Winter Warmth

Fitting everything needed for the week into those brown paper grocery bags was an art form. You had to neatly organize all the food into stacks or else it would bulge out of the sides like an overweight church lady still in the tight clothes she got in her twenties. Then you had to buy things with the weight of them in mind. There was one time, before she knew better, when Sophia had foolishly brought home an eight-pack of sodas. It was when her high school savings started to run dry, and she had to cut back on her subway usage. She struggled the whole way home, and her bag ripped halfway there, spilling cheap ramen packets and wonder bread and pre-chopped vegetables all over the pavement.

Now Sophia skipped out on the heavier things, but the walk home with an armful of groceries in the cold, damp air was still a struggle. It was winter now, but it was so different from the dazzling diamond-powder winters of the country. With no trees to cling to, the snow fell on those ugly, twisting metal beasts that stretched into the sky like a gaping wound and on the salt-covered streets. It melted into slush that mixed with the grime that is unique to urban alleyways and settled into cold puddles that covered pedestrians in watery mud when a car sloshed into them. Night was sort of pretty, in an odd way, when the ice drifted down and was brightened by the dying amber glow of the streetlights, but it paved way for more cold puddles so it pretty much voided any nice thoughts towards it.

City winters were but a pathetic shadow of the mastery of cold that country winters were. From November to March, the snow was actually a welcome occurrence. Salt was absent from the winding roads that were bordered by forests and grain fields, and so the white powder was allowed to pile high over everything. City puddles stayed melted and murky, but the pond in the back of Sophia’s childhood school froze solid and sparkled, and held the sounds of dozens of kids as they skated about with the wind dancing in their flowing scarves and powdered sugar dusting their hats.

Every season was better in the country. Spring wasn’t so riddled by lingering cold, the kind that wriggles its way into the many coats layered on and slithers through the streets like a venomous snake. Spring was supposed to mean rebirth. Summer was supposed to be pleasantly warm, and smell of ripening fruit, not sweat that pools in the folds of skimpy clothes of everyone with no AC and sours so that the vinegary smell stacks up and covers everything. You know, the stench of heat and filth and lethargy. Summer wasn’t meant to host blisteringly hot asphalt that burns your feet through your soles, and heat migraines, and a mechanical lullaby of rotary fan hums that seldom put anyone to sleep. Fall should have been vivid leaves swirling down like confetti, not holiday stress and the return of the cold and icy downpours that felt like heaven throwing up on everyone.

It was hard to get over the shock when she first moved here. Of course, when you dream of something your whole life, your hope disillusions you and you don the rose-colored glasses and you expect the streets to be paved with gold. But instead, most of them were paved with hordes of homeless people laying on cardboard and old quilts who couldn’t find a bench without spikes on it. Sophia was crestfallen, at first, when the subway lost its novelty and reeked less of fulfilled dreams and more like dreariness and sweat, but she moved on eventually. It’s how life works. Plus, it’s not like she could move back, ever. No, that bridge had closed a long time ago.

Sohpia grew up in one of those towns where everyone knew everyone from church, and where anyone who was sick (even with a cold) would get their heads prayed over by the priests and parishioners in a trembling, “spirit-filled” huddle. She had been involved in many; at first, being the one who hovered her hands in the mass of limbs swaying above someone who was ill, then at the center of the mob when she told them that she was a she.

She’d known it for a while, that Sophia was her name and she was a girl, but she also knew no one else could know until she got an apartment far away from her backwater bible belt hometown. She lived in fear for years, terrified that someone would somehow find out and tell her parents and she would have to leave everything she knew behind before she was ready. It’s hard work, hiding who you are from everyone. It eats away at you like battery acid, and makes you feel guilty even though you know it’s not your fault. So even if New York was disgusting compared to her childhood town, she would choose it again in a heartbeat.

No one found out until Sophia told them. She had tried very hard to keep it under a tight lid. There was a huge ruckus, when it got out. All 50 mothers of the kids she went to school with were overdramatic about her “turning” her kids, and her own mother made her go to church and talk with the pastor to “change her little boy’s mind.” But there was enough in Sophia’s savings and an apartment and job lined up, and she left before any more damage could be done. To her mental health, she meant--she could care less about the strings of bigotry and aggressive christianity that held her town together.

It hurt like hell though. She had seen it coming, but no amount of going over it in your head made it hurt any less when everyone you love says they love you but hate the sin, but the ‘sin’ is who you are.

Sophia reached her apartment. She trudged up the steps and hurried to her door. Then bang! Someone ran right into her, knocking the groceries out of her hand and sending her onto the floor. Groceries lay everywhere, and the eggs were cracked on the carpet in a slimy runny mess. A hand reached out to help her up, and she was greeted by a man who was getting up in the years. He had a kind smile and his eyes were apologetic. Sophia rubbed her back a bit, then accepted the hand that was offered. “Sorry about that dear,” he said apologetically, and then bent down to pick up some of the food. He gathered as many groceries as he could fit into his arms and was about to ask her where her apartment was when a door opened behind him. Another man who appeared to be in his sixties walked up beside Sophia and looked back at the first man in confusion.

“Ah, I bumped this little lady over, it seems. Can you help me gather her stuff, Mark, honey?" he said. The other man let out a sigh.

“You’re in your sixties, Rob! How are you still so clumsy?”

Rob just chuckled, and looked down at Sophia. “How much do I owe you for the eggs? Or wait, I think I have some in my fridge. Let me check, give me a minute.” He started into his apartment with his arms still full of groceries. Mark trailed behind him, and gestured for Sophia to follow.

Inside the apartment was the fullest table Sophia had ever seen. It was stuffed high with appetizers, plates of cookies, and piles of mashed potatoes. A turkey lay in the middle of it all, and everything gave off the most heavenly scent. A group of people was crowded around the table, shuffling around and laughing and poking at the food. Mark rushed over and swatted at their hands. “Wait ‘till everyone’s here!” he hissed. In the background, a small tree was nestled in a corner, and underneath was a tremendous mountain of wrapped presents.

Rob laid his hand on Sophia’s shoulder, taking her attention away from the table and onto his face. “Hey, whadda you say, instead of me giving you eggs, do you want to have a nice Christmas dinner with us?”

It had been so long, too long, since Sophia had eaten a Christmas dinner. The last one she remembered was before she had told everyone her secret. Her family sat all around the big table in the dining room, and the table, in the typical southern manner, was heaped high with all the trimmings. Laughter was warm and abundant, and Sophia truly felt loved. It had also been a long time since she felt that feeling. Soon warm tears were streaming down her face, and fell into her widely smiling mouth. She reached up her hand to wipe her nose and turned to look at Rob in disbelief. “A-are you sure?”

At first it was awkward, sitting there with all the people she didn’t know. But they were kind to her, respected her. Although she didn’t contribute any good food or bring any gifts, no one seemed bitter. They all laughed, and talked, and cried. All of a sudden Sophia was back at her childhood home, surrounded by family - except this one loved her for who she was. She felt warm, she felt happy. She felt loved.