What it Means to be Warm

Tethered. Safe. Warm. Warm, warm, warm. All at once, so, so many thoughts were colliding in Skunk’s head. It felt ridiculous to think this much. What does it mean to be human? Why don’t I feel like a person? Why have I always denied myself a personhood? Why am I so, so cold? It was even more ridiculous to think this much snuggled up in his snoring boyfriend’s arms. He felt safe here, right? Tucked between Ontario’s chest n’ armpit, all tangled up in a nest of sheets n’ mismatched blankets n’ pillows. He was safe, but that safety didn’t make him feel human. It was nice, it was always nice, but it did nothing to dislodge that block that had built up in his brain.

“Hey,” he cooed softly. He shook ‘Tario around a lil’. “Baby, hey,” he said again. Groaning, Ontario scooched away from him, hid his face in his hands, and curled up tighter like a cat. Skunk smiled to himself, because damn he was cute. Waking Ontario left you with the same guilt that waking up your pet does. 

“Baaaaaaaby,” he cooed again, all singsongy this time. Ontario stirred once more.

“Mmh?”

“We’re goin’ for a walk.”

“Wh- Babe, I’m barely awake and just a second ago you weren’t either.”

“I’ve just been thinkin’ a lot n’ there’s a lot I just needa get off my chest.”

“Why can’t we just talk here…” they grumbled, but heaved themself up nonetheless.

“Because,” Skunk started, “it’s not a cuddle-in-bed kinda conversation, it’s a conversation that constitutes havin’ an adventure.”

“Well shit, can’t argue with that I guess,” they mumbled lightheartedly. 

Ontario swung their legs over the bed n’ slid off with a satisfying thump. Skunk propped himself up on his elbow n’ watched. He was always watchin’, eyes wide n’ just absorbing. He felt like every time he looked at Ontario he found something new to love n’ be in awe of. This time, he found himself gazing at the two long scars that reached across ‘Tario’s chest. They symbolized a battle won, a new chapter in life that was well underway. It made him tear up just thinking about it. He always got emotional looking at Ontario. Like, he loved them so much and they were so beautiful inside and out, why wouldn’t he cry? Quickly, he blinked away tears as Ontario turned to get dressed.

“Where’re we going?” Ontario asked as they pulled a funky knit sweater over their head. 

“Um,” Skunk paused, “I dunno, is there anywhere you wanna go?”

Ontario shot him a quizzical n’ bemused look. “This is your walk, dude. I’m not making that decision for you.”

Skunk smiled sheepishly. “Well, um, I- I dunno…” he mumbled. “Maybe we should just like, leave n’ then see where we end up.”

Ontario smiled a little. “Yeah, man, it’s up to you.”

They both threw on sweaters n’ funky pants n’ skirts n’ jackets. Ontario in their big funky sweater, patched up overalls, big flannel, n’ yellow boots, n’ Skunk in his brown turtleneck, big, black denim jacket, old fingerless gloves, long fuzzy skirt, n’ worn leather boots. Beads dangled from both their necks, as well as odds n’ ends from their ears. Objectively, they looked strange. Both had long dyed hair, piercings that gleamed from their ears n’ faces, and a wardrobe that most would find tacky, ugly or plain weird. But, looking like this was when they were both their happiest, so the world dealt with it and turned a blind eye to their oddities. 

“Are we ready to go?” Ontario asked.

“Yeah, I think so…” Skunk paused for a second. “Wait!” He dashed back to their bedroom, scooped up a tiny felt mouse, n’ dashed back out to the door. “A friend!” Ontario chuckled n’ shook their head. 

“Are we good now?”

Skunk nodded, excited to finally head out n’ ease the block that had made residence in his mind. Hand in hand, they stepped out the door into the cold, blustery night.

Streetlamps glowed warm n’ orange, the only warmth the night had to offer. The trees were bare, and the streets seemed void of all life. The silence seemed impatient to break. They waded through that silence for a bit, just walking down that cold street, hand in hand. It was almost unbearable. Skunk’s head felt like it was about to burst through his mouth, and Ontario seemed anxious. Nervously, Skunk reached up and twisted his beaded necklace round his middle finger. Tight.

