Domed by an infinite canvas of wispy blue, I trudged across the unbroken layer of snow, where dead golden pale prairie grass stuck up through the icy layer. I pulled my burgundy sweater tighter around myself, breathing in sharply at the shrill cold. Cloud-veiled light from the sun, which was peeking from behind a cluster of billowing clouds to the west, cut across my face. I stopped at the crest of a small hill overlooking a frozen pond and stark trees reaching their shivering boughs to the sky. Minutes passed, and I locked my eyes on the far away dream of the horizon.

“You know, you’re very good at disappearing all sudden like, Nessa.” Someone crunched through the snow behind me, and I jumped.

“Wesley,” I glanced back at him. He was standing with both of his hands in his pockets and staring intently at my flushed face.

“You’re missing the fun.” He stepped up beside me and nodded back at the cozy house tucked amid glistening snow, with the chimney puffing out twirling tendrils of smoke.

“I thought I’d take a walk.” I shrugged. His green eyes widened with amusement and surprise.

“I would never expect a city girl like you to be such good friends with nature.” He laughed, his white breath meeting my shoulder.

“I like it. It’s like the entire world is sleeping. Never like that in Chicago.”

“I’m sorry if my mom is overwhelming you,” Wesley changed the thoughtful subject.

“It’s fine. I understand her issue with me. And…” My words trailed off, and a bird cried somewhere nearby.
“And what?” Wesley prodded.

“Nothing.” I smiled weakly and tramped down the hill, careful not to slip. Wesley was my best friend. Probably the only best friend I’d had in my lifetime. We’d met in an orchestra group in the heart of Chicago. He played the trombone and I played the violin. In the beginning, I didn’t come to orchestra to meet friends, I came to hear the intertwining of the music of life. To see what magic was accessible at my fingertips. Often, I’d be asked to join the others to go out for lunch after group, but I’d always escaped it. When I went to the King Tut exhibit at the Field Museum, a familiar face was the guide. Wesley from orchestra. We’d chatted a little – well, he had. And from then on we struck a chord. It was an odd chord. We’d go to philosophical movies together and debate afterwards, him doing most of the talking. We’d walk through most of the Field Museum and dream about the past. We’d sit in parks and observe the weather, the people, the changing leaves on the towering trees.
He talked all the time. I hardly imparted ten words a day. He had extensive family in Missouri. I had no family. He was a country boy. I was a city girl. He believed in God. I believed in nothing. He had durable proof backing up his beliefs. I had nothing.

At orchestra, everyone believed us a couple. When the orchestra group parted, Wesley and I didn’t. He drove me to work, since I didn’t have a car. He cooked me dinner a lot, because I didn’t know how to cook. And when Christmas rounded the corner, he’d asked me to come and spend it with his family on their farm in Missouri.
So, there I was. Standing on the crest of the hill wondering how I could have missed such a big part of life.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He smiled, eyes running over the length of the property. I wondered how many changes he’d seen the land go through. How many winters. Summers. Falls. Springs.

“There’s our poor-looking tree house.” He pointed at the nearest tree, where a couple boards hung loosely in the sturdy tree branches. So much history here. The history of Wesley’s life. And I understood why he loved history so much. I understood Wesley now after meeting his family and seeing where he’d grown. And everything he’d had I’d missed out on. The family back in the house. Laughter. A frenzy of pompous childhood. Security. The vast land spread out before me, rolling and rippling and laughing, it seemed.

“Wesley,” I began, then realized my throat was hoarse, as if I’d been crying.

“Yeah, Nessa?” He inquired, glancing curiously at me.

“Thanks for…uh,” I looked away, afraid he’d see the tears clouding my vision, “for having me at Christmas. I know it’s a lot to ask of your parents and that…they don’t really approve of me.”

“They don’t mind. My mom only pretends she does. And my dad likes you.” He put a friendly arm around my shoulder, “Besides, I knew you’d need something like this. Next year, you’re coming too.” I pulled away hastily, and stomped off, swiping at my eyes.

“I can’t come next year, Wesley.” I muttered, but he was right behind me, so he heard it.

“I see no reason why you couldn’t.”

“I know you don’t.” This time my voice mirrored my heartache.

“Nessa, is my family too much or something?”

“No, Wesley. Just leave me be. Please. I’m not coming back next year or the year after that, and so on.” I broke into a run, leaving him climbing up the hill calling after me.

But he didn’t know or understand. And I couldn’t make him understand either, because he’d lived his entire life amidst the gaiety of all this. And I hadn’t. And I didn’t intend on spending a few days out of the entire year with it surrounding me, but knowing I didn’t belong. And knowing I would continue missing out on it and never, ever, ever have it as my own.

It hurt too much to think about the joy my life had forfeited and would continue to forfeit.