I looked at my phone—45 minutes late. I sighed, picking up the pace. The sun had long gone now, and the day was slowly getting colder. Of course, not that it wasn’t already cold. It was late February, not usually the time anyone would visit the beach. Tonight—however, was an exception.

I shrugged farther into my big jacket, as the sea breeze danced along. The wind ruffled my short cropped hair. The sand underneath was hard and wet, nothing like it’s dry, hot summer counterpart. I looked towards the water. Nothing. No one.

She must’ve left. I thought. But it was too hard to tell, too far away. I had to be sure. Soon enough I was running towards the water, looking for her. I stopped a foot away from the water. The waves crashed up and down--a rhythmic balance. Storm clouds floated ominously overhead, but I didn’t pay them any attention.

I looked around again. There was no one on the beach—though why should there be? It was the dead of winter, and the water would be icy. I saw a lump of clothes over to my left. I went over, curious. They were her boots and jacket, lying on the sand. Her thick jacket was neatly folded.

I looked out again towards the water, hoping to see a sign—or more specifically, I hoped to see nothing.

She couldn’t have…….I thought. But then again, it was something she would’ve done.

I remember talking about going swimming last December: to kick off the New Years, she had said. That’s sounds like your worst idea yet, I had told her. She had laughed, but I knew she wasn’t joking. Maybe, I thought in a twisted perspective, this was her chance.

My eyes frantically scanning the troughs and crests of the waves, I searched for a spot of black hair, or a glimpse of pale skin. In the end, it was neither of those I found. It was her slim hand, rising above the waves, fighting to get through.

Without thinking, I took off my jacket, and shoes, throwing them in a mess on the sand. I bounded in, swimming towards her.

The water was icy cold, and felt like millions of tiny knives were stabbing my skin. Yet, the only thing on my mind was worry. I was terrified I wouldn’t get to her, or that I would die before I could even see her. Nonetheless, I approached her, my arms plowing through the aggressive waves. She was barely afloat, and when she saw me, she tried to smile. Her arms were waving frantically, trying to help her tread water. Fatigue was evident on her face—if I had been any longer she would’ve died.

A giant wave crashed above my head, pulling me under. I couldn’t tell which was up, and which was down. The gray sky didn’t look much different from the murky depths of the ocean when there was a film of water between it. My body, however, could tell. I could feel myself lifting, popping back up out of the water. I sputtered, and my eyes started to tear, but I could see her beginning to sink.

Her teeth chattered so much, she couldn’t say anything. Her thin, black hair was plastered to her forehead, and her body was limp.
“Caleb.” She mouthed my name, her voice a whisper. I could hardly hear her between the panting of my own breath, and the crashing of the waves.

I grabbed her arm, and swam towards the shore, dragging her along with me. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to—she knew I was mad at her.

When the water finally got knee deep, I picked her up, and carried her like a baby. Her body was limp, and her breathing was ragged. The clothes stuck to her body, and her normally olive skin was pale and gaunt. She was asleep, so it seemed, but I felt that she was battling something much larger than sleep.

I struggled to get out of the water, the chill of it had seeped into my bones; it felt overwhelming. I put her gently on the sand, and wrapped my large coat on top of her. Sensing a stop in motion, she slowly peeled open her eyes. She gave me a shaky smile—yet I offered none to her.
“I didn’t think you were going to show.” Her raspy voice croaked out.
“So you decided to drown yourself?” I said, it was difficult to keep my voice in control.
“No. I decided to go out for a swim.” She said, her voice light, like she was discussing the weather.
“In the winter?!” I said, unable to keep my voice down.
“Yes.” For once she looked sheepish, and if her skin wasn’t so pale, she would’ve been blushing.
“January Snow, I’ll—“

She grimaced. She had never liked it when people called her January. Her mother loved winter, so when she had married a man with the last name ‘Snow’ it seemed too good to be true. She had named her first daughter January, because it was her favorite month of the year, and the month January herself was born in.
“What, Caleb Brown, what?” her voice was harsh and sharp, annoyance underlying her tone. It was kind of difficult to take her seriously though, because she was shaking so violently. Her teeth chattered, and for a moment I worried she had hypothermia. Something on my face told her I was getting worried, because she replied, “Caleb, I’m fine, I’m not cold. I’m getting hot, actually.”

Jan started to take off my jacket. It was soaking wet.
“No!” I was more worried about her than I was about me; she had been in that water for longer than I had. She gave me a dirty look.
“You said you needed to talk to me?” I switched the subject quickly. Jan sat up; her face looking puzzled for a moment.

