seven.”

“Oh no!” She pulled her phone from an apron pocket and looked at it. “I’m so sorry! I must have typed it wrong.”

“No worries. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She came around the counter and walked up to him, getting within sniffing distance of her hypnotic perfume. “No, it’s all set up. To make up for wasting an hour of your time, I’ll get you a cup of your favorite decaf and a muffin. On me.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said. Well, that was what he tried to say. It came out more as, “Noasakayherrrr.”

“No, I insist.” She took his hand and led him to a table and pushed his chest gently, indicating he should sit. So, he did. “I’ll have it ready in just a minute. And I’m so sorry.”

“It really is okay.” He actually managed to say all of those words separately and not make a loopy nonsensical sound at the end. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and walked unsteadily to the restroom in the back. When he was nervous or excited, it seemed like he had to go to the bathroom constantly. He finished and washed his hands. When he opened the door and came around the corner, the sight that greeted him made all the moisture leave his mouth. The muffin and decaf were on the table, but they weren’t alone. She sat looking in his journal. Maybe she didn’t see it, he thought. There are lots of poems in there. She didn’t have to go to that one.

She looked up from the book when she heard him coming toward her. Her eyes glistened. One hand held the book toward her and the other was over her heart. “Did—did you write this—about me?”

He kicked at a non-existent piece of dust on the floor. He couldn’t make eye contact. Finally, he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“When?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Last night. Do you think I’m a creep?”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye and down her perfect cheek. “A creep?” She stood, walked to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. He hugged her back, inhaling her fully, trying not to cry himself. She leaned back so that she was looking up into his eyes, their faces only inches apart. “Will you read it for me?”

He let go of her and stepped back. “Out loud?”

“Please?”

“Really?”

“Please? Newberry, please.”

He took the book in his trembling hands, unsure he could hold it steadily enough to actually read the words. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and found he could recite the poem from memory.

“Melliflua

Ne’er ‘gain will I doubt you’re there, God.

Or that you love me truly.

Else, how to explain her?

That she lives is cause for praise.

That she smiles for me makes my heart beat.

She’ll never know how much I love her.

For she could never love someone like me.

But to simply be near her, to be her friend,

to hear her melodious laugh,

that makes birds go silent in shame,

          is enough.”

When he opened his eyes, she stood in front of him, tears streaming down both cheeks. She took his hand. “Could never love you? How could you think that?”

“You’re so beautiful. So perfect. And I’m, well, I’m not.”

She shook her head and laughed before stepping toward him, putting her hand gently on his cheek. She tenderly kissed him on the lips. “I didn’t tell you the wrong time by accident. I wanted to see you. Be with you. Newberry, I can love you. I do.”

Joe Stephens is a local author, whose published works can be purchased here.

The post Melliflua appeared first on Clutch MOV.

“So who will be sledding tonight?” she asked after a minute of silence.

“Oh, the whole neighborhood, probably. Our hill is kind of the designated sledding destination. By the time we get there my sister and her friends will probably have made enough runs to pack the snow down and my cousin and my sister’s boyfriend will have the fire started at the top. They’re famous for their monster fires.”

“I hope your mom brings more hot chocolate. I’m cold already.”

“You’ll warm up as we walk. And besides, trust me. The fire will be huge.” Evan had no idea how prophetic his words would turn out to be.

The snow had all but stopped by the time the made it to his house, though the clouds stayed low and continued to look threatening. They stepped inside the back door long enough to warm up and get a report from his father that the sledding had begun, the fire-starters had just left, and his mother was working on warming milk for hot chocolate. Renee was excited to hear this, partly because she really was cold but also because Evan’s mother was the only person she’d ever heard of who made hot chocolate from scratch with milk and her own mixture of dry ingredients. It was the best cocoa she’d ever tasted or ever would taste.

Sufficiently warmed, the duo stepped back outside. It was almost completely dark by this time, but as they approached the foot of the hill, Evan could see miniscule flashes of light at the top, like someone was lighting matches and flicking them through the air.

“What’s going on up there?” asked Renee as they started up the hill. But before Evan could answer, the night turned to day for just a split second, followed by a concussion so large that it seemed to shake the ground. Not knowing what had just happened, Evan instinctively dove onto Renee, who had fallen to her knees. He covered her body with his and put his hands over the back of his head, in a futile attempt to stop whatever had exploded and, from the thudding sounds all around them, was raining down all around them. Just when he thought it was over, he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head. As he slowly lapsed into unconsciousness, he heard Renee scream his name.

The next thing he knew he was in the back of an ambulance, his mother by his side. His head hurt so badly that he felt like it might split open. He reached up to touch his forehead, but all he felt was something soft and gauzy. Then it slowly dawned on him. It was actual gauze. This struck him funny for some reason and he started to laugh, but it caused the pain to spike and be joined by lights popping in front of his eyes, so he decided not to do that again. He heard fragments of the conversation going on around him, such as, “…concussion…head wounds tend to bleed…should be okay…” That last one comforted him as he drifted back to sleep.

And then suddenly, it was bright daylight. His head still hurt, but not nearly as badly. He opened his eyes, but closed them again instantly when he realized that it wasn’t sunshine he was seeing, but a blindingly white overhead light that was pointing directly into his face. “Bright,” he said.

“He’s awake!” said his mother. Somebody somewhere turned the light off, so he opened his eyes again. His vision was a little blurry, but after a few blinks, the indistinct blobs around him coalesced into human beings. Four human beings, to be exact. His mother and sister were on his left, while his father, and Renee were to his right. He was in one of those wheeled emergency room beds. “What…what happened?”

“You saved my life is what happened,” said Renee, grabbing his hand. “You’re my hero.”

“I…what?”

“You really did, son,” said his father, patting his knee. “If you hadn’t shielded her, the log would have gotten her right between the eyes.”

He looked around at them. They all had smiles on the faces. His father seemed to find something funny, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be. “Log? I don’t understand.”

“Now that you’re okay, it’s okay to laugh about it, I guess,” said his mother.

“Laugh about what?”

“It was your doofus cousin and Kathleen’s even dumber boyfriend,” said his dad. “If I’d known what those two maniacs were doing, I would have kicked their cans.”

A fragment of a memory staggered into his mind. Tiny flashes of light, like matches floating through the air. “Did they…? Are they okay?”

“Oh, their fine. A little singed around the edges and feeling like they have cotton in their ears. Plus, they feel like criminals.”

“That’s probably because you threatened to call the cops on them,” said his mother.

“What did they do?”

“Well, the wood was pretty wet, so they sneaked into the garage and took a gallon can, completely full of gasoline. Guess they thought if a little was good, all was better, so they stacked up all of the wood they could find and dumped the whole gallon of gas on it. At least they had sense enough to light the matches from a distance and try to flick them at the woodpile. Problem is, they forgot about the gas vapors. By the time they got a match to stay lit long enough to flick it toward the fire, a pretty good cloud had built up, so about halfway to the wood, the vapor all went up like a bomb. All that was left when it was over was big black hole where the wood used to be and the logs came crashing down all over the hillside like mortars.”

Luckily,” said his mother, “the log that hit you was pretty small and, even luckier, you inherited your father’s granite skull.”

“I’m really sorry Evan.” Everyone turned to see Kathleen’s boyfriend at the door. He stood, seemingly unable to decide if he should come in. Evan couldn’t figure out why he looked odd. Then he realized the boy had no eyebrows. “We were just trying to get a good fire going.”

“S’okay,” said Evan. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” He turned back to Renee. “Are you all right?”

“I am, thanks to you,” she said, her eyes glistening. “At first I thought you were playing, but then, in the next instant, I heard this crack. It sounded just like a baseball hitting a bat and then I felt you go limp and all your weight collapsed against me. I–I thought you were dead.” She couldn’t hold it back anymore. A tear trickled down her cheek.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“You were so brave, covering me up like that.”

He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t even have time to think; he just reacted. Did that make him brave? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t think about it much, though, because it hurt his head. He looked at her, wishing he could wipe away her tears, but he just felt too tired to lift his hands. He didn’t want to sleep, though because he feared that when he woke up, she’d be gone and that her parents would never let her see him again. “I’m really sorry. And tell your folks that I’m sorry.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Almost getting you killed on our first date.”

“Renee!” It was a voice he didn’t know. Everyone turned. It was a large man with a shiny bald head and blue, piercing eyes. Evan thought he looked like a more intense Mr. Clean.

Renee ran to him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Hi Daddy.” She took his hand and pulled him to the bed. “Daddy, this is my boyfriend–and hero–Evan.

The man put his arm around Renee’s shoulder. “Glad to meet you son.”

“I’m really sorry, sir.

“Oh, since you saved my little girl’s life and all, I guess we can forgive you this time. Besides, it has to get better from here, right?”

Between the tension of not knowing if he’d be okay and the absurdity of the event, no one could take it anymore. The whole family burst into laughter.

Epilogue–a week later

“I’m so relieved,” Renee said, pulling Evan’s Flexible Flyer behind her by a rope that was tied onto each of the steering handles, “that it’s still snowy enough to go sledding.”

“This hardly counts as sledding,” he said. “This is barely a hill at all.” He sat down on the sled atop what amounted to about a ten foot hillock at the end of Renee’s backyard. All told, the trip would last upwards of a second.

“Sorry,” she said, sitting behind him and wrapping her arms and legs around him. “Doctor’s orders. And besides, it’s not the size of the hill, it’s who’s riding down it with you.”

She gave him an affectionate squeeze as they leaned forward in tandem, tipping the nose of the sled down the hill. He was wrong; it took almost two seconds. But he didn’t care. She was right. And there wasn’t anyone in the whole world he’d rather be with.

The post The Best Sled Ride Ever, Part 2 appeared first on Clutch MOV.

For most 8th graders, the end of Christmas break is about as dreary a thought as anything in the world, with the possible exception of the first day of school after summer vacation. But for Evan, it was a day he’d been looking forward to since Christmas day, which, not coincidentally, was the last time he’d seen his new girlfriend Renee.

Girlfriend. His girlfriend. His girlfriend, Renee. The words just didn’t seem like they should all fit together. Much like he felt he and Renee didn’t fit together. She was tall and smart and beautiful and kind and bubbly. He was none of those things. Okay, to be fair, he was tall and smart. But no one would accuse him, he thought, of being handsome. Nor did he feel particularly kind. And bubbly is the last thing he would ever think of to describe his personality. What word would he use? Awkward. Yeah, awkward was the perfect word.

And yet, there she was, standing at the end of the walk outside the cafeteria, waving her swanlike arm at him, a smile as bright as the sun emblazoning her face. He had trouble swallowing. But then, as quickly as she appeared before him, she vanished again, along with the all but the vaguest outline of the large brick building. One moment it wasn’t snowing and the next, huge, wet flakes the size of tennis balls were pounding straight down as if they were being magnetically drawn to the ground. By the time he made it to her, he looked like a Yeti and felt just as cold. But he was quickly warmed by her lilting laughter. She helped him wipe away the caked snow as they made their way into the cafeteria to wait for the bell to dismiss them for first period.

“Where in the world did that snow come from?” she asked, pulling a tissue from her purse and wiping his face. Her hand smelled of cocoa butter. It made him think of the beach. Which made him think of her in a bathing suit at the beach. Which made him blush. Luckily, he was red-faced already from being soaked with barely frozen snow.

“I don’t know. It just came out of nowhere,” he said. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “For what?”

“Rescuing me.”

“You made it out of the snow without any help from me.” She took his hand in hers and curled her slender fingers between his. His mother had told her when she’d come to their house the evening of Christmas day that she had pianist’s fingers. She promptly sat at their piano and played a lovely, sad, complicated song that he’d never heard before. When she finished and looked up, his mother was crying.

Renee looked like she’d just run over a kitten. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she’d said. “I should have asked before I just started playing your piano.”

“Oh no, sweetheart!” exclaimed his mother, wrapping Renee in a hug. “It was just so beautiful and it’s been so long since I’ve heard anyone play this piano. Since my mother died.”

Renee and his mother were fast friends from that moment on. Same for his father and sister. She seemed to be able to make a friend of anyone. Yet another trait of hers he both admired and lacked.

As he came back to the present, he looked into her eyes, which were filled with mirth and congeniality. “I didn’t mean from the snow.”

“Then what are you talking about, you goof?”

“Nothing.”

“Whatever.” She looked around to make sure no one was watching and, to his great surprise, gave him a quick peck on the lips. He would contemplate that first kiss many times over his lifetime. For the moment, though, he was too shocked and elated to contemplate much of anything. He just stood there with a big goofy grin on his face. Luckily, before she said anything he would have to respond to–he was aware enough to suspect he would be tongue-tied until at least lunchtime–the bell rang, signaling to the sad lovers that they would not see each other again until 4th period.

