A cold draft settling over me caused me to wake up from my slumber. Shutting all the windows and drawing the curtains didn't even make much of a difference. My room was still too chilly.

I reverted to wrapping myself in piles of blankets the same way you'd wrap kenkey with corn husks--or maybe a burrito. I never really thought I'd ever miss eating kenkey, because I hated that food more than any other creation from corn dough. I always found it hard to swallow even when rolled into tiny balls. Yet look at me, I'd give anything to have that and fried fish. And now I had just made myself hungry.

I crawled out of bed with the blankets still sheathing me, sock-clad feet warmed by the heavy woollen carpet. There was nothing appealing in the mini-fridge--just unopened cheese sticks, a carton of orange juice, some eggs, leftovers from two nights ago I was yet to throw out. And Eleanor's s'mores. I was probably going to get a stomach ache from eating chocolate, marshmallows and crackers at... 2:51am but who was keeping record?

I had no stomachache--although I had a bowel movement, which was probably a result of that--and I was able to remain asleep until sun rays filtered through my windows mid-morning.

Powdery snow dusted the ground and rooftops and treetops; the first thing I saw when I was getting rid of the leftovers. By midday, it was turning to slush. And so was the pain in my wrist. I could flex it now, so I took off the splint and bandaged it again.

I wanted to go see Eleanor, but I didn't want to go to her place without having a valid reason to do so. I know, friends didn't exactly need to have an agenda to go meet their friends. But I was hopeless at randomly showing up unannounced and without a cause, so I hardly visited people unless I gave a three-day notice prior.

How I was feeling proved contrary, and I guess Eleanor had been right about me wanting company.

It was during my routine clean up I found it; the glass cup. Obviously it wasn't disposable, so Eleanor would have probably liked to have it back. Yes, that was it. A reason; I had one now.

And I headed for her bungalow as soon as my room didn't resemble an earthquake struck area.

"Eh, I brought this." Pulling off the napkin I had wrapped the item in, I revealed the glass to one of the twins who had come to the door as soon as I had knocked.

"Thank you." Killian gingerly took the glass cup from me before letting his eyes examine it. "Eleanor give this to you?"

"Y-yeah?" I didn't like the question so much. Was she going to get in trouble because of me? I didn't want to be the reason Eleanor did.

"Never even lets any of us near this thing. It's insanely expensive and she thinks we're going to break it." He mumbled, then rolled his eyes so hard I could only see white for three solid seconds. "Like we're some fucking kids." Killian attempted to comb his hand through his hair, forgetting for a moment that he had the glass in his cupped hands. It almost fell, but his reflexes kicked in before it could shatter into a thousand pieces.

This confirmed Eleanor's concern about her family and the glass was not unfounded.

Killian winced as he wiped his brow repeatedly, setting the endangered object on a table inside. "She must really like you if she trusted you with this without issuing any threats." He paused. "Did she?"

I shook my head no.

I wanted to allow the joy that squeezed at the insides of my chest to turn into the smile that threatened to lift the corners of my lips. Instead, I stared at him with my lips in a thin line while I nibbled on the insides of my cheek.

He looked at me for a while without a word. "Do you--" Killian stopped himself, letting out a sigh. "You can find her at the pond."

He smiled. I smiled.

Killian was right. Eleanor was sitting a couple of feet away from the pond; a small notebook in her hand. Today she was in a red jacket with a plaid design, a knit hat with white snowflakes sprinkled on it in a sporadic manner, and her chunky black boots.

"Hey," I said when I was close enough for her to hear me.

She didn't even turn around or look up as she replied with, "Hi, Alicia."

"What are you doing?" I asked as I lowered myself onto the ground. The melted snow seeped through my jeans and I felt moisture gather under my butt. I shifted onto a patch of grass with no visible snow. It was wet, but it was a better option than sitting in the snow.

Eleanor sighed heavily, throwing her head back so the ends of her hair swept the ground. Our eyes met and she blinked, before she gave me an upside down smile and an upended wink. "Waiting for inspiration."

I sat too and waited, mittened hands holding me up as I leaned back, legs stretched out before me. I waited with her, not knowing what exactly I was waiting for, not knowing whether I'd spot it when it finally came. But I waited, because Eleanor was waiting. I waited because she'd spot it, and she'd know.

The stillness of the pond matched the nature of my thoughts. I was thinking, except I wasn't sure what the words in my head meant and how I could understand them. They were all topsy-turvy; Eleanor's smile. But the wind moved and the leaves glided on the icy pond's surface and I also moved, giving my nose a little scratch before I returned to my state of rest. Waiting.

Eleanor found it and so I did too. She found her voice and asked, "How is Christmas like where you're from?"

I found my voice and answered, "Loud. Colourful and... tasty?" The space between my eyebrows knit together as I took a moment to think. "Basically, everything and everyone in Ghana is loud and colourful and tasty, I think. They're all different but that's what is common."

