cold weather diary, 2.

i needed to cool off so i went to stand in the doorway. i opened the door a little. the snow was falling gently. the sun was setting. i could see the shadows of the skyscrapers, dark against a setting sun. the sky was purple and pink and orange. looking up, i saw hundreds of black birds scattered across the sky. i tried to take some pictures but the pictures weren't working. a little quiet voice, "just enjoy this. stop trying to keep it."

from the school's courtyard, i could see the houses of the hill. falling apart, brick, empty, tired, hopeless, sad. the houses are characters to me, in the narrative of this neighborhood and these people. trying to imagine these kids living here was difficult. i knew their parents and loved all of them and was loved by most of them, but i didn't know their houses. what were their bedrooms like? did they sleep on the floor? i used to ask them. i knew they were lying to me most of the time.

i remember this being a happy time in my life. i usually settle into winter better than the other seasons. i like the cold. i don't particularly like the sun. i had a job that i loved. i was taking classes at duquesne and would go to to them after work at the hill house. i thought my classes were fine - and i enjoyed the company of the people. it felt good to be around normal people. i would leave class around 9 and go to the studio with laurie, we'd make stuff, we'd eat guacamole, we'd drink and dance and talk about boys. i'd just started dating a boy.

i was lost in my thoughts then, as i am now. and i don't think i noticed him for a few minutes. he was quiet, silent, still. something kids rarely are. i looked down at him. standing there, next to me, his head at my hip. david was a kindergartner who i had trouble connecting with. a strange kid. a good artist, though. i remember very little about him except for this. except for this moment together. we didn't talk. we just stood there and watched the snow and the birds and the sun set.