They walked hand in hand out of the cafeteria and down the hall, stopping long enough to open their lockers, which were just a few dozen feet apart from each other, and meet in the middle of the hallway. He was too self-conscious to kiss her in the midst of the wild throng of students, so he started to just wave and walk away. Happily, she felt no such restraint.

She grabbed the collar of his coat, pulled him to her, and planted a longer kiss on his lips, after which she playfully slapped his cheek. “You weren’t going to give me kiss goodbye? Don’t you love me?”

“Aww,” was all he could manage to say in reply.

“I take that as a yes. See you 4th.”

Somehow he made his way to first period. At least he thought he’d gone to the right class. No one told him to leave and the teacher looked vaguely familiar. Put a gun to his head, though, and he would have been completely incapable of telling you one word spoken the entire period. Luckily, it wasn’t a subject, like science, that required him to pay attention lest he blow himself up.

By the time second period rolled around, he had gathered himself enough to actually know what room he was supposed to go to next. He even remembered his math teacher Mrs. Hartline’s name. He hoped ardently, though, that she wouldn’t call on him, because no matter what the problem was, he was pretty sure the result he would come up with would simply be Renee. What’s two plus two? Renee.

Somehow, he made it to Mr. Beck’s fourth period science class. He knew he had a class in between, but he was at a loss to remember what it was. The excitement of seeing her again was just too much for his fried circuits. He was going to kiss her this time, crowd or no crowd. But he was distracted from his goal when Mr. Beck stepped out the door.

“You seem a lot happier than you did before Christmas break. Glad you finally worked up the courage to ask your lady friend out.”

Before he could respond, though, he smelled the unmistakable scent of cocoa butter, turning just in time for her to plant yet another kiss on his unsuspecting lips. Would he ever get to kiss her first? He wasn’t sure, but he was even less sure that he cared, as long as she didn’t stop.

The windows in Mr. Beck’s room faced out across the long front lawn of the school, so Evan saw clearly for the first time that the snow hadn’t let up since that morning. The pale greenish tan of the grass had been replaced by a heavy blanket of white, and the blanket was getting deeper by the minute.

“Think we’ll have a snow day?” was the first question asked of Mr. Beck, who was widely acknowledged as the best predictor of snow days on the entire staff. Legend had it that one year, he announced in September every single snow day they would have that year and he was right every time. No one ever asked him if it was true; most preferred to just believe it because that was more fun than finding out that it was nothing but a story.

“Definitely no school tomorrow,” said Mr. Beck, gazing out the window. “Maybe not the rest of the week.”

For a moment Evan was elated, but then it struck him–no school meant no Renee. For the first time in his young life, Evan found himself praying for a thaw. But then, even the idea of missing his new lady love was slowly supplanted by a thought almost exciting enough to get him to hope for more snow. Sledding. It was the one thing he loved most about winter. The one thing he looked forward to every single year. Maddeningly, where they lived, it was often too warm. Some winters it was cold enough, but too dry.

“I can’t wait to go sledding!” he said, not really aware that it had been out loud.

“I’ve never been,” said Renee. “Is it fun?”

“Fun? Only the most fun thing in the world. You’ve never been sledding? You have to go sledding with me!”

A smile crept across her lips. Then she frowned. She was even adorable when she looked sad. “I don’t have a sled.”

“We have extras. And besides, we can ride together.”

“Where do you sled?”

“We have a great hill right behind our house. It goes on forever. We build a fire and roast marshmallows in between trips. Sometimes my mom even brings up a thermos of hot chocolate. Then, when we get too cold and wet to stand it anymore, we go home and gather around the fireplace. Mom makes us grilled cheese and tomato soup. It’s the best thing in the world. You have to come.”

She looked like she might burst with excitement. “When? When?”

“Tonight?”

“But it’s a school night.”

“Yeah, technically, but look out there!”

If anything, the snow had picked up in pace. It seemed impossible that there would be school the next day. In fact, the principal came over the intercom and said that the buses would be delayed because the roads were snow-covered and slick. Neither Renee nor Evan rode a bus, though, both walking. Each, it turned out lived less than a mile from the school, though in slightly different directions.

As they ate lunch together, a plan emerged. It would require parental permission, but it seemed like it would work.

