The Heart of Winter

Cold wind drummed against Dalton’s face as he walked the bridge connecting University and Center City. At the end of the bridge lied Harper’s building — a glass apartment complex that towered over the eastern edge of the Schuylkill River.

He passed it half a hundred times on his daily commute since they broke up, each time contemplating finally stopping in to take the last of his belongings. If it weren’t for his Pop Pop’s shirt — a family heirloom — he would probably just leave his things there forever.

He had to retrieve it, but doing so would make the break up final. Retrieving his things was his last excuse to see her again — something he had been holding dearly in his back pocket since the break up. The thought of giving it up terrified him.

He pulled out his cell phone as he approached the end of the bridge. As he scrolled for her name, his fingers struggled to cooperate —whether or not that was because of the cold or his own nervousness he could not say.

Eventually he landed on her name: Harper followed by a sunflower emoji. Seeing that on his phone screen somehow made him smile.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing else in the world existed as the phone rang.

“Dalton…uh what’s up,” her familiar voice finally answered. He could tell she was slightly surprised from the way her voice sounded. After four years of dating, Dalton learned the intricacies of how her voice changed with her moods.

“Are you home?”

“Uh yeah but what’s up?” She went from sounding surprised to sounding concerned.

“Nothing just going to stop by, say hi, and grab Pop Pop’s shirt.” He quickly replied, trying unsuccessfully to sound confident.

“Dalt-” he hung up before she finished. His adrenaline began to rush. Was he going to just take the shirt and leave? Would he stay and talk? Would he be tempted to fix their problems? Should he hug her? Kiss her?

He had no idea what he wanted or what he was doing. He would be lying if he said he did not miss her. He missed having someone he could subject to his stream of conscious, someone he was comfortable enough to just be himself around. He never had to act cool to impress Harper, which was a far cry from what it took to succeed as single in the dating world.

He forced himself to remember that their relationship had been far from picturesque. They had felt the heavy burden a relationship brings upon two people in their early twenties — the pressure to balance friends and each other, the stress of not knowing to what cities their careers would take them.

They crumbled under it all. Simple tasks like planning a Friday night would lead to arguments. Small slights would turn into fights that lasted days. But they were always together, always bickering. A night alone was too much to bare. They were dependent on each other like an addict to a needle so naturally they eventually broke.

Thoughts kept racing as he continued along the sidewalk. His adrenaline brought him almost to a run as he weaved through pedestrians. When he finally reached Harper’s building, Dalton stopped to collect himself for a minute. Fingers shaking, he entered in the four digit key-code he remembered so well -5082.

Suddenly he was on the sixth floor and standing outside her door. He had no recollection of walking past the doorman and riding the elevator.

He gave it one knock and then turned the knob.

Harper stood in the main room, staring at Dalton through watery blue eyes that looked ready to cry. She had a heart-shaped face with light-brown hair that fell down past her shoulders. She wore her favorite red tee shirt over black leggings — an outfit that meant a glass of wine and a movie was the only thing on the agenda tonight.

For a moment she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

When Dalton heard a sound coming from the other room, the moment of beauty ended as abruptly as it began.

“Whose there babe?” A strange man’s voice sounded as he walked into the room. Dalton thought he was about to faint. He looked at the man then back at Harper, whose blue eyes finally let loose a waterfall of tears.

It wasn’t that the man was in boxers that enraged Dalton, nor was it the unique odor of sex that permeated the room. It was the tee shirt the man was wearing. Dalton’s Pop Pop’s tee shirt. Rage overcame Dalton as he stared at the man.

Harper tried to break the silence, “Dalton…I tried to tell you but you hung uh-”

Before she could finish her sentence Dalton lunged at him. They struggled back and forth — knocking over a chair before finally going to the ground. Dalton found himself on top and suddenly wailing on the man’s face with his fists. He swung and swung, unable to stop, unable to think. He never learned to fight, but at that moment he somehow knew how.

He could hear Harper screaming in the background but he did not care. He had gone mad. Eventually he ripped the shirt off and left the man wincing in pain on the ground. He looked down on him in disgust, then down at his hands that were covered in blood. Whether it was his or the other guy’s he was not sure.

When he finally looked up he saw Harper, no longer screaming. Her blue eyes just stared at him — where they used to be watery and teary they were now cold as ice. In that moment when Dalton met those cold eyes, he knew it was over.

Without saying a word, he draped the tee shirt over his shoulder and walked out, never seeing Harper again.