Makayla

The winter-morning breeze was taunting the brave to dare venture out into its grasp. It’s short icy breaths mimicking the cries of a newborn—one-minute calm and then the next, bellowing out in an unbearable tempest. Among the hundreds of early risers dressed in layers—shirt, fleece, sweater, and jacket, Makayla was sitting on a bench under a barren willow tree, weeping into her hands. Other students walked by curious about the weeping girl, sparing a second or two to look at her, but nobody dared stay in the unsheltered open longer than necessary.

Even though Makayla was dressed for the cold weather, her face was red around the cheeks and even redder around her nose. The tears flowing from her eyes inched their way to the tip of her nose and almost freezing forming miniature icicles.

Fifty feet away, inside the comfort of the warm building, I stood watching as the world passed her by with no resemblance of caring. Fresh out of ceramics class, my hands were dry as chalk. I was halfway through a Twix candy bar and already thinking about opening the other package of chocolaty perfection in my pocket. Even though I tried to refrain from eating sweets, I hadn’t had breakfast and needed something to keep me going through the rest of my classes. For some odd reason, the vending machines never have something halfway healthy. (I should point that out to someone.)

I reached into my pockets and fished for my strawberry ChapStick. Car Keys, no; flash drive, no; cell phone, no; ah there it is. Talking to myself isn’t something I do often but I do admit it happens on the rare occasion. After applying a thin layer of ChapStick onto my imperfect lips, I ventured out into the cold. I walked with my hands in the jackets fur lined pockets and my face turned towards the floor and to the right—away from the wind. As I got closer to the bench I started to think about what I was doing. Was I really going to talk to this girl? I’m a shy guy around strangers. I couldn’t just randomly start talking to her. Especially not since she was crying. Maybe I’d make things worse by popping her bubble. Could I even do that?
When I got to the bench, feeling like a dumbass with a tinge of confidence, I did what seemed most reasonable. I sat down. Makayla (of course I didn’t know her name just yet) glanced my way and stared at me like to say, “What do you want?”

Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen from the tears. Black streaks ran from her eyes down her cheeks like a messy watercolor rundown. Even in that condition, she looked superior to the average woman. Her curly brown hair was in front of her, blowing into her face with each strong gust of wind.

Struggling, with no words to say, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the unopened candy bar. Makayla was still staring at me, closer to saying “Are you seriously going to eat a chocolate bar next to me while I cry my eyes out to the world?” I carefully opened the package, pulled out one of the bars and took a small bite. I then outstretched my arm towards her and asked, “Would you like a piece?”
She thought about it for a minute and then reached for the Twix bar. She took a bit with her perfectly formed mouth and then said, “Thanks, I guess.”

Figuring the ice was pretty much broken; I started some conversation with her.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, cautiously thinking ahead of what I might say next.

“Not anything you can help with.” She said coldly.

“You never know. I have been known to be very helpful. I mean, I can already tell you’re crying because something a guy did to you, right?”

“Maybe, how could you know that?” she inquired.

“Guys are jerks.” I plainly stated. A smug look on my face.

“So you’re saying you’re a jerk?” She raised an eyebrow in a way that almost made my heart skip a beat.

“No.”

“Then you’re saying you’re not a guy.” She had a smile on her face now and I knew I was well on my way to cheering her up with the simplest of words.

“I’m a guy all right. I’m just a different type of guy.”

“Right I know what you mean. You think with your left nut instead of your right. Or is it vice versa?” Her face had hardened again into the implacable stone fortress it had been when I first sat down.

“Neither. I think with this.” I put my finger on my chest and added, “I think with my heart. Plus I am a poet. We poets live in a whole different world than your average man.”

She busted out laughing and said, “You picked the wrong day to try to sweet talk your way around me.”

“I’m not trying to sweet talk you or anything. I just thought I’d come over here and see if I could help with anything. I thought for someone to be sitting out here in this bitter cold, there must be something seriously bothering them.”

“Well something was seriously bothering me.”

“I like how you said ‘was’. Gives me some hope that maybe I cheered you up a bit.”

“Well you weren’t doing at bad job at whatever you were doing. I stopped crying if you’d noticed.”

“I had. You look gorgeous now. Not that you didn’t before.”

“Okay now buster. Don’t push your luck. You haven’t even told me your name yet.”

“Oh that’s right isn’t it? Well my name is Charles. Nice to meet you.” I had a cheesy smile on my face but I didn’t care. I’d left my comfort zone and went for something I felt was right.

“Nice to meet you too. My name is Makayla. And let’s skip this crap I’m not a big fan of formalities. How about we go somewhere and you cheer me up.”

“Oh so you’re only going to talk to me because you need someone to talk to? Is that what it is?” I said sarcastically.

“No. I’m going to talk to you because I want to see how good of a poet you are. Just because you say you’re one doesn’t necessarily make you one.” There was a glimmer in her eye I hadn’t seen before. A faint light once receding into the darkness of her pupils, it now lit up her face.

“Well then, how about we go inside and grab a cup of coffee? I’m sure it would be a good idea to get some hot liquid into your system before you freeze to death out here.”

“No.”

“I thought you just said….” I started to say blankly.

She leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Ask me again but this time ask if I want to go get something to eat.” And then in an even quieter voice added, “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Would you like to get something to eat?” I said.

“Why sure. I’d love to.” We both laughed at this.

“But before we go …” I reached towards her face and wiped some of the smeared makeup she had running down her face. “Now we can go.”

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