002. Middles
Once, just after New Year's, it got so cold it seemed as though the entire building might turn into one giant icicle and shatter into a million shards. Broken, like the lives of the people inside.
Mimi sat on the couch huddled under every blanket they could put their hands on, and watched Roger make a fire in the trashcan with a stack of posters left over from Maureen's protest. He had already lit a multitude of candles, though the power was on and they did little to help the temperature. Between the smell of smoke and the snow-melt water dripping off the tarp that was currently covering several roof leaks, the place felt vaguely like a campground.
"Rog, you're gonna make it burn too high again," said Mark, who was attempting to use his mother's gift hot-plate to make tea. "I don't want to end up tossing our heat out the window this time."
"I know how to make a fucking fire," grumbled Roger, but he went over to the couch and crawled under the blankets beside Mimi.
"No funny stuff," joked Mark, giving up on the tea. "I want your hands where I can see them." He shoved his own under his arms, shivering a little. As if to prove just how cold it had gotten, a few pieces of snow came sliding off the edge of the tarp and landed on the table. They sat for nearly a minute before beginning to melt.
"Hey Mark, get over here," said Mimi, gesturing to the blankets.
"No way," said Roger, and Mimi elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
"What kind of friend are you?" She looked back and forth between the two of them, silently willing them not to fight. She always ended up in the middle of fights, somehow. But she couldn't let Mark stand there and freeze, and she knew he'd never ask unless someone gave him an opening first. Because that was Mark. The one who was always on the outside, until someone came along and pulled him in.
"You know, body heat is the best way to get warm," said Mark. And he sat beside Mimi, because Roger looked as though he might burst into flame if the filmmaker came anywhere near his blankets. "Don't worry, Rog, I'm not gonna steal your girl. Just a little of your heat."
"This is your fault, you know," whispered Roger, making Mimi shiver a little. She knew he was teasing, but then again he was also right. More snow came flittering down off the tarp; it fell straight into the trashcan and went up in steam with a little hiss.
"Yeah, so?" She stuck her tongue out at him, and laughed when he rolled his eyes. Mark laughed too, and suddenly it did seem just a little bit warmer. "Maybe I like it."
"What?" asked Mark.
"Being the one in the middle." And it was true, she realized, as much as she'd hated the thought a moment before. Not always, of course, but when it came right down to it, she couldn't really imagine being anywhere else. Because sometimes inside people and outside people needed someone to pull them together. Angel had done if before, and done it with joy. Because after all, it was warmest in the middle.