"That sounds nice," Eleanor hummed. "I like loud and colourful and tasty."

My outburst of laughter was loud. Colourful maybe? But tasty, definitely not.

"So what do you do during the holidays?"

"Well, we eat... and greet everyone we come across with 'Afehyia pa' from, like, the beginning of December until somewhere in April," I provided.

"Ah-fee-shi-ah pa," Eleanor said with her face set in a thoughtful expression. She scribbled in her notebook, gripping onto her pencil firmly, yet moving it across the page in a lazy, loopy handwriting. From where I sat, I had no chance of making out the words so I gave up on squinting and stretching my neck. "What does that mean?"

"It typically means 'good year.' But it's meant as 'may this year go and meet us again' considering it's response. I don't know if that makes sense."

"Things don't have to make sense to be understood."

I agreed.

Eleanor tried to look at me with her head thrown back once more, she failed, she fell. The moment her back hit the ground, she spread out her limbs and began to sweep them back and forth. The snow was far too disturbed, far too small to even consider making angels but none of those factors stopped her.

She was breathing hard after a few minutes, making small smoke clouds with her mouth while her hand still clutched her notebook.

"You've been doing this for a while now and that thing doesn't look shit like a snow angel." I rubbed at my eyes, holding back a yawn.

"It's not an angel. It's my spirit animal."

"So your spirit animal is a misshaped... blob?"

"A cute misshaped blob," she retorted. "It reflects my personality."

I stared at her, wondering how she could think she was distorted in any way. Sure, she was clumsier than was appropriate, but that was what made her great. We all needed someone who would lead us to almost break our bones at some point in our lives, right?

As I rose to my feet, I dusted my clothes off and stretched out my hand so Eleanor could hold onto it and stand. The weather was taking a turn again. The wind whipped harsher and nipped colder, probably the reason for my sneezing. "Let's go."

Her hand reached up and she motioned for me to bend closer. I did. It was a sweet but wrong choice.

She tugged at my hand and I fell face first in cold, wet, slushy, freezing snow. I sneezed. Eleanor laughed. Then she rolled me over like the burrito I felt like at that moment. And had the audacity to laugh again.

But I was up a moment later, and together, we trudged onwards to her house.

Jacob was the first person my eyes fell on as soon as I stepped over the threshold. He was on a step ladder, hanging up decorations in the doorways. I dropped into the chair I had sat on the last time I was here, immediately tensing up when someone shouted.

It was Killian, clutching his shoulder as he slowly slid to the ground. Jacob looked triumphant even though he shrugged helplessly when he was definitely not the helpless one in the situation.

"What-"

"Just something they came up with. Apparently, throwing hands is better than kissing. They call it Mistlefoe." Hands spread and fingers splayed apart, Eleanor made a 'jazz hands' gesture while she rolled her eyes.

Punishment for daring to stand next to someone under a plant? Interesting.

So interesting, I taught up the worst word play phrase. I snorted, then sputtered out coughs then went back to snorting until I had to clamp my hand over my mouth.

One look at me and Eleanor knew what was up. "Spit it out."

I shook my head far too quickly, far too hard. "It's stupid." And then I snickered.

This had Eleanor suspecting that I had some juicy, intellectual thing to say, even though I had told her whatever I had in mind wasn't worth it. She forced me to say it without even touching me. Just the look in her eyes and poised fingers ready to tickle me had me talking. I hated tickling. It either led to cute giggles or a punch-induced nosebleed. There was no inbetween.

"They'll deck your halls."

Now she was laughing too; bold and loud and... colourful. Tasty. Even went on to add "With blows of fury," in a sing-song voice.

And Killian sang, "Fa la la la la, la la la la," even though he was still on the floor and looked close to tears.

Then everyone else joined in, tweaking lyrics and conjuring even more snorts and giggles and 'I can't breathe' laughter. That was the best kind.

Eleanor's parents heard the commotion and popped into the living room, seeking to be let in on the joke. The twins revealed the whole thing, me. And even though I'd known Mr. Davis and I'd interacted with him longer than I had with any of his children, I suddenly wish I had gone up to my room instead.

He recognized me and told everyone I was a really good student although he wished I talked more in class. I told him I would try. He smiled an Eleanor smile; the one that reached his twinkly eyes.

Then he asked if I would be in the dorms throughout Christmas. Eleanor had told him about me and how I was staying behind so he had fair knowledge. What he didn't know was why, just like Eleanor didn't.

But not even that stopped my friend from loudly and colourfully suggesting I that I spent Christmas with them while she made a sad face and urged her brothers to urge their dad to agree.

He did.

Mrs. Davis was smiling. Eleanor was beaming. The boys were grinning.

I was slush. And I was slushing.

~~

Make me turn to slush by leaving a vote and a comment!☆♡