Fire in the Snow

Risha had other plans. A half-decent little replica of the Sphinx of Egypt was taking shape on the field of Powell Recreation Center. Risha had already made a knee-high white pyramid out of firmly packed snow.

Martin's phone buzzed insistently, again. Martin reached for it instinctively, then slowly drew away.

He knew he should turn it off, or reply, but he could not will himself to make an actual decision about Wilson. That would feel too real. It still felt like he would wake up from this strange fantasy he was living in.

Risha had taken him by the hand, face aglow with laughter, and they had run down the streets of D.C. She had swirled around in the falling snow, with hands upraised, blissfully feeling the flakes touch her cheeks.

They had talked, and shared. She had told stories about being chased by water buffalos in Nepal; he's talked about his friends in rural Pennsylvania trying to tackle a live deer. (It had not ended well.) She had told him about her struggle adjusting to life back in the U.S., and he had complained about the soulless world of defense contracting. Ten years of working his way up the industry ladder after leaving the military, and he was almost to the top; yet it felt like it all meant nothing to him.

As they talked and walked, they had come across a wide field of untouched snow at the recreation center. The fence was closed and locked, but Risha was undeterred. He still remembered the shape of her hips on his gloves as he boosted her over the top.

"Oh, don't worry about it, you big baby," Risha teased, the aftershocks of her giggles wearing away. "You're doing great. Let me show you, though. You really have to push it in hard for it to stick."

She pressed into him from behind, guiding one of his hands on the back of the Snow Sphinx. They kneaded in the snow together. Martin could vaguely feel the weight of her breast pushing through the layers of coats.

The banter quieted as their puffs of breaths flowed into each other.

Martin's phone buzzed again, vibrating against Risha. His body tensed.

"You going to get that?" Risha asked, quietly.

"You're like no one I've ever met before," Martin wondered aloud, his eyes searching her face. The phone continued to buzz.

"This is crazy," he continued. "I bill three thousand dollars an hour, and you've got me spending my time playing in the snow like a little kid."

The phone stopped.

"And I don't want to stop spending time with you. I just know there's something different about you. You're extraordinary, Risha." he finished heatedly.

Her eyes drilled into him as if she could see straight past his body and into his soul. Whatever she saw made tears well up; she turned aside and wiped them away hurriedly.

"I'm no one special," she whispered. "I'm just another black bitch from Detroit that everyone gets to shit on."

"No," Martin insisted, shocked at her reaction. "That's not true. You honestly care about people. You don't see that very often."

"Yeah, I care about people." Risha shook her head. "But what good does that do me? It gets you stomped on, that's what."

She turned on him angrily. "You should know that. Dog eat dog world, right? And you're a top dog. Makin' deals and makin' money, 'cause you know how to play the game. Well good for you, big man."

Risha poked a finger in his chest, eyes blazing. "You're special. You're smart, and you're strong, and you know how to get things done. And what do you use all that blessing for? Nothing. Nothing good, anyway. So, who are you to talk about who's special, and who isn't?"

Martin gaped, then turned on her with a glare. "What's your problem, lady? I was just being honest, and you threw it all back in my face. Hey, sorry I'm not enough of a saint to give you a goddamn compliment. I'll know better next time."

Swirls of emotion played on Risha's face. "Yeah, you'll know better the next time you try to get laid with a hot black chick. I'm sure a pretty boy like you can get as many girls as you want."

She turned away. "Why don't you go take that call, and bill another ten thousand dollars tonight? That sounds like what you really want to do."

Martin's hot shock and fury turned cold. "Maybe I will. I knew this was a crazy idea. I don't know what I was thinking."

Angrily, he dusted the snow off his hands as if it was filthy.

"You are a 'hot black chick,' by the way, but I wasn't just trying to get you laid," he said bitterly. "I had this... feeling that there was something different about you. Stupid me for trusting my gut."

"Looks like you got stomped on just for being your true self," Risha said softly. "Welcome to my world."

The pain in Risha's eyes reached back generations. Metal and ice churned and shattered and cut into Martin's heart as he longed to reach out and embrace her. He took a half step forward, his face softening.

