Oranges

The first time I walked

With a boy, I was eleven,

Cold, and damp

With wet socks from the slush.

November. Fresh snow

Falling into my hair,

Melting, then dripping down

my neck and back.

Because of a doctor’s appointment,

I was late going to school.

Every Thursday for a year.

I walked into class

And it was empty.

I headed down the hall to the other class.

Empty.

Walking back, he stood in the hall

Taking off his jacket and mittens.

It seemed we both forgot

there was the Terry Fox run.

We didn’t want to stay to get into trouble,

So we both decided to go

On our own walk.

Walking through the back entrance,

We headed down the street.

The snow stopped for a while.

Everything was still.

Parents were gone to work,

Children gone to school,

The quiet was magical.

The sticky snow tempted playful hands.

I reached down,

Swiftly making a snow ball,

And tossed it at him.

The game continued.

Tossing snow back and forth,

Until it hit a mailbox.

Then it changed.

Instead of each other,

We tried our luck at houses.

With no one inside,

No one would notice.

We hit windows,

Doors and rooftops.

It continued down a whole block

Until someone was home.

He got a lucky strike

On the lower left window,

And an older woman came out.

We ran all the way back

Until we were breathing

Before the school.

His brown eyes met mine,

And held them,

His fingers,

To his lips.

Inside,

We walked into school,

Trying to look like

We were doing work.

Barely a minute later,

The class returned.

Red faced from the cold,

Everyone was tired and bored.

Groans and whines

Drifted from cold, chapped lips.

We couldn’t tell about our

Little adventure.

But up close,

Someone might have noticed

The snow melting from my hair.