The Mailer Review/Volume 13, 2019/Silent Night: Difference between revisions

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 Carol said she would go back in time. “I want to be little in my bed again,
 listening to my parents and their friends and their party downstairs. I want to hear the ice tapping my window during a snowstorm, and the radiators clanking heat through the house.”
+Beyond the farm’s fence the field was empty and white and lit by the moon. The barn was dark. “The horses are safe in their beds,” I said.
+Carol pressed her cheek to mine. “I want to see them,” she said. The two of us slipped over the fence. We were drunk, stumbling across the snowy field in the one sweater. The party was a muffled sound in the distance—a blare of brightly lit windows. This was before motion activated security lights, a time when our presence was signaled only by our footsteps in the snow. We circled the barn, but the door was locked. We placed our faces against the wood, and I could feel the warmth of the horse’s bodies, their breath. I could smell the hay they disturbed as they stepped and rubbed against their stalls, sensing us.
+“Listen,” Carol said. “I can hear them.”
+And then I imagined the safety of my room, the contents of my bureau drawers, the smell of the blanket on my bed.