His phone buzzed. He put his hands on its soothing vibrations. As he thought of all the work he needed to do, the pain in his chest started to numb itself, and fade away. He stepped back.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Risha," he said coolly, professionally. "I apologize if I offended you, and thank you for the lovely time."

For a moment, Risha's expression was an endless ache. Then her sad half-smile returned. "You as well, Martin. Take care," she said distantly. She turned back to patting snow onto the almost-finished sculpture.

Martin strode briskly through the snow, following the double trail of footprints back towards the gate. With two swift movements he leapt up to grab the top and swung himself over, landing expertly on the other side.

Comforting numbness started to reform over the turmoil inside. He reached for his phone. He needed to refocus from this nonsense and get back into the game. Wilson would blow a blood vessel, but he knew how to handle that bastard.

Martin pulled off a glove with his teeth and started entering Wilson's number. 20226134---

Martin glanced up as he turned the corner, and saw the snowy stretch of sidewalk in front of the ice cream shop. He stopped and stared.

The falling snow had mostly filled in the tracks, but they were still visible. One set was his own-- they walked up the street and into the shop. Two others were side by side-- those were from when he and Risha had run out of the shop together.

The last trail he had not noticed with his head swirling and Risha dancing in the storm. These footprints came from up the street, ran almost to the corner, then curved back around and up the stairs of the shop.

Risha had seen his poem.

She must have read it all, turned around, and followed his footprints into the ice cream shop. She had to know it was his creation.

The words that had fallen from the sky burned themselves back into his mind. Warmth flowed from the tips of his toes up to the top of his head. Pain surged into his chest. Jamal's teeth dripped red down his jaw.

Martin clutched his head and squeezed his eyes tight.

He saw the way Risha brushed a little braid away from her cheek. He saw her look into his eyes and felt her place her hand on his arm. He saw the way her face lit up the first time he saw her truly smile.

Martin shoved his phone into his pocket, turned, and ran.

He ran past street lights and iron fences; he ran past brick buildings and glowing windows; he ran past snow-covered Suburbans with diplomatic license plates, and leafless trees outlined in white.

He ran through the cold streets of D.C. with all his heart and all his strength, following the path of Risha's dancing footprints.

