But there are some moments where winter's cold can be a sensational ecstasy.
Basketball in middle school was a horrifying torture. A hideous montage of humilation and shame as Jhonen would say. In any reasonable school with a normal number of students, i never would have been allowed on that team. Had they not needed bodies so desperately, i might have been spared the endless basketballs to the face and hurt fingers. As it was, at least three nights a week in the winter, i had basketball practice.
The best thing about it was definitely when we got to go home. No more dropped balls and Ms. Sue's exasperated looks. No more hesitations in my defense and running away from the ball on offense. When Mother finally came in to get me, i got a few hours of freedom.
But above all of the emotional relief was the pleasure of walking outside in my uniform, still sweaty from the suicides, into the prickly quiet cold. Sweat chilled my skin, goosebumps erupted and my hair stood on end. i wanted to stay outside forever, or at least until the sweat cooled and my lips turned purple. Mother would try to get me to put my coat on, but i knew she'd had the heat turned up in the car and i'd been so hot for so long it was hard to give up one of the few bodily pleasures i had at that age. The cold air clensed my lungs and i felt finally free of my torture, of the body that hated me, of my inability to play a simple sport. Just for that moment, when the air first hits and blows everything else away. Before mother starts yelling at me about my coat, before i remember i have to do it all again tomorrow, before i remember all the fresh embarrassment from today's practice and all those before it. That brief moment, when you're an awkward and tired twelve-year-old girl covered in sweat and you walk out in the superwinter cold and take a deep breath. Mmmm.
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