“What makes you feel like a person?” Skunk finally blurted out. He released the necklace.

Ontario took a second to answer. “When I’m sad, I take a bath and practically boil myself to make up for that warmth and remind myself that I exist outside of my mind. Or I’ll go out at night and just dance in the woods, or I’ll lay in the grass, or in the road, or go on 10 mile walks.”

Skunk looked sad. “I don’t feel like a person. I don’t feel human, I don’t feel alive. I feel cold and empty and like there’s absolutely nothing behind this mask I put up. It’s like I’m a black hole and I just take and take and take and I don’t know how to stop.”

Ontario squeezed his hand tighter.

“What does being a person feel like to you?” Skunk asked. He sounded just as shy as a child asking about the way the world works. He fiddled with the felt mouse as he spoke.

“It feels like being a fish in the ocean but knowing that the ocean loves me. I’m so small and so insignificant, but the Earth loves me no matter what and will never leave me. She lets me know it’s okay to pluck and replant myself no matter how many times I need to.”

He nodded. Neither of them looked at each other. “That’s really beautiful,” he said quietly.

“I engulf myself in emotions and let myself feel them.” Ontario sounded so sage and wise and serene. He was like this ancient boulder of wisdom.

“That’s so scary,” Skunk said, n’ chuckled a little. “Like, how do you just feel? That’s terrifying. I always just logic everything out n’ end up invalidating myself. Feelings aren’t fair, emotions aren’t fair, and there’s never been one point in my life where I’ve had anyone reliable or anyone who wouldn’t just shut me down or insult me, so I guess I just like, turned everything off.”

The houses they passed by seemed cold and lifeless. The street was quiet, it was always quiet. The streets in this teeny town were never loud. The air was cold, cold, cold, and still. The stars were blocked up by clouds. The earth had shoved them on stage but had forgotten to turn on the spotlight. It was just dark.

“No wonder you’re so cold all the time.” Ontario said.

“What?”

“You’re cold. The opposite of negativity isn’t positivity, it’s warmth. The opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s warmth. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s cold. If you never let yourself feel anything, how’re you ever supposed to be warm?”

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. His shoes clunked against the ground. His gait was always so heavy, you could hear him coming from a mile away. His soul felt heavy, too. 

“I dunno, I just like… I dunno. I know why I bottle up my feelings like this, it’s cause of trauma n’ shit, but I don’t want to be like this anymore. Like, I keep shoving away every good thing because I can’t just feel.”

“If you don’t want to be like this anymore, you don’t have to be.” They said it so simply. It made sense though, right? If you don’t want to be, then don’t be. Skunk sighed and nodded. He made knots with his fingers while he thought, and then reached up to twist his hair. ‘Tario was fiddling with their necklace now, rubbing the pendant between their index and thumb.

“Yeah, you’re right, I know that you’re right, but how? It’s like having writer’s block or art block, like everything just shuts down and the more I push the harder it pushes back.”

“You can dig around it, or dig under it. It’s your block. Nobody else is gonna fix that for you. It’s yours and you have control over it.”

And then, it clicked. He had control. He wasn’t victim to his thoughts, not to his past, not to anything. He was in control.

“Yeah?” Skunk asked, hopeful.

“Yeah,” ‘Tario replied back, warm and tender. They wrapped their arm around Skunk’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Y’know, you have a lot more power than you think.” Skunk smiled n’ poked his tongue out a lil’. 

“You make me really happy,” he murmured, nose pressed into their shoulder. Ontario brought their hand up and ruffled his hair. They walked on, the silence now comfortable and loving. 

They were walking everywhere and nowhere. The air was still cold, lawns were still dark, and the woods that flanked them still looked menacing. But, there was warmth. Skunk felt that old glimmer of hope rise up inside his chest. He could change, he is changing, he will change. Ontario didn’t hate him, there was no anger, no resentment, absolutely nothing like that. Just warmth, warmth, warmth.