Nothing Like Ice Cream

Evelyn twisted the blankets around her as she turned to her right side, resting her head on the crook of her arm because her pillow found its way to the floor. A small pile of crumpled tissues kept it company down there, as well as some half-eaten sandwiches. There weren’t even any plates.

A clap of thunder jerked Evelyn awake for a few seconds, but the pain in her head caused her to close her eyes again and wish for oblivion. They say getting too much sleep can cause more damage than getting too little, and Evelyn was experiencing the effects firsthand. But even though she was aware of that, she still would not get up.

The wind outside begged to come into her apartment, knocking on the walls and windows because it couldn’t get at the door. It sounded like it had urgent news to tell. Storm signal four coming your way, Evelyn. Leave your home and get to higher ground, was what it was really saying. But all the girl heard was a whoosh, and she was trying to convince herself that it was a lullaby.

Accompanying the whoosh was a flapping sound made from a patch of newspaper covering the broken window above her bed. The wind found this and concentrated on knocking there, tearing up a hole, letting itself in. It went all around the room, all around the corners as if searching for something. It went near the trashcan where there were ragged pieces of a torn photograph on the floor.

The wind pushed them and they flew everywhere, looking like confetti, temporarily livening up the dim room. One piece flew outside through hole in the newspaper, getting wet in the rain that had been pouring for a good three days now. One landed on the pillow, one hid between the tissues, one instinctively knew its place and landed inside the trashcan. And one just wanted to wreak havoc and landed on Evelyn’s nose.

Opening her eyes she saw something brown on her nose. Sleeping for over twelve hours now, it took her a while to make her brain receive the message from her eyes. She took the brown thing in between her fingers to look at it more clearly. After finally registering what it was, she let out an ear-splitting scream that accompanied the wind’s continuing tour around her room.

Evelyn sat upright, dizzier than ever. But something toxic, yet energizing, was pumping in her veins, temporarily waking her up from her hibernation. The brown eye of Diego was what did this. She tore the already torn piece of photo into tinier pieces and contemplated on throwing it in the trashcan. She stopped her arm in mid-throw and put the pieces in a tiny bowl instead.

She spotted the other piece on the pillow and did the same to that. She slowly turned in place, eyes trained to spot any other piece. Everything she found, she tore up again and placed in the bowl, carefully covering it so the wind wouldn’t make a mess of it again. The rest of the room could be in complete chaos but this one picture had to be dealt with.

She found another tiny brown eye, her dark hair, his arm around her bare shoulder, the ridiculous scarf Diego was wearing that day, their smiles. All were torn into unrecognizably tiny pieces. Evelyn’s fingers were starting to feel strained from the effort of doing miniscule actions.

She opened a drawer and reached inside until she felt the smooth body of her lighter. She pulled it out and set fire to the kindling inside the bowl. She cupped her hands around the flames, protecting it from the wind while watching each piece turn red and then turn to ash. It was a quick process, but while she was watching, time seemed to go backwards.

All the things she tried to push deep inside her consciousness flared up like the flames. The time they met, the moments they shared, all the happiness that she was now convinced were lies. That day the picture was taken was one of the best days of her life, before their breakup tainted it. It was the only picture she printed out. All the rest were digital, making them easy to delete.

If only the pain were easy to get rid of too. But a combination of hurt, sadness, and anger was too much for her. She didn’t want him to be happy while she wasn’t. She didn’t want him to be happy at all. One of the last things he said were that he wished her well, and he hoped she would have a good life, a good boyfriend after him, a good career. He wanted to be happy for her. But she wouldn’t give him the chance.

She opened up the windows and let the rain in. The roads outside already had more than an inch of muddy water. Rats and debris were swimming in it. Evelyn didn’t bother to look outside, because nothing could be worse than whatever storm it was she was feeling inside.

The wind finally got to the bowl and scattered the ashes as Evelyn took the pillow off the floor and climbed into bed and covered her whole body with the blanket. She slept.

This was her revenge and it was cold.

Only cold.