CHAPTER VI: MELTED SNOWFLAKES

~~~~~~~~~~~

February 13th, 2019.

Powell Recreation Center, off 16th St, NW

Washington, D.C.

9:56 p.m.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Risha walked out into the violent storm in her heart.

Rage and desire swirled together. Snowflakes flicked dark city skies. She tried to breathe in the darkness and breathe out light, but the dark stuck in her throat. The clear ice of her meditation kept shattering, crystalizing, and breaking again.

This morning felt like another world.

Not too many hours ago, Risha had sat in her dingy apartment listening to loud Spanish music blare through the thin walls. She had finished her work at the non-profit, and had been tapping away at graduate school applications. Then she saw the first flakes flickering down.

Smiling happily, she had thrown on a jacket over her sweater (she hated the restriction of a bra unless she absolutely needed it) and walked out with childlike joy to see the snow.

But the further she walked, the deeper her loneliness set in.

She looked around at the gray people trudging through the cold D.C. streets. Head down. Purposeful strides. Serious looks.

Risha longed for something more-- something extraordinary. She wanted something that would break through these gray cityscapes like the light through the clouds over the Himalayas. Something that could bring some kind of healing to all the pain of these trudging people in this lonely world.

Sighing, she had turned back towards her little studio apartment.

Then she saw the snow.

Pure and clean. Somehow, it was unsoiled by the tramping feet of thousands of busy people. It reminded her of the clear expanse of a tranquil mind in meditation. She breathed into that open space in her heart.

Risha walked out onto the fresh stretch of snow.

At first, she had been disappointed to see a set of footprints marking the snow at the end of the block. Then she saw the first words of the poem.

The poem almost stopped her heart. It was a gut punch. This person was speaking straight into her soul.

Unbelieving, (the trembling in her chest grew deeper and deeper) she read her way down the writing in the snow. By the time she reached the end, waves of longing and desire were shocking their way through her body.

A trail of footprints led up to one of her favorite ice cream shops. A figure was outlined in the window. Fire leapt up inside her.

She drifted along the footprints and into the eyes of Martin.

Normally, she would have been friendly, but distant, to yet another of the long line of men who tried to chat with her as she went about her daily life. But that poem shook her. She had been off-balance; defensive; flirtatious.

At first, it seemed like he was just like every other soulless career man in D.C. She kept questioning if he had actually been the one to write it. (That puffy little girl in an apron was clearly incapable.)

She kept trying to bore her eyes straight into Martin's heart to see what he could be hiding there.

The strong jaw and green-brown eyes were easy to see. So, too, the easy confidence, and his flowing physical presence. But there was something indescribable writhing behind that shallow surface.

Usually, she could read people. It was almost like magic-- she could tell what someone was thinking or feeling. Yet with him, it was maddeningly difficult. Something bright flickered in the far-off look he would get. It hid behind his fully attentive gaze--beautiful, warm, and full of life; yet it was overwhelmed by something else cold, sharp, and brutal. Buried pain squirmed.

Risha kept wanting to touch him.

Her body had never responded to a man this way. By the middle of their conversation, she could feel her heart beating harder. It took all her strength to steady her breath. It kept wanting to pant out of her lungs.

If he tried to touch her, she knew she would melt. Whatever he asked from her, she would do it.

She hated him for it.

She hated that he had somehow written words straight into her heart without ever meeting her. She hated the power he had over her body. She hated the easy control he had over other people, the smug assurance of yet another white man who used his strength to kill and rule, rather than to heal.

She hated how she still cared for his hidden pain, how she wanted his touch on her skin, how she longed to have him pour himself out on her.

So, she tried to make him uncomfortable. Push his buttons. Push him away. Even then, she was just too good-natured to be mean about it. But she had almost succeeded when she pressed in about the war and the hurt it brewed. She had been sure he had been going to take that call at the ice cream shop after that, and she would never see him again.

Then he had come back with the dumbfounded look of a man pulled along by things beyond his comprehension, and asked her to do the one thing which made her feel light and free in this heavy world.

"Want to go play in the snow?"

She wanted to kiss him then and there. Pure happiness filled her foolish head.

It was like a switch had been flipped. He was open. She was happy. He was attentive. She was the deep, weird black girl who danced in the snow and it didn't turn him off. It made him smile. She kept touching him. He was so solid. She longed to have him run his lips over her neck.

But he never made a move. He seemed like a helpless little child, completely out of his element. All his power had drained away, and he had given it to her. It was intoxicating. Her belly glowed with desire.

Then he called her "extraordinary."

He said it with such unwavering certainty, such sincerity. It was too much. If she didn't push him away now, he would own her completely, body and soul. And if he did--with his ignorant power and selfishness--he would destroy her.

So, she struck out with all her strength to hurt him. She needed to push him away.

For half a moment, she thought he was going to reach out to her anyway. Then the cold reality of life in the nation's capital set in. It was clear Martin was another soul caught up in the endless rat race of Washington, D.C.

