Deb Caletti by Wild Roses
Author:Wild Roses [Roses, Wild]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Performing Arts, Psychology, Stepfathers, Fiction, Music, Mental Illness, Social Issues, Love & Romance, Stepfamilies, Juvenile Fiction, Remarriage, United States, Musicians, Love, People & Places, Washington (State), Family, Depression & Mental Illness, General, Physical & Emotional Abuse, Violinists, Adolescence
ISBN: 9780689867668
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2005-08-30T05:00:00+00:00
"So beautiful," I said.
"You too," Ian said. He took hold of one strand of my hair, looked at the color of it against his mitten. He looked at my face. "Brown hair, dark eyes, white snow."
We walked a bit, just listening to silence. Snowy quiet is more quiet than regular quiet. It's like the world is holding its breath.
After a while, Ian stopped. "Presents?"
"Sure," I said.
We both knew what we were getting each other. We agreed to get each other the same thing, only we'd choose which kind. Eliminate all gift-giving hassle and anxiety. We swapped boxes. I bit the fingertips of my mittens and pulled them off, tossed them to the ground so that I could open the package.
"Ready?" I said, and we both pulled the scarves from the boxes. Mine was red, amazingly soft, fuzzy. The one I'd chosen for Ian was blue, with thick, wide stitches.
"Let me," Ian said. He wrapped the scarf around my neck.
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"I love it," I said, and wrapped his around his neck, tucking the ends inside his coat. "Me too," he said.
We hugged for a while, stood together, and I had that feeling you get in nature that you are small against its grandness, same as when you used to see the tiny figure of a person against the Latitude Drive-In Movie screen, before they tore it down to put a strip mall there. Ian put my mittens back on my hands, and we walked a little, boots crunching.
"Fir, cedar, evergreens," Ian pointed. "Spruce. Poplar. Deciduous. Water can go up hundreds of feet, to the tiniest branches up there. Just travels up, molecule by molecule."
"I didn't know you knew about these things."
"I like to study trees." He looked upward, and his dark hair fell away from his eyes. "They're quiet. They're solid. Sure of where they are."
"You must get tired of sound."
"God, really."
"You could study trees instead." Ian laughed. "You could."
"I'd love that. I would so love that."
He stopped on the trail then, and we kissed in the snow, in our new scarves. It was one of life's perfect moments, where you look around and think I want to remember this. You try to etch it in your brain so that when you are Nannie's age and are living at Providence Point,
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you will look out the window and see red and blue scarves against a white background, Ian's breath against the backdrop of trees, new snow beginning to fall; at first, small diamonds, and then huge fat flakes that sat on the shoulders of Ian's dark coat and fell upon his hair. You will remember the soft flakes against your upturned face, the way they fell upon your tongue, and Ian telling you he loved you into your hair. You would remember all of it, and feel that sense that you had everything you ever wanted in the world.
We walked back home, stopped at the beginning of my street. The media-monster boys didn't even have their sleds out, and there were no forts
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