#2 blue ice
You're alone in your apartment. The TV is on low, some Lifetime movie, probably about adultery. You scoop a spoonful of Cherry Garcia out of the Ben and Jerry carton and savor the coldness, the sweetness. You're dressed comfortably in sweats, thankful that today was a short day at the office, home before midnight. And now you can relax.
You stretch out your legs, placing your feet on the coffee table (only you can do that, it's your little secret) and try to pay attention to the red-headed woman on the TV screen. You must be tired because the women is suddenly speaking French and talking to a five-legged monkey. You blink and rub your eyes. Oh, boy.
You turn off the TV, put your ice cream away, and head for bed.
**
Vaughn tells you about Siberia. How Sydney almost died, not once, but twice because of him. You don't say anything. Because what can you say?
**
You imagine that ice pick stabbing into his leg.
Do you have an owie?
Uh-huh.
I told you to stay out of trouble.
You place a bandage on his scrapped knee and send him on his way again.
**
You think about him in Siberia, in the snow, covered in ice. Since you've moved to Los Angeles, you've found yourself missing snow angels and icicles.
It's late when you catch your reflection in the mirror. Your blue eyes are hard and tired. You want to think that maybe they weren't always like that. You walk to the kitchen, suddenly wanting to finish that carton of ice cream.