Footprints

My boots crushed the thin layer of ice atop the previous day's snowfall as I approached her front door. It had been three weeks since I had ended our relationship and I was here to see how she felt, what she'd been doing, and to beg for her forgiveness. The crunchy snow had ceased at the beginning of her patio. Someone had shoveled it the day before, and at the edges what was once fluffy snow was now miniature frozen mountains, encased in the overnight rain. The same rain that fell on me now and threatened to freeze the flowers in my hand.

I ran a huge risk coming without telling her I would be here. I could easily be setting myself up for a major letdown. Before I knocked I caught a glimpse of her on the living room couch. Her hair, dark wet and tangled, her face red, and her body encased in the down-blanket my mother bought her for Christmas. Her head was tilted back onto the wall behind the couch, her mouth wide open, and eyes closed, she was asleep. It was a joy to watch her sleep for a few moments. I remembered one of her quirks was that she was always grumpy when waking up. I found that to be a challenge in asking her for her forgiveness, but I also found it incredibly cute and so I smiled. Two things were strange about seeing her that morning; she never slept sitting up, and there were a pair of men's boots next to the couch. I saw a shadow approaching from the kitchen and as I jumped out of view I could smell the sausage and eggs. My flowers and my heart fell to the ground.

As I faced out towards her front lawn I had noticed something I should have noticed before. Footprints. Everywhere. The lawn was almost full of them. They seemed to generate towards a four foot tall snowman who had his back to me. The footsteps surrounding him were not carefully made. Evidence of slipping, falling, and laying down were obvious. I wondered that if I had thought hard about what mistake I was making three weeks ago, those footsteps could be mine. I wondered for a moment, if she thought of me while making those footsteps.

I followed my own footsteps back to my car. I turned to see the snowman with an expression of regret, and loneliness, but only seeing a wide, welcoming smile. I started my car and it now seemed colder than it was when I got out. And then I went to a diner to enjoy some sausage and eggs, alone.