Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Dick Wolf. Not me. Maybe I should write to him and ask him to transfer the copyright . . . not likely.
This is an idea I had and I'm running with it. There are going to be four parts of all the different seasons that Alex and Olivia shared. Here's the first one, Winters With You. I hope you like it!
Winters With You
During winters with you, we got a taste of the childhoods neither of us really had. We went sledding and skiing and made snow angels at Central Park. I taught you how to build a snowman, and I couldn't believe you'd never done it before. You taught me to skate, and you couldn't believe I'd never done it before. We held hands as we plodded through knee-deep snow because I had the brilliant idea to walk to work in zero degree weather.
We curled up on the couch as the fire danced in its grate, covered in heavy blankets and holding each other as we sipped hot chocolate. You added more cold milk to your cocoa after I'd warmed it up for you, and when I asked if you'd like me to put it in the microwave again, you shook you head and said, "I don't like it so hot." And then we both laughed.
Bundled up in sweaters and hats and mittens and scarves, we took long walks around the city, marveling at the beauty of the white snow in such an otherwise dark city. Not dark in a metaphorical sense; New York is probably the most lively city there is. But nothing stays white here, even the snow. After a day the diesel exhaust or the cigarette smoke catches up to it and turns it black as coal. But if you catch it early enough, the white snow is almost ethereal, delicate and intoxicating all at once.
We sat inside watching a hundred romantic comedies and laughing in all the wrong places. You taught me to play chess and was surprised when I wasn't good at it, which of course made me even more determined to beat you, and soon our skills were even.
There was a power outage on Christmas, so the lights on the beautiful tree I'd convinced you to buy were wasted anyway, and you laughed at me. "Who the hell carries a Christmas tree up six flights of stairs in New York City?" you asked. "We do," I told you.
We lit candles and I turned on a mix from my iPod. It was a slow song, romantic, perfect for the two of us. I took your hands and pulled you into a dance. You objected at first, but then gave it up. We danced around the room in the candlelight that illuminated your delicate features, and I thought it must have been the most beautiful sight in the entire world.
We sat by the window, listening to the rhythmic patter of snow hitting the windowsill. When it rains, it's almost as if the sky is crying, but when it snows, the sky is laughing. Laughing so hard it cries. And when I mentioned this to you, you laughed so hard that you cried, too.
We took a trip down to Blue Mountain in Collingwood, past the Canadian border. Apparently, it was one of the best nearby ski resorts, and we both needed to get away. It was so calm there. It was hard for both of us to get to sleep without the constant whirring of engines and shouts of teenagers outside, but we woke up to find sun drifting through the windows and a blanket of white covering the ground. It was the most gorgeous sight I'd ever seen.
You were terrified of the chairlifts that went all the way up the mountain, but I laughed and said, "I'm not afraid," even though I'd never skied a double diamond before. You were the smart one and said, "I'll wait for you at the bottom."
I was trying to be brave – no, actually, I was trying to impress you. I got all the way up that enormous hill, looked down, and felt nauseous. It was so huge that I couldn't even see the bottom. But you were down there, waiting for me, and I knew I had to get to you. So I closed my eyes and started down the hill.
And any idiot knows better than to close her eyes on a ski hill. I zigged and then I zagged and then I fell flat on my ass. And the pull of gravity was so strong that it managed to drag me all the way down the hill, minus one ski pole. First of all, I was terrified, and secondly, I felt like a fool. You doubled over laughing when you saw me flying down that hill on my ass. I was not happy.
And at night, when we'd finished skiing and my butt was hurting like hell from the battering it had taken on that hill, we lay together in bed, holding each other tightly. We didn't speak, but we didn't have to. Our love was there, just as clear and beautiful as the white snow that blanketed the ground.
Did you enjoy it? Review for the next installment!