“Okay, when you get home,” said Evan between bites of peanut butter sandwich, “if your folks say okay, I’ll walk to your house and get you. Make sure you’re dressed in layers. Do you have good, heavy rubber boots?”

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t mind walking all that way?”

“It’s not that far. I’d walk twice that far for, well, for…”

She smiled, wiping a speck of bread crumb from her mouth with her napkin. “For what?”

He wanted to say he’d walk twice that far and more for her, but something in his adolescent mire of a brain wouldn’t let the words come out. He just felt too stupid. So he did the best he could. “For a good sled ride.”

In response she looked sullenly at her sandwich. “Oh. Well, okay. I don’t know if my folks will let me. And I have homework.”

He was blowing it! What was wrong with him? “With you.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s only worth the walk if, well, you know.”

“No Evan, I don’t know.”

“Only worth it if I get to be with you.”

She smiled and took his hand. “Was that so hard?”

He smiled back. “Yes.”

He got home at 3:00 pm and waited the three hours until she called at 3:20 to say that, after a titanic struggle, her parents agreed to let her accompany him, with the proviso that she be ready to be picked up promptly at 8:00 pm. Her father would take her to his house in his SUV, but he didn’t get home from work until after 5:00 pm, and that was just too long for the lovebirds to wait to see each other.

The temperatures were dropping quickly as the precipitation slowly tapered off to a still steady but lighter amount, ensuring that the eight inches they had already received would stick around. The weather on the radio said that another two to three inches were expected overnight and schools in the region were already closing. So, dressed in enough layers to make it impossible to walk, minus one, Evan set out for Renee’s house. What would normally be a ten-minute walk was now an epic hike. It would have been worse, but he marched in the ruts of a large truck that had passed by as he left his house. It was the only vehicle that he’d seen and the amplified silence of the thick white blanket told him that there were no other vehicles about. He worried that he was underdressed against the wind, but by the time he got to her front door, again looking like a walking snowman, everything on him was warm except his nose, which had mercifully gone numb.

Renee’s mother opened the door and insisted he come in at least long enough thaw out while Renee finished layering up. They had a glassed in front porch, which served as a sort of mudroom for the main house, so there was no worry about getting the floors wet.

“I’ll tell Renee you’re here sweetie.”

He liked it that she called him sweetie. His mom called him that. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiled. “I have some water on; would you like a cup of hot chocolate while you warm up?”

“That’d be great!”

“It seems like Renee told me you like marshmallows in your cocoa. Is that right?”

He was surprised she remembered. He’d mentioned it in passing on Christmas day. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel good that it mattered enough to her to recall such a trivial detail. “Yes ma’am, that’s right.”

“Oh please, don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel like an old lady. Call me Mrs. J. All of Renee’s friends call us Mr. and Mrs. J.”

“Okay Mrs. J,” he said with a smile.

She stepped back into the house, only to be replaced less than a minute later by Renee, holding two steaming mugs of cocoa, his complete with miniature marshmallows. She handed him his cup. He put it on the coffee table and, as she was zipping up her coat, he quickly kissed her.

She smiled. “Finally.”

“Finally what?”

“You kissed me.”

“You never gave me a chance. You always kissed me before I had a chance.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let you take the initiative from now on.”

“No! It’s okay. I don’t mind if you kiss me first. Really.”

“Okay.” She kissed him. This one was more than a quick peck. And she even moved her lips a little. He thought he might literally die from excitement.

But he didn’t. They finished their hot chocolate and chattered excitedly about the evening to come as she pulled on and tied her green rubber boots.

“You have on enough socks?” he asked.

“In case you didn’t notice, these are my dad’s boots and I’m wearing so many layers of socks that they fit.”

Renee took the empty cups back into the house and came back, her mother trailing close behind. She, being a mother, ordered her daughter to be careful and not to break her neck. Renee promised she would come back in one piece as they stepped out into the blustery cold. Happily, the wind had died down as evening approached, so the snow, now small, fine crystals, was coming straight down. Despite the fact that it was barely after 4:00 pm, the low, thick clouds were already snuffing out the weak light of the January sun. After experimenting with walking single file, they decided to each take a tire track so they could walk side by side.

The post The Best Sled Ride Ever, Part 1 appeared first on Clutch MOV.

