Page 53 of When the Snowman Whispered
Why did she have those sculptures in those snow cells?
Fear raced pass her eyes. Her hands had shaken when she talked to me. And every other second, she looked back at that snow man with the big dick as if he were going to jump out and kill us all.
When I left her property this time, I had the music off again. I was a minute close from calling her mother and trying to see what I should do.
But what the hell would I say to Addie Mae? Was Faith really doing anything wrong? It was strange, but should I be worried?
I never reached an answer.
Those wolves captured my attention. Within seconds, a streak of white light flashed in the road. I screeched to a halt. Fog rose from the ground. And these. . .creatures stormed by. They moved swift, giving me barely anytime to get a good look at them. They had white fur, but bright and almost illuminated, if one could say that. They’re eyes glowed blue. Shimmering blue. Ocean blue. Unnaturally blue. They raced by on four legs and were too big to be considered dogs.
They had to be wolves.
What else could they be?
For some reason, I couldn’t just let them pass by without getting another look. I parked my car on the side of the road, grabbed my rifle for protection, and tracked the pack on my snowmobile. I must’ve chased at them all night, circling Faith’s property, but never getting close enough to see them.
I didn’t know why I searched for them. Here it was four in the morning, and I still raced after them. My balls represented icicles.
This had shifted into a real-life Moby Dick situation. The wolves were the whale, and I’d transformed into Ahab seeking revenge on the white whale that took my leg.
Why am I out here?
Maybe, it was boredom. Perhaps, I’d been trying to get my rage of horniness down, after finally being so close to Faith. Or perhaps this had turned into another obsession.
I knew a lot about obsession. I swam in this love mania daily, doing back strokes and freestyling my way to no victory in sight.
Faith had been my obsession for so many years. The woman drove me crazy. Her body. Face. Voice. Spirit. Her every detail and characteristic had me by the balls, massaging them and never letting fucking go.
God had cursed me, when I fell in love with her, long ago on a ten-year old, knucklehead summer day.
Had the lightening bugs not been around in droves, I never would’ve bumped into her in that field of purple flowers. Had her hair not been in those damn little kinky curls, bouncing all over her head as she leaped for lightening bugs and put them in the jar. Had I not been so adamant that she stop catching the bugs and forcing them to be jailed in an air tight jar.
Had. . .
Had none of those things happened, I would’ve never met a woman like her.
I could still draw the dress she wore that day—white with tiny little roses about the straps. I painted that dress on rainy days.
During rougher times, I poured more onto the canvas—our lips locked together in our first kiss, the gasp that left her mouth, when I moved inside of her for the first time, and the moment she walked away.
The day Faith broke my heart, it was raining. Even though she’d told me that she cheated on me with my best friend, I gave her my umbrella. She walked away with that umbrella and headed home.
And I stood outside of my house, dazed, wet, and ruined.
Since we’d broken up all those years ago, it still felt like something was missing from me. For years after that day, I woke up feeling hollow and empty. Constantly, I checked myself to make sure everything was still there.
Hands?
Check.
Arms?
Check.
Legs and face and feet?
Check.
