Breaking Up With Winter

I told Winter: it is over. I’ve told him that I do not love him anymore. He went away for a few days, but now he’s back, stalking me. I’m looking into a restraining order. I want to be free from his cold, cold ways.

I loved him once. When we met, back in late November, our eyes met, and a chill went up my spine. He was dressed in a crisp, white suit. Silver hair. Ice-blue eyes. So dapper. So stunning.

By Christmas, he had seduced me with clear starry nights, ski trips, ice skating. A world covered in white. I felt so awake, so alive when I stepped out at night with him at my side.

But he became controlling and jealous. He wouldn’t allow me to wear high-heels. Every time we went out in public, he made me cover my arms, my legs, my hair. He even insisted I wear a thick wool scarf.

Then he began asking that we order in. Long periods would pass without me seeing my family and friends. At night, we’d sit in silence, watching television on mute, pinching strips of fatty beef with chopsticks.

I grew bored and restless.

By early February, I felt trapped and resentful.

I wanted to escape.

Then my old lover Spring flew into town, but just for the day.

I snuck out and met him for coffee. It was late February. Coffee turned into lunch, and then drinks, and soon I was taking a long walk with Spring, caught up in his warmth, his glow.

I couldn’t resist. I whipped off my hat, my jacket, my wool sweater. I forgot what it was like to feel sun on my skin.

I cheated on Winter. I admit it.

But I didn’t lie about it.

“I’m leaving you,” I told Winter that night.

“But I won’t go.” Winter said.

“You have no choice,” I told Winter.

“He’s just a flirt. He doesn’t love you. Not like I love you. I’m here to stay.”

“Go away,” I said.

“If that’s what you want,” Winter said and he stormed off, leaving me alone for three days.

But just last night, he came back. He pounded on my apartment door, and when I refused to let him in, he buried my car in three feet of snow.

“You’re a bully,” I yelled out the window at him.

“You’re a cheater,” he replied.

“Go away,” I screamed at him. “Go away.”

And now he is camping just outside my door. His white suit, dirty and grey.

His desperation to hold on is depressing and dreary.

I want him gone.

Please make him understand that I am done with him. That it is time for him to move on. That the love is gone.

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Karlyn Coleman

About the Author

Karlyn Coleman is a winner of the 2009-2010 Loft Mentor Series in fiction. Her work has been published in Paper Darts, McSweeney’s Internet Tendencies, Writer’s Block, and Canvas. Her story, “Ice Roads” was awarded first place in fiction and is forthcoming in Crab Orchard Review. She lives in South Minneapolis with her husband, two boys and a dog named Happy.
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