Dry

I am, you know,

she said—pulling

her shirt over her eyes—

just here because I am supposed to be

And you?

The same, I replied

winter nights aren’t meant to be spent alone

No, she agreed, skin turning to paper beneath my touch

not even in a city without snow

It isn’t because of the cold that I need you next to me, I pressed my lips to her shoulder blade

Then why?

It’s the light

The light?

The white, impersonal winter sky. It reminds me of an operating room, I shudder, my breath coming hot against her neck. Sunlight does not warm us in winter. We need humans for that.

That isn’t what you mean.

Well what do I mean then?

We crave human touch because of the darkness. Shorter days mean longer nights.

……………

“Do you know why the leaves change color in the fall?” I ask, peering at her from across the room.

“Yes, because the days are shorter,” she says, returning my stare. Her phone rings and I pause waiting for her to do something.

“Do you need to take that call?”

She leans over and checks the ID. “No, it’s my vet. I can call him back. So what were you saying? Something about leaves changing color because the days are shorter?”

“No. Everyone thinks that is the reason. The real reason the leaves change color is because the nights are longer.”

“Same thing." Her eyes search the small table next to her chair.

“It’s not the same thing. Not the same thing at all. The chemicals in the plant cells react to the darkness and the coolness of the long autumn night.”

I breathe slowly, drinking in my epiphany. Didn’t this woman go to medical school? Last time I checked, basic biology was part of the curriculum. Then again, if she had studied life science, she probably would have read about that kinky monkey species—what were they called again?—bonobos, which she obviously hadn’t. She also might have known that the chlorophyll in plants absorbs red and blue light and only reflects green. I reach over and touch a button on my cell phone to see if anyone has called. The screen is blank.

She turns her head slowly back in my direction, a bored expression crossing her face.

“How is this about your…friend?”

“Girlfriend.”

“Right. Girlfriend. Aren’t you getting a little off-topic here?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Clearly it is a metaphor for my entire existence.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you see? The trees don’t follow the sun, they follow his sister. The moon. A woman. Fuck, why didn’t anyone tell me this when I was in eighth grade? I mean, I really should have figured it out myself, that was the year I got my period.”

She closes her eyes.

“We are all out of time. See you next week.”