December 6th

It's snowing again. I don't know how the world can produce so much of the cold substance, I mean I do know I just rather it didn't. The neighborhood kids are playing outside while I occupy my time with the piano in the living room, I can see them from the cracks in our shades. I can also see the wary mothers glancing in the direction of my house every 5 minutes as if any second I could pop out and demoralize their children. This thought should be funny.

It's not.

My hands fluttered patiently over the worn keys as my mind wandered through my day. I had finished my homework for the week two days ago and the extra credit report needed another look before I turned it in tomorrow but it could wait. The piano was dangerous for me and I suppose that was the intention of my father when he bought it. I get lost in my own world when I play. Music paints the colors of a place I wish to live in. It is the most beautiful breaths and the hardest to let go of.

I whip my hands away from the piano quickly and eruptly turn to go. I do this everytime, I let my life melt down to a fairytale but this wasn't and would never be.

I'm not sure where I'm going but the rythmic clanking of chains on snow keeps my mind where it should be instead of the angry place that would gladly spend the rest of the drive scolding me.

My windshield is fogged slightly with the warmth of the heater and I remember when I was 10 and I was sneaking glances at my dad as I slowly inched my way forward to scratch a smiley face into the fog. He pulled the car over and yelled before being reduced to helpless tears mixed in with broken sobs about being a bad parent and needing my mom. I didn't understand much about emotions but I remember I never drew in the window again.

The Lima Bean's sign catches my eye and I realize where my body has taken me as I pull into the parking lot. I come here at least every two weeks to persuade my father into letting me take college courses on the side. He believes I come here to mingle but I only ever speak to the barista to give my order but even that had ceased as I become a frequent.

The usual old jazz track is playing softly in the background and a warm blanket of heat wraps around me in a familiar greeting. I keep my blue eyes down even though no one here really cares about my presence and I guess that is one of the reasons I keep returning.

It doesn't take long for my coffee order to be called out and the steaming mug to be snug in my grasp. I look around even though I know the table in the corner if free like it is every time I come. One of the seats has the word fag etched into it, the doings of one of the towns jocks in response to spotting me out in the social world. It is now claimed as my table, not that I mind, it makes it easier to come at different times and ensure I have a seat.

My eyes land on a familiar face and for a moment where I had seen it stumps me but then a pair of dark eyes look up as if feeling some one starring. It takes him a moment before the dark orbs are landed on me mid confusion. He's the boy from the cemetery, I conclude. Recognition flashes through the strangers face as we glance away and then back at each other. There is an unspoken sense of comradery hanging in the air and I almost want to take it but then the noise of the shop echoes back into my world and I realize that I don't get that kind of friendship. I move my eyes back to my predestined booth and settle calmly into routine. I liked routine, I comforted myself, it feels nice. From my bag I pull out a copy of The Great Gatsby and begin rereading the book I had practically memorized. A tragic love story about how someone could love for so long and so deep and yet parish alone because he would never be chosen.

A noise interrupts my aching heart and I realize that it wasn't coming from me. My blue eyes rise in confusion to meet brown eyes swirled with gold and green. A small smile graces the nervous looking face before he clears his throat again. I notice he is no longer wearing the ill fitting uniform from before but instead is clad in a peacoat with a gray bowtie peaking from underneath and denim cutoff pants.

"I'm Blaine." His voice is deep and soft and reminds me of all the happy things in my life. The thin line he had formed of his lips turns up into a smile as he plays with the strap of his side bag.

"I'm Kurt." My voice comes out high and slightly scratchy due to the cold weather. Blaine's eyes widen before his lips rise higher in amusement.

"Can I sit with you?" I almost want to say yes but my eyes drift to the parallel booth and I see the rip of the red plush seating. My eyes land on Blaine's face as his eyes are leaving the etched word.

"No." I say firmly although it nearly pains me too. He looks almost surprised before nodding and walking off. I'm there for 15 more minutes, 14 of them spent in a mental scolding, before I angrily storm out of the coffee shop unnoticed.

As I get closer to my car I see a white piece of paper flapping angrily in the wind. My first thought is its a parking ticket but after a closer look I see that it is in fact a note. My mind goes to the worst case before I toss the paper in my bag and try to forget about it as it burns through my conscious on the way home.

It isn't until midnight that I creep defeated to my desk and fish out the yellowed piece of paper.

I could use a friend and I think you could too.

A number is sprawled at the bottom with the quick cursive of the name Blaine.

A smile plays at my lips as I go to bed with the paper folded delicately in my hand. I am positive I will never call but having the option was better than what I had that morning.