Stay Warm on the Way Down

I didn’t think they were people at first. Huddled close in a mass of waving arms and worn out coats. They looked more like a grove of trees wandering slowly from the coffee shop down to the ocean, the dim light muting every colour into shadow. I didn’t think they would throw themselves into the water, not at first.

We drove slowly, the wipers going half-heartedly against the frozen flakes. The snow didn’t stick. Not anymore. There was no semblance of comfort, the white fluffy flakes that invite you to lay down and forget, to rest. No, now it was bitterly cold and even the snow was determined to make the lesson land, we were going down and it was going to hurt all the way.

Maybe that’s why they threw themselves in, clutching their white paper cups for dear life. One last sip and a jump, to claim the cold before it claimed them.

We watched silently. Weighing up the line. Was it worth it? I could imagine wrapping my cold fingers around the cup, leaching away the warmth of it. And then that first sip. The cinnamon and cream, the rich coffee that somehow always tasted like an October day when my friend offered me a sip, just a sip, and I spent the rest of my teenage years waiting for the day that I could buy coffee like that for myself. To walk down winter streets with the cup thrust out before me, a sign of my independence.

I squinted through the window now and watched the faces of those in the line. They were impatient, cold. And yet, every time one returned from the warm shop with their cup and their smile, the fleeting bliss of the first sip, the line would sigh and shuffle forward. One step closer to their relief, one step closer to the icy waves. I found myself smiling with them. Longing with them.

The van was cold. It chugged along, breathing hard. I imagined breathing in the icy air and winced. Here at least we were shielded. I thought about the people in the line and saw that in the centre, huddled behind the bodies of others were a group of people that didn’t look so cold. Impatient, yes. They pushed and shoved with the best of them. But the wind wasn’t biting into their cheeks, leaving them red and raw. They didn’t flinch away from the bitterness of the snow because it had not yet dug through the flesh of those that shielded them.

The weary ones who were built into a wall shuffled along with the rest but more and more I thought I saw them pushed back until they were always waiting, always on guard and never did they make it through the coffee shop doors. I wondered why they didn’t keep their place in line. There were so many of them.

Little by little I saw that I had been wrong again. There was, in fact, a line and a crowd. The line moved slowly but surely towards the doors, guarded by a crowd that stood around them. The line was thin, a fraction of the crowd and yet it was the Liners that returned from the warmth with their cups and their smiles to cast themselves into the water. It was the crowd that stood and shivered and waited for their chance to get in.

As I watched I saw a Crowder fall, leaving a space through which the snow drove and the wind tore. There was a shriek from the Liners and the mass of bodies heaved and bucked with the upset. I heard a call. “Close the gap!” It was desperate, brave. A Liner stepped forward and gestured to the crowd. “Close the gap, we have to stay together!” His cheeks reddened in the cold and he stood bold in the place the Crowder had fallen. Until slowly, slowly the gap was filled and he disappeared back into the line, the Crowders cheered and spurred on by his bravery. He had lead them so courageously for that moment, guided them to protect themselves, and now they could shuffle forward, always forward toward the tantalizing doors.

I looked at you, staring at the crowd, staring at the door, at the cups, at the waves and I wanted to scream. “Run! Drive!” The words burned in my throat. “Leave them! What do we need any of that for?”

But you looked cold and I wondered if I was wrong. I imagined us standing in the line, surrounded by the others, moving towards something. Where were we going now? We had no plan, just to drive and drive until we found something better than the snow, the snow and the lines, and the desperation.

But was it desperation? I watched the line, watched them move so purposefully toward the coffee shop doors. Maybe I was the desperate one, out here in the cold. I watched you shiver and I wanted nothing more than to push a hot cup of coffee into your hands.

You didn’t ask me to but I turned off the van and you turned to me. Wild hope flaring in your eyes.

I pulled you toward the line and we fell in but the crowd was huge, a churning mass of humans with hungry eyes and blue lips, clawing their way towards the centre. I held you tightly and pushed my way through, I could see the doors, I could see the warmth, but when I turned you were gone.

I looked for you, searching the crowd pushing through but every face looked the same and they reached for me, their hands closing over my hands, my arms, reaching, grasping, and I recoiled with a snarl. I had no thought but to get away from these pathetic, desperate people, holding onto anything that would keep them warm.

Back away, back away, until suddenly my back struck something smooth and solid. I turned slowly and saw the glow of the coffee shop, I could feel warmth on my face and the intoxicating smell of the hot, dark, coffee. I could hear the shriek of the steamer, and the shouts of the baristas and before I knew it I was standing inside, my cold cheeks breaking into a smile and I shook off the feeling of a hand clenched in mine.

The cup was warm, steaming gently and I fixed the lid with trembling fingers.

The first sip tasted like October.

I pushed out through the doors and smiled at the line, at the crowd, my elation spreading over them like the flimsiest of blankets. A promise. And my steps turned without my thinking it towards the waves that crashed on the beach. I held my talisman, my warmth, my choice close to my heart and strode forward into the icy sea.