The box seemed to weigh a ton in his pocket. He reached in to finger the bow, long battered into submission by being carried around in his coat since the first day after Thanksgiving break. He opened his pocket just enough to peek in. Her name was still legible, but only barely. By this time, he not only had the struggle of working up courage to give a gift to the girl of his dreams, but of explaining why it looked like he’d kicked it all the way to school before he gave it to her. Even if it were pristine, he was taking the gut-wrenching chance that she would reject him or, worse, accept it out of pity. He didn’t want to think about the absolute worst case scenario, in which she publicly humiliated him by laughing, along with all her friends, at the idea that she, a beauty with guys lining up to date her, would accept a gift from, let alone go steady with, a troll like him.

On his good days, which were (at least in his 8^th grade mind) much rarer than average, he felt like he might not actually be a troll. He was a smart kid. He could act; he could sing; he made people laugh. And he was nice to everyone. But then, he always came back to the thought that those things didn’t exactly scream hunk. Chunk maybe, he thought, rubbing his round belly.

He looked at the clock. Two minutes until the end of class and the beginning of lunch. He realized he’d heard not a word of Mr. Beck’s lecture on erosion. It was their only class together that year, so he needed to give her the gift by the next day or suffer the sting of taking home her gift, ungiven and still wrapped. He couldn’t face the idea of it joining the present he’d gotten her the year before, but never managed to work up the courage to give her, under his bed, mingling with the dirty socks, old board games, and sports equipment.

“Hey Renee,” he said as she walked by after class, giggling with a couple of other girls. Well, the other girls were giggling. When she laughed, it was more like the flutter of angel wings. Her dark ponytail swung as she turned toward him.

“Hey Evan.” She smiled. He froze. Even in braces, her smile bewitched him. He had the box, which contained earrings with a tiny chip of her birthstone in each—his mother had helped him pick them out of the Avon catalog—in his sweaty hand, but his arm was immobilized, unresponsive. As was his mouth. No sounds came out, but at least it did open and close repeatedly, kind of like a goldfish.

“Going to lunch?” she asked as she and her friends swept by. She didn’t seem to have noticed his buffoonery.

“Yeah.” Well, at least that was a word. Sort of.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Give it to her, you moron, he thought. But still his hand remained clenched, his arm unmoving.

“Well, maybe see you in the cafeteria?” She hesitated at the door.

“Okay.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. Sympathy? Puzzlement? Nausea? He was betting on the last. “Okay. Well, bye.”

“You really need to give her that present.”

“Oh, Mr. Beck. Didn’t know you were here.”

“I noticed.” He straightened papers on his desk. “I hope you’ll give her the present you have in your left pocket before it’s ruined and you fail science. You’re okay and all, but I’m not interested in having you again next year.” Sitting at his desk, he opened the bottom left drawer, retrieving a brown paper grocery bag, from which he pulled two sandwiches, an apple, and a foil-wrapped can of Tab.

“I don’t—I mean—how did you know?”

“Be a fool not to. I’ve seen you start to give it to her every day since December first. The only mystery is how she doesn’t know. If she doesn’t.”

Not sure his legs would keep him upright, Evan flopped back in his chair. “You think she knows?”

“She’s a girl. Who knows what they know?”

“What if she won’t take it?”

“The sun will rise tomorrow.”

But at that moment, he knew he would never give her the gift. He was just too big a coward. His eyes burned and he wished he wasn’t a boy so he could cry, but he was so he couldn’t. That night, he took the present from his coat and tossed it under his bed to join its compatriot.

The next year, she was dating a new kid, so he didn’t have to bother buying a gift to not give her. He didn’t want to hate the guy as he walked around the halls with his fingers entwined in hers, long and slender. It wasn’t this guy’s fault. But he hated him anyway. He wanted to punch him in his smug little mouth.

High school was not much better, for him at least. Renee remained his friend throughout, though she dated other guys. He pined over her to his best friend regularly, complaining every time she started seeing a new guy.

“I know,” said his best friend Joey as they walked into theater class one day. “How can she do this to you, when she has no idea how you feel?”

“Shut up.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“That’s no better than giving her a note asking if she likes me, check yes or no.”

“Well, at least you’d know if you did that. You’ve been sulking over her since seventh grade.”

“What if she says no?”

“Like Mr. Beck always said, the sun will rise tomorrow. Life goes on. You find some other girl to whine to me about.”

