It's Time to Shiver

The light of dawn had begun stretching over the hills all around me while the low valleys between them hung onto the waning night. Grace and I walked at the bottom of a slope, fumbling upwards in semi-darkness. She had just woken me from a fitful slumber. I rubbed my eyes with the pads of my fingers.

Grace kidnapped me yesterday. She had a habit of doing this. No explanation. "Just shut up and come with me," she would say. And who am I to argue with her? Besides, I was delighted to spend any time at all with her, especially ever since I learned she was still alive.

The shack in which she placed me the prior evening had been comfortable and warm, thanks to a radiating pot-belly stove. I dined on fresh fruit, exotic cheese, and red wine for supper. Despite these comforts, sleep managed to escape me for the most part. Probably because Grace disappeared shortly after delivering me to the shack, which unnerved me. She did this often too. She was constantly busy, administering her version of perspective to those in need of such. I've seen her work before; it's alarming how effective she is at giving people exactly what they need, good or bad.

I once watched her provide a man with a machete so he could chop off another man's hands. Conversely, I witnessed her save a baby falling from a building with a sudden gust of wind, which pushed the infant gently through the air to an awning below. Grace's job is certainly odd. I don't understand half the things she does, but I know they all, in some way or another, boil down to a proper amount of retribution.

We continued to walk together uphill.

"You slept poorly," she said flatly.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"That was me."

"Oh," I said back. "Why didn't you let me sleep?"

"You and I both know you do your best thinking when you're tired."

"Right," I said, nodding at the hillside in front of me.

I glanced over at Grace and patted her naked shoulder gently. Strands of her long, thick, steel gray hair swayed over my forearm and it felt like a silk curtain. Her strange hair belied her youthful skin, which almost looked silver in the growing light. Grace rarely wore clothes because the exposure helped heal all the scars she chose to carry. It was also her job to take on and process scars when she deemed it was time for people to let go of them. On her skin they would disappear over time. Some would go away faster than others, depending on their magnitude. I can always tell how busy she's been by how many scars are on her body. She had many that day at the shack. Her skin was rarely devoid of them.

"Here," she said suddenly. "Stop here."

"Why? I wanna be warmed by the sun at the top of the hill."

"You can't. You're not ready . . . not yet. You keep making stupid choices."

I looked at the ground and my face lengthened with shame. I knew what she was talking about. I wanted to explain, but with her such an effort would be wasted.

Seeing my reaction Grace calmly placed a hand on my forearm. I could feel her soft, gray eyes looking at me, but I continued to stare at the rich, upturned soil at my feet.

"When do you suppose they last plowed this field?" I asked in an even tone, trying to change the subject.

Grace ignored my words. The question admittedly held no purpose other than to fill the frigid air in front of me with puffs of white breath.

"She will be long and sharp," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Long and sharp. She will be long and sharp."

"Who will?" I asked stupidly.

Grace sighed heavily, but punctuated the expression with a soft chuckle. I absentmindedly leaned over and picked up a smooth, round stone, which Grace immediately slapped from my hand. It landed in the dirt with a soft thud.

"No," she said curtly. "Long and sharp."

A single diamond tear welled in my eye and then streaked down my cheek.

"Very well," I said, finally looking at her. "But what shall I do now?"

Her eyebrows knitted, but eventually gave way to a comforting smile. The violent motion that dislodged the stone from my hand turned into gentle fingertips on my chin. She stood in front of me and her hot breath flowed up my nose. She smelled like lilacs and leather.

"For the time being," Grace said, "you will surrender to the cold. It's time for you to shiver."