At seven-years-old you don't really understand what holding hands could mean. It's something that your mom does when she takes you across the street, or something that you do with a friend when you want them to go somewhere with you. It doesn't mean that you like the way their hand feels in yours. It's not the kind where you lace your fingers together and hold on tight, never letting go. It doesn't show the world that you belong together. Yet somehow, even at seven-years-old, a part of me knew that holding Elsa's hand was something much bigger.
We were laying in the alfalfa behind my house. It had taken us fifteen minutes to walk to the second field, and we felt like we were miles from home, on some great adventure to another world. The alfalfa rose above us, creating walls around us, between us, and all I knew of the older girl was her hand firmly linked with mine. The ground was damp, and I could feel it soaking through my overalls, almost cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite. It was breezy, it was always breezing, and the small alfalfa leaves tickled my cheek and bare arms. The day was perfect. Everything was perfect. I decided then and there that I could lay like that forever with Elsa by my side.
The blonde beside me stirred, and I could see the stalks around her rustle with the movement. She shifted herself onto her side, never once letting go of my hand as she pushed the walls between us down. Her face was lit with a smile, and her eyes were the mischievous blue I'd grown to love. Even at seven, I knew Elsa was beautiful. I felt plain beside her in my muddy overalls, freckles stark and prominent in the summer sun. She told me I was beautiful, though. She always assured me, bumping me on the shoulder, smiling at me and voicing a quiet "Smile, beautiful."
I never understood back then why she only reserved those words for me. It wasn't something that would make sense to me for years and years to come. To me, she was just the best friend that I could ever ask for. I saw her almost as my sister, the one person in my life who I could turn to no matter what, no matter when. She was everything, but at the same time, I fit her into a small mold. Best friend, that's what she was. Anything that she did or said that didn't quite fit into that category was somehow reasoned into it. Best friends held hands. Best friends called each other beautiful.
Life would've been so much easier if I could've figured out what she put behind those words long before I did. But then, I was seven, and Arendelle was the kind of small town that had a "WeedItOut" sign on their city hall lawn. It wasn't a town that taught you much beyond standard education and that sex-ed class in seventh grade where they show you disgusting pictures and hope it's enough to deter you at least until college. I knew that my big brother Kristoff was a lineman on the football team, and he had been bringing Belle The Cheerleader home for dinner for almost a year now. That's how our town worked. That's how life worked. Or how life was supposed to work. You didn't do drugs, you didn't sleep around, and you dated people of the opposite sex within your social group.
I was four when I met Elsa. She was the mayor's daughter, a few years older than I, and nobody really said much of her. The first time I saw her, she was dressed in a pristine whit sundress, platinum hair pulled up in a neat bun, and she looked bored to tears. My father had come to talk about water and his fields, and I was left to wander the halls of city hall alone. I remember sitting next to her, dusty jeans brushing against her pretty dress, without saying a single word. Like any sane person, she gave me the most evil look a seven-year-old can muster, stood up, and walked away. Our first meeting, for the most part, was just Elsa running, and me chasing. Before either of us could really realize what was happening, it was a game. When my dad finally found me, we were sitting side by side in the mayor's office, laughing about everything, about nothing, and linking pinkies in a promise to always be friends, forever and ever, amen.
Convincing the mayor to allow that to happen had been a little harder. But, as it turns out, business relationships with the valley's biggest farm owner were more important than keeping his perfect little girl away from the dirtball that was me. We were inseparable, despite the mayor's best efforts. The mayor's entire family would come over for barbecues, discussing water rights and property taxes while Elsa and I would disappear into the alfalfa fields. For me, it was just another day on the farm, for Elsa...she always told me it felt a lot like escaping. We were always hand in hand.
I think that bothered her father, but my dad would always look at us with a smile. My family loved the both of us. Mom absolutely adored Elsa, but the blonde always listened to her talk about cooking, unlike me, who was always running out to play with the horses. She was adorable in one of Mom's oversized aprons, stirring whatever buttery mixture was fixing to boil on the stove. She always looked something like a deer caught in the headlights, glancing at my mom every two seconds to make sure she hadn't abandoned her. The only time I ever spent in the kitchen was when Elsa was there. Dad would just sit in his recliner, pipe in mouth, laughing at our antics.
Elsa's cold hand pressed to my cheek brought me back to the present, and I turned my head to look over at my friend. Her hair was wild, it's usual bun loose, stray hairs flying in every which direction. "Earth to Anna." She spoke, voice whisping around me on the slight breeze. "It's like you just disappeared on me. You weren't thinking about cake were you? Because your mom said you don't get any, and it's not good to dwell."
"I wasn't thinking about cake." A mischievous grin spread across my face as I thought about why it was I couldn't have it in the first place. Imagine chocolate everywhere. And chickens, lots of chickens. "I was thinking about you."
"Me?" Elsa's blue eyes widened, and her brow furrowed. "What about me?" "Just...how we met is all. 'Member how I chased you? That was fun, it was like hiden seek." I laughed at the memory. As good as the memory was, it was much better now that I had gotten her to stop running.
"I remember." Elsa laughed, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't leave me alone. All I wanted was to enjoy my boredom in peace, and you just wouldn't let me." She tapped her finger against the tip of my nose, and I reached up to catch her hand in both of mine.
"Your hands are always so cold, Elsa." I played with her fingers lightly, squishing the tips of them between my own. "Like winter." There was a moment of silence as Elsa watched me play, eyes looking lost.
"They are." She finally spoke, voice distant. She turned her gaze back to me, and I met her gaze full on. "It's a good thing I have your hands to warm them up, though, right?" She gripped my hand again, lacing our fingers in the way that I really didn't understand then. In that way that meant more, but I wasn't quite sure how. "Your hands are always warm. Like summer. They're like my summer."
She smiled up at me, and I wish I could understand what that smile meant. But I know it's a memory that I would never forget. The alfalfa danced around us on the breeze, and it was beautiful. The whole scene was beautiful, and I felt...I felt so perfectly happy. It was the kind of happy no seven-year-old could ever understand. I remember just smiling up at her. We were the best of friends. We would always and forever be the best of friends. We would always and forever roam the alfalfa fields together, hand in hand, and I would lay in the mud, and I would hold Elsa's hand, and we would always and forever be that happy. I will always and forever hold onto that memory.
It was a before memory. Before middle school, before high school. Before anything and everything that would seek to tear us apart. Before walking away, before breaking every promise I ever made. Before the hurt and the pain, there was a seven-year-old and a ten-year-old lying hand in hand in a muddy alfalfa field, just smiling at each other, breaking down into giggles for no reason. I love those before memories.