But that was just it. Maybe life wouldn’t go on. As long as he never asked, she could never turn him down. And if she never turned him down, the chance was still there. His brain told him this made no sense at all, but his pathetic, romantic heart always won the argument.

The summer after his freshman year in college, he met a girl. She wasn’t Renee, but she was pretty and talented and, best of all, she was forward enough to ask him out. So they started dating. The Christmas of their senior year, he popped the question. It was kind of just a formality. They’d shopped for rings together. She didn’t trust him to pick out one she would like. She was probably right. The one she liked was nothing like he would have picked out for her. This made him wonder if he really knew her.

He was pretty sure he didn’t really love her, but they made sense. He liked her. They got along and liked a lot of the same things. Frankly, they’d been together in every sense of the word almost since their first date, so they were essentially married anyway. Why not make it legal? Especially since they’d had a few pregnancy scares.

So they married the summer after they graduated college and they moved to the next town, where she took a job in a bank and he went to graduate school. They stayed there after school when he was offered a lucrative job with a prominent advertising firm. She took a better position with another bank just a block away from his office. They commuted together every morning and every evening. It was comfortable. It was nice. It was boring, but where, outside of romance novels, is it said that marriage is supposed to be all fireworks? A firecracker or two would be nice, though.

They had their work, which paid well, so they had a nice big house in the suburbs with plenty of room for her to have a music studio. She’d dreamed of going to Nashville, but banking paid better. He also had an office, where, when he wasn’t working on an ad campaign, he wrote plays. No one ever saw them, but he must have written dozens.

And, after a few years, it just got easier to have separate rooms. He was a morning person and was always up hours before she was and it always irritated him when she came to bed and woke him up at night, so a room for each just made sense didn’t it? If they wanted to make love, one of them could go to the other’s room and then go back for sleeping. In theory, at least. It seemed neither was very interested anymore.

One day in his 42^nd year, he stopped at the mailbox before going into the house after work. Among the bills and junk mail was a letter from his hometown. The name on the return address sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He opened it to find an invitation to his 25^th class reunion. He hadn’t been to one since he graduated. His wife had gone to a different school and they didn’t live there anymore, so there seemed no need. He’d essentially left that life behind. Especially after his parents died, there just seemed no reason to go back home.

But something made him check the yes box on the response card. He wasn’t sure he would really go, but maybe he would. For reasons he couldn’t explain, even to himself, he kept the card a secret from his wife. The next morning he told her he was going to look for something in the car before they left for work. He wasn’t even sure she heard, but he took his keys out as if to get in the car in case she had. But instead, he walked to the end of the drive and put the card in the mailbox, lifting the flag so the mailman would know to pick it up.

Weeks passed. He couldn’t put the reunion out of his head. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because of Renee, but down deep he knew the truth. Finally, he decided that, if for no other reason than that he could quit worrying himself over it, he would go. But how to go without having to take his wife? He didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t love her, but she didn’t deserve dishonesty. He finally decided there was nothing for it but to tell her.

“I’m thinking of going to my 25^th high school reunion,” he said one day over breakfast.

“Do I have to go?” she asked over the Wall Street News.

“No, I don’t suppose.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Yes, it’s okay.”

So the problem was solved for him. Finally, the time for the reunion came. He was more excited than he thought was probably appropriate, so he did his best to keep it from her as he packed for the trip. He kissed her on the cheek and climbed in the car for the two-hour drive to his old hometown.

He’d made reservations in a nice historic hotel in downtown, one he’d never even been able to afford even to eat in while he lived there, let alone spend the weekend. It was as nice as he’d always imagined. He unpacked, showered, and got dressed for the first event of the reunion, a mixer and dance at a local country club. As he shaved and combed his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, he wondered if she would even be there. Was she married? Was she thinking about him? It dawned on him that this was a dramatic event only in his mind. She never loved him. She never even knew he loved her. To her, they were just pals. He almost talked himself out of going, but decided he’d come this far, so he just needed to see it through.

He was greeted by Deb, who had been the president of their class as well as the head cheerleader. He was amazed to find she’d barely aged. He wasn’t sure if it was amazing genes or remarkable plastic surgery. Probably both. He wandered toward the bar to get a drink, stopping to say hello to a couple of guys he’d known from choir.