She had watched him walk away, and she had felt her power. Her power to know a person, to touch a person, and now, the power to hurt him until he left her alone in the dark.

Risha held out her arms into the storm, welcoming in the cold to ease the fire inside.

"What do you want from me?" Risha called out to the storm. "You send this man into my life, and for what? He's not ready. This will just end in pain."

The storm howled back wordlessly.

Risha turned to her meditation. Deep, heavy breaths brought warmth to her limbs. Images of sitting on stone, practicing with the monks and nuns flashed in her mind. She remembered kneeling naked and shivering in mountain air, breathing and breathing until warmth flowed into her body.

She needed the storm on her skin.

Walking into a dark corner of the field, Risha unzipped her jacket, letting the cold touch her black sweater. She pulled off her gloves and stretched out her silver fingernails. Bitter cold seeped in, easing the turmoil inside.

The remembered feel of Martin's body through his trench coat smashed in through the calm. The poem echoed in her ears. Hot tears stormed in her chest.

"Go on, hurt me! I'll give myself away in love, and you'll laugh when he crushes me. That's what you want for me, isn't it? Isn't it?"

Wildly, Risha pulled down the silvery zipper of her sweater. The sharp air hit her bare skin. Pricks of melting snowflakes caused goosebumps to shiver up and down her breasts.

The harsh cold mixed with the turmoil inside. The pain of her skin eased the pain in heart. Deep, steady breaths brought warmth. The still water of tranquility began to form again across her consciousness. The smell of pistachios lingered in her nose.

"Risha!"

Martin's voice broke the calm into spinning fragments.

Risha whirled, clutching her jacket close around her. The cold metal of her zipper rubbed against a hard nipple.

A figure approached, running through the shadows, distant streetlights, and swirling snow. Desire and anger shook in Risha's veins.

"Risha," Martin came fully into view. He ran until he was close enough that she could almost feel his heat. He stepped back as he saw the look in her eyes.

"Forget something, big man?" she asked sharply, clutching her arms around her like a shield.

"You saw what I wrote," he said breathlessly, puffs of vapor coming with each heaving exhalation.

"Yes," she replied, softly. She trembled. The smell of kulfi and pistachio grew even stronger.

"You came to find me, didn't you?" Martin was like a man sleep-walking.

"It was like whoever wrote it already knew me," she whispered. "I guess I was wrong."

She turned away again, fear and desire screaming at her to get away, to fall into his arms, to smash her knee into his face before he could hurt her any more.

"Risha." All the cold, and pain, and longing in his heart filled her name.

She turned back to him. Her bones ached. She moved towards him as if drawn by a magnet.

Martin's phone buzzed. He paused.

Comforting numbness surged back inside her. She gave him a knowing half-smile.

Martin took his phone out of his pocket and threw it as hard as he could into the storm. The sound faded away as the twirling shape disappeared into the flurries.

Risha's jaw fell open in shock. A pure smile bloomed. Peals of laughter burst out of her. Something luminous fluttered behind Martin's eyes.

"You were right," Martin rumbled. That confused, far-away look came back. "I have been wasting my life. I've been given everything, and I've been throwing it away because I didn't think I deserved it."

Risha smiled sadly, her heart beating faster. Her breath came in quick bursts of mist.

"No one has ever seen me like you have," Martin said with passion, "not so deeply and so quickly. It scared the hell out of me, and I couldn't take it."

Martin stepped towards her until they were almost touching. She longed for the heat of his chest to rest on hers.

"But you were wrong, too. I've been to hell and back, and around the world, and I've met my share of interesting people. When I say you are someone special, lady, I mean it." He finished fiercely.

Martin held out his arms. She kept trying to find the lie behind his eyes. When the simple sincerity had no end, she melted helplessly into his embrace.

"I don't claim to understand all the pain you've gone through," he whispered in her ear. "But you don't deserve that."

The muffled heat of his body radiated out.

"If the world doesn't see how caring, and insightful, and beautiful you are, then that's the fault of the fucking world, not you."

He pulled her closer. "And I'll throw the most vicious snowball in the world at anyone who says otherwise."

Risha laughed softly through her tears, resting her head on his broad chest, her arms still clutched her belly, holding her jacket closed. The turmoil inside of her merged into the warmth of his body. His words melted themselves through her fear. They touched her. Not just the surface, but all of her.

They stood that way for long moments, feeling snowflakes fall all around.

As they stayed there, breathing, Risha could not help but notice Martin's solid muscles pressing against her breasts through the fabric. Each misty inhalation made the push of his body more distinct.

Heat and longing started to rise up between her legs. Her thoughts swirled. She wanted, needed to feel the heat of his bare skin on hers.

Risha turned her face upwards. A swirl of emotions swept across Martin's face. A tender vulnerability mixed together with ripples of something hungry, something primal. His chest pushed more insistently against her, his breath coming faster.

Slowly, Martin bent his head down. With a moan coming straight from her belly, Risha rose up to meet him.

It was like electricity from his lips shocked through her brain. The warmth of his mouth roared down through her body and crashed into her chest. Tender heat pumped out, humming with the power of his touch. It gave her an overwhelming desire to be filled by him in every way.