“Why do you think I like rain more than snow?” Quincy asks, sitting on the windowsill with his head pressed against the glass. The rain isn’t light, but it isn’t a downpour either. It’s rhythmically tapping the glass like a friend waving hello from the outside, leaving the air damp and foggy. From the attic we can only see the grey of the clouds and the white of the mist, only a few dead branches brave enough to stick out from the forest.
“I don’t know, your favourite colour is blue?” I answer, fiddling with the lantern I was just given.
He chuckles and shakes his head, rubbing his dark brown hair against the window. The faint amount of light from the outside makes his green eyes look grey.
“Snow is depressing,” he mutters, “rain can be sad sometimes, but in a comforting way. It‘s like the world is crying with you, and the water covering you is a sign of sympathy.”
He then looks to me to see if I agree, but I can barely understand what he’s saying. I look into his stoic but solemn visage and get the feeling that he’s on a separate world from mine. I wonder what it’s like up there.
“I don’t know.” I answer with a shrug as I try to light the lantern. “I think snow is fine. You can make snowmen, go sledding, have snowball fights, make snow angels…” I was going to add “have hot chocolate together by the fireplace”, but I remember last time we did that and look away. I’m not sure what he thought about me nuzzling up against his chest, or even if he noticed. He’s oblivious to stuff like that and it drives me crazy.
“Snow is sluggish.” He looks back outside and continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “It makes every form of travel slower, it stops people from going outside and it covers everything people liked using before. Balconies, pools, bikes, ice cream shops, playgrounds, amusement parks, even the trees we like to climb. I’ve never seen a sadder sight than an abandoned park in winter’s night.”
He pauses for a moment, thinking while absentmindedly toying with the torn parts of his jeans.
“Falling snow is annoying. Falling rain is direct.” He mumbles to himself, then looks back down at me. I’m still trying to turn on the lantern, to no avail.
“You need some help with that?”
I panic and shake my head, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
“No, I got it. I just gotta…”
It seems I wasn’t very convincing, because he drops from the windowsill and comes closer while dusting himself off.
“You have to turn this thing on the right a few times.”
He says as he does it, focusing on the lantern and not noticing that I’m looking at him instead. I’ll never know what I have to turn and I’ll have to ask him later again, and he’ll call me a dummy before helping me again.
The flame erupts and quickly illuminates the part of the attic we’re in, lighting up our faces in a cozy glow. Like that night at the fireplace, I’m feeling much warmer now.
Originally Published on bandersnatch.ca