Note: Also published in McGill's Russian Journal, Samizdat
At a quarter to eight, Kennedy rolled across her bed and lifted her eyes to the sun stretching across her covers. After a series of attempts to sit up, all resulting in flops or groans, she finally shoved her feet out of the covers. Her second class left her hazy, the lecturer’s voice droning out as hunger finally breached her focus. Back in her apartment, two apples remained on her fridge shelf. As she pulled one out, the other rolled onto the floor, knocking her counter stool as it went. After washing them both, and placing one back in the fridge, she sliced an uneven piece of bread and spread it with peanut butter. She shuffled through a music playlist, skipping song after song. Peanut butter clung to her throat as she swallowed a bite of bread, but the apples helped wash it down. Each bite filled her just enough to be neither completely full nor completely hungry. As she carried on with her work the peanut butter remained churning in her stomach; she felt it shifting and sifting through her. It clung to everything she had hidden away— all she had to do, all the hours she had to remain awake, the ache of waking in the morning, those people and that bruise she kept hitting on her chair. By the time she was leaving the grocery store the moon had already begun its upward climb. Midwinter blue spread across the sky, quiet in anticipation of snow. Approaching a stoplight, she paused for a moment with her face to the wind. She stood, waiting for the cold to break through her bundled layers; scarf upon sweater upon shirt upon undershirt— it was too much. Boots stomping against the gravel echoed around her. Car after car hastened through the light, mindlessly spraying snow that had melted to slush. Finally the light switched, she stretched her legs into a lunge around a mound of snow. As she hopped forward a headphone fell out. Without adjusting it, she hurried forward to pass a clump of school kids. At the next light she turned right, opting for a longer, less populated route. Here, she could listen for the crunch of her heels into the compacted snow. On this route, she walked through neighborhoods with gardens frosted from the last snow. Fences displayed bikes encased by ice for the winter. Barren trees called her attention upward, away from her heavy feet and aching stomach. Her hands, though stiff from the temperature, were not yet unbearable in the cold. Kennedy turned her head into the wind and stayed; she let her body be encircled, let her mind be chilled by the night. In that moment, she could walk to the nearest main bus station, pull out the two twenties she kept in her wallet, and take one of three buses. In less than an hour she could be headed in any opposite direction from Montreal: Toronto, New York, or anywhere north. She touched her fingers to her cheeks, finally feeling the sharpness of the cold. Checking her phone for the time, she saw a message. She sent her eyes to the sky one last time and breathed in, her chest expanding against her jacket, then turned toward home on shaking legs. By the time she arrived, the scents coming from her door promised a fulfilling meal. A few friends already sat around their couch with plates; Kennedy walked to the kitchen and took in the scene. Her vision blurred as she scanned the counter deliberating on what to take. A hand pulled her toward a warm hug. “You made it! Take as much as you’d like. There’s biscuits about to come out too.” “I can’t believe you made all this. The smell is about to make me faint, it’s so good.” “Take a plate, I’m going to get some too.” She paused over the counter, reaching first for the salad, then wavering to the pasta and back. It seemed there was so much to take in; salad, meat, pasta, biscuits. Laughter thundered from the other room, she stood frozen again for a moment. Their voices echoed in the kitchen, pounding the room with bursts of laughter, each one loud but inviting. She scooped a decent serving of each item, then sat alongside friends. Their voices sprang all around her; Kennedy found herself surrendering to the sounds of life. Most days were a disorienting spin of thinking, sensing, wondering; but tonight there was something else. Kennedy just let herself be. She let herself laugh, and when she remembered about the next day and those that would follow, she would close her eyes a moment and wait for the laughter to come again.
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