I almost worried that she had lost some memory for a quick second—but then her expression cleared up.
“Yes. I--” Her face was wistful, like she was trying to choose her words carefully.
“You what?” I could sense something wrong. She was troubled.
“Caleb, I—“
“Look, if this is too hard for you, you don’t have to tell me.” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. It almost seemed like too much for her fragile body to take: the cold, the jarring impact of the water, and the lack of heat when she needed it the most.
“No!” her voice was quick and decisive. Obviously, this was something big.
“You know how you’re always saying that you don’t know what you’d do without me?”
“Yes.” I already know where this is going. I can feel it, a sense of dread instinctive to me. A wave of apprehension crashed over me.
“Well, I’m--” She bit her lip, and sighed. January looked away from me, looking up towards the sky.

Little white flakes of snow tumbled down to Earth, as if a message from the heavens. They fell on us, dotting her hair, and eyelashes, melting into the snow. This was the wintry Cape Cod weather at its height. Jan looked away from me, and I could tell what she was going to tell me.
“I’m moving.” She twisted the last word in her mouth like a profanity, never looking back to see my face. It felt horribly wrong to hear it coming from her, but I knew it was no lie.

I’m glad she didn’t decide to watch my expression, because if she had, she would’ve been scared. A wave of anger, and sadness crept over my features.
“When?” I managed to croak out.

She didn’t answer.
“When?!” I said, louder this time. A lack of response already told me my answer.
“Tomorrow.” Her voice was tiny and insignificant.
“What?” the breath in my lungs disappeared.
“My dad’s getting transferred. My mom hates it. We’re moving to Georgia.” She smiled then, looking towards me, hoping to see me smile. My expression simply remained stony. Her mother hated the hot weather, and there was little chance of actual snow in the South.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t think I could force out an answer without losing it, and I knew I had to be strong.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t know.” She said, her voice light and airy. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you.”
“It was just a thought at first, you know.” She added. “Then my dad got the job offer, and we started packing, and my mom and dad would just argue about it for hours on end.
“I never expected her to give in. I always thought that she would end it, tell him that it wasn’t fair. But then she started packing too—and not much later—so did I.”

The snow was falling faster now, drizzling down in whirlwinds of white flakes, the breeze carrying it farther and farther before it ever landed anywhere. I looked at it in longing. I wished I was the wind, flying and soaring, away from the Earth, not tied down to it.

I lie back on the sand, my body protesting at the chills it gave my skin. The stars were out. It was clear black, with little dots sprinkling the sky. I thought I could spot Orion’s belt.
“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” January asked. She was as still as a statue, awaiting my answer.
“Have fun.” I said, my voice utterly hollow. I could hear her take a deep breath of air—she gasped. She was expecting more. She was expecting me to fall on my knees crying or a heartfelt exclamation of I Love You—the three words I could never say. We were just friends today—and that’s all we ever would be.

We had been best friends since she had first moved here—in the third grade. We’d been inseparable ever since. January and I were each other’s closest friends. I never thought that would change, I always anticipated for us to go to college together one day, and maybe become something better than friends. But it was evident that that was never going to happen.
“What?” she said, her voice barely audible. She was shivering uncontrollably and I almost wrapped her in my arms, or took her back home. But I was too stunned to say or do much.
“Have fun in Georgia.” I added, like she didn’t know what I was talking about. But she was, and I hadn’t misunderstood her.
“Will you write? Keep in touch, you know?” this was her last resort; she wanted to hear some attribute, something that told her I cared. I only felt empty.
“I don’t know. It’s gonna be hard, with school and everything.”

I didn’t look at her face. She was on the verge of tears—I could smell it in the air.
“Oh, ok.” I could feel her stare boring into my skin like lasers. “Well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to tell you, Caleb.”

Her voice was hard.
“Goodbye, Caleb.” She stood up, expecting at least a hug. She shrugged off my jacket. It fell hopelessly on the sand. I didn’t turn my face around.
“Goodbye, January Snow.”

I couldn’t see her wince. All of a sudden, she reached down and kissed me on the cheek. She picked up her boots, jacket, and ran barefoot in the sand. She hurried off; I could hear her feet shuffling, her legs taking her far away. If I had listened close enough, maybe I would’ve heard her crying softly—but I didn’t.

I should’ve told her something: told her I would miss her, or I would call her, or something. But I didn’t. I stared up at the sky, hoping to find my answers. The stars perpetually twinkled, and snow fell endlessly. It was now a full on blizzard, but I didn’t get up to leave. Not just yet. As I stared up into the sky, flakes of snow fell on me. I wished for nothing more than the snow to pick me up and whisk me away, where maybe, just maybe, it would float me so high that I would land among the stars.