The winds were blowing warmer in Santa Fe. The snow was melting down below, but up high, on top of the mountains, the snow held its ground. Flake cemented into flake, so that one piece could not disappear without disrupting the rest. Audrey Rose wasn’t ready for spring yet. She hadn’t let the winter fully creep into her bones, into her heart, and she knew that soon the heat would be here and the rivers would flow and everything would start moving. Today she wanted stillness.

She had wandered through the town of Santa Fe peeking in windows, sitting outside of parks looking in, but she felt restless. The same familiar question of ‘is this where I belong?’ kept interrupting her imagination, so she spent most of her time in the forests, hidden among trees with the other creatures of the shadows that knew her so well.

Today, she wanted to see, to sit above the city and feel the energy come up to her and guide her towards her next days. With each step, she felt more alive, felt her blood moving, surging through her veins. She was surrounded by dense forests of evergreens, then greeted with wide expanses of shrubs and views beyond the horizon. With each step, the blush of her cheeks deepened and her breath moved more efficiently, bringing her only what she needed. The sun was slipping slowly away. Night clawed upward, an inky darkness releasing the tortured. Audrey Rose thought she was alone.

The trees hid the peak until Audrey Rose was on top. Those stoic sentinels held the snow, keeping the frozen world alive until slowly, drip by drip, the trees would be nourished. The lights of the city twinkled and sparkled and Audrey Rose let her feet feel their way to an open clearing of rocks. There was a figure there, not quite a rock, but still and holding in breath so as not to be noticed. Audrey Rose sat down, facing away and stared out upon the city, feeling for the energy below, but being pulled towards the energy beside.

Their figures became shadows, as the last waves of light rippled through the sky.

“I could leave,” said Audrey Rose, not making any move to get up.
“That wouldn’t make a difference,” the figure replied. The shadow was female, hair to match the night, her eyes light, the irises so pale blue they were almost white, the white heat of coals. Her legs were pulled in tight to her chest, her arms linked around them. If the night had held a deeper snow, the girl might have disappeared under the blankets and layers of winter.

Audrey Rose unconsciously mimicked the girl’s pose, which somehow put the girl at ease.
“I hate computers,” said the female.
“Computers drove you up here?” responded Audrey Rose.

The girl simply sighed. Audrey Rose stretched her body out, lifted her arms above her head. “I’ve found that hatred only ends up eating holes inside ourselves. A soul can easily be destroyed by hatred and most likely your soul before another’s.”

Audrey Rose tried to take a deep breath, but something snatched it and ran away into the night.

“I got an email today from my dad,” said the raven or the woman, whatever she was.

The sun was holding the horizon or the horizon was clinging to the sun, it wasn’t clear which. Day not ready to leave.

“He emailed me that my grandmother was dead.”
“Email?”
“We talk every day and today I get a fucking email telling me that the very last part of my mother, the one vestige, the one living remembrance I had of her is gone. And when I call my sister, she says ‘we all expected it, what’s the big deal?’ And I asked myself, what’s the big deal? What’s the big fucking deal?” said the female.

Audrey Rose filled the space. “When I was very young I had a good friend; I loved him like a brother. He bought me the book The Little Engine That Could,” said Audrey Rose.

The voice in the female’s head was too loud to let her hear the beginning, but slowly she pulled herself out of her thoughts to listen to Audrey Rose.

“I was so excited. It had a grey cloth cover that was slightly worn and the engine on the front had a big smiley face. It was mine. He brought me this gift that told me I could do anything I wanted. I never told him that. One day he told me a secret. I didn’t understand how important it was to him that I keep that secret, so I told a friend. I thought I could trust her and she told the entire school his secret.”
“What was the secret?”
“If I tell you that, then I’m betraying him again.” Audrey Rose’s hands searched for rocks she could hold and warm. “And even though I told this secret that brought him shame and humiliation, he stayed my friend, but our friendship was frosted with anger. He found ways to take it out on me, because he was never able to find the words to say what he felt to my face. Over the years, his love was so entwined with hate that there was no way to separate the two. I blamed him for the way he treated me, not realizing until much too late that I was the cause.” Audrey Rose dropped one rock and picked up another. It was bigger, colder. “I was the cause of so much anger and the worms of that hate have eaten holes inside of me that may never close over. The blood flows around them, but never through them.”

“I don’t hate my dad.”
“Did you tell your dad how you felt?”
“How could I? I didn’t want to bring up my mother’s death again and hurt him with the memory of her loss.”
“So maybe he was protecting himself against having to say the words out loud to you, so he wouldn’t have to feel your hurt and anger.”

The girl turned her head away from Audrey Rose. The wind carried her words backwards, past Audrey Rose’s ears and away. The first star shone alone in the sky.

“We never talked about my mother, my dad and me. When she first died, he didn’t open that door. We were sent back to school after a day and my dad went back to work. He believed that staying busy would help us. There were times when I could have opened the door, but I was too alone and too afraid of being disappointed by his silence.”

The women sat, watching. A battle had been lost and the sun was gone. The stars could never add up to the brilliance of that one sun, but in their scattered fragments, they ignited trails across the sky.

“That constellation over there is known as the Lynx Constellation,” said Audrey Rose pointing to a place that could hardly be seen. “There is only one star in the entire constellation that has a name.”

The girl stared forward, her jaw set against the night, against letting go.

“The star is called Alsciaukat or Thorn. It circles us once every 3 billion years, only once in all that time and you know you aren’t a little girl anymore.”

The female laughed a bitter laugh. “You’re one to talk. You’re carrying your memories like a needy baby hanging from your neck and you’re telling me to grow up?” The girl stood, started to walk away then stood still.

The rock had finally warmed in Audrey Rose’s hand and she flung it as far as she could.

“All I meant was that you have a voice now. You can say words you might have been too afraid to say as a child.”

“Who do you say your words to?”

It was Audrey Rose’s turn to laugh, but her laugh was surprised. “I tell the trees and the birds when they stop to listen. Sometimes I tell the snow so my stories will be torn apart when the snow melts.”

“I have a dog and the night that my grandmother died, I sat on the floor and started howling. I’ve never howled like that with my dog. She looked at me and cocked her head and after a minute, she joined me. It was the most beautiful noise I had ever heard.”

“You could try howling with your dad.”
“Maybe, I could.”
“Where’s your dog now?”
“She’s watching you. In the trees just behind you and to your left.”

Audrey Rose turned and saw eyes glittering, catching light from an unknown source.

Audrey Rose laughed. Her laughter rang out, then danced away, far away, leaving the space of the rocks quieter than ever.

“Your friend,” asked the female, “where is he now?”
“He’s on a path to a good place, I think,” said Audrey Rose.
“And you, will you join him on his journey?”
“I hope our paths connect and join for a while. I would like to know him without the anger, without the past. I’m sure he would be a different person with me if I let him be.”

“I want to cry but I’m afraid it will open wounds that are so deep I might not be able to climb out.” The girl shook herself out, shook herself off.

“Take some snow and hold it to your face and let it melt,” said Audrey Rose. The cold may sting for a while.

Audrey Rose also took two handfuls of snow and held them to her face. Whether the girl’s tears joined the snow or the snow became the tears, no one knew, but their bodies shook silently with the past and with possibility. The dog began to howl, a low mournful howl. The girls joined in until the night, one by one, swallowed them. And the stars silently moved across the sky.

***Please to not attempt to recreate the events of Audrey Rose's life. They will result in internal/external death or at the very least a yeast infection.