He turned, drink in hand and looked at the crowd. Many faces looked vaguely familiar, like people he knew who’d been put in makeup to look older. He wondered at how quickly 25 years had passed. And at how little those 25 years had meant. As he said hello to former classmates, he wondered if everyone in this room had led such safe, empty lives. He’d lived a good life. He’d made lots of money. He didn’t love his wife, but they were friends. Well, sort of. He treated her well and she reciprocated. He gave to charity. He went to church.

Before he could ask himself the question he wanted to avoid, his mind was brought to a halt. There she was, seemingly having been frozen in time. Her eyes still sparkled. Her smile still took his breath away. Even her signature ponytail was still there. The only addition was the ruggedly handsome man at her side, his hand on the small of her back. He was taller than she and they were clearly a couple. She nuzzled back against his chest and they shared a smiling whisper followed by a gentle kiss. But then, to his great surprise, she locked eyes with him. She smiled even more broadly and waved. He shyly waved back. She leaned in and whispered something to her husband. He smiled and nodded. They made their way across the ever-more-crowded dance floor to the bar.

“Evan,” she said, hugging him warmly. “I’m so glad you came. I was excited when Deb told me your reply card came in.”

“Me too. Thanks. And who’s this handsome guy?”

“Evan, this is my husband Derek. Derek, one of my oldest and dearest friends, Evan Wilson.”

“Glad to finally meet you, Evan,” said her husband. “Renee talks about you all the time.”

“Wow, really? Even after all these years? What’s to talk about?”

“Oh, it’s always some funny comment you made in class or some goofy thing you did on senior day or how you were always such a good friend.”

Evan was genuinely gob smacked. He had no idea he’d had such an impact on anyone’s life, much less hers. He was, as he’d seemingly been when around her all through school, rendered speechless. Finally, he managed something feeble about being the class clown.

“Well, we’re going to have a dance,” said Renee. “Save one for me, Evan?”

“Sure.”

And with that, they were on the dance floor. It was a disco song that had been big when they graduated, but they deftly did some ballroom dance, the name of which escaped him. She was light on her feet and they moved effortlessly together. They were synchronized. They were happy. He was hollow.

Not really a drinker, he uncharacteristically ordered a second martini and found a table in a quiet corner, away from the crowd. The first had tasted like gasoline, but he was getting used to it. He found if he sipped and swallowed quickly, it wasn’t so bad. As he managed to put away the last few drops and put his glass on the table, he looked around. He wasn’t drunk, but the room was taking on a shimmer.

A slow song started. “Well,” said Renee, who had somehow magically appeared by his side. “How about that dance?” She held out her hand. He automatically took it, following her to the dance floor. She put her hands around his neck. As he placed his hands on her waist, he wondered how long a human being could survive without oxygen.

“So,” she said, “how’ve you been?”

“Okay. You look happy.”

“Yes. Derek’s great. My kids are great.”

She had kids. He’d always wanted kids, but he and his wife just never seemed to get around to it. “How old?”

“Derek Junior is twelve, Camille is nine.”

“Boy and a girl. Matched set.”

“They fight like cats and dogs, but they love each other.”

“That’s great.”

They danced a little in silence. He had nothing to tell her about his life. “Where’d you meet Derek?” he finally asked.

“Can I make a confession?”

“Okay?”

“I’ve just always felt like I need to tell you this for some reason. I’m not sure why.”

He wondered what she could possibly need to confess, but he nodded to let her know it was okay to go on.

“I had the biggest crush on you all through junior high and high school. I always hoped you’d ask me out. I had a feeling you liked me too, but I was too shy to say anything.”

His brain swirled; his stomach lurched. She—she, had liked him?! Between the alcohol and the sheer shock, he was pretty sure he was going to pass out.

“Evan? Evan? Are you okay?”

Her face grew fuzzy and disappeared, only to be replaced by that of Mr. Beck. What was Mr. Beck doing here? And where was here? It looked familiar, like a place he’d been a million times, but long, long ago.

“You really need to give her that present.”

He looked around. It was eighth grade. Fourth period had just ended. He could still hear the echo of her lilting laughter fading down the corridor.

“Renee!” he shouted, bolting out the door, gift in hand. She turned when she heard him call out, her face puzzled, but congenial. A smile danced across her lips as she saw the gift he held out in front of him.

 “Wait! I have something for you. And—and I need to ask you a question.”

The post Gifts Ungiven: A Story of Christmas appeared first on Clutch MOV.