have yourself a merry little christmas // frumtum

I pull my coat tighter around my body and huddle closer to Rum Tum. The snow is blinding, and I have to shield my face from the wind. Not to mention, I can’t feel my toes. Still, I keep climbing up the mountain beside Rum Tum. I look up, the hanging chairs still above us. If we just keep climbing, there has to be some sort of building, some sort of warmth at the end of this line of hanging chairs. I hold Rum Tum closer, trying to ignore the pain in my hands, trying to keep my slow and steady footing on this steep uphill slope. Finally, we make it to the top of the slope and when we cross over the top, I let out an excited gasp. In the distance, there’s a couple of small run-down cottages, the paint having faded on most but the buildings miraculously still standing, if barely. It's like a little home. Home. Home. Home.

I grab Rum Tum’s hand and start running toward them until I reach the first. The door has been torn from the building, so when I enter the cottage, I point to a long table near the corner. “Here, help me turn this on its side,” I say to Rum Tum, pointing to the doorway. We push it toward the door until it covers the entrance and blocks out the snowstorm. Once that’s done, I immediately fall to the ground in my own trail of snow, my trembling body reaching for Rum Tum. I’m aching to feel warm, to hold him close. I can’t feel anything but my own shivers, can’t get anything out of my mouth except my own shallow breathing and then a tiny laugh, because we’re alive and together and temporarily sheltered by this cottage lying amidst one of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen.