Chapter 16: January 31st End

I wake up on the last day of the month, and I know it’s different. I know it before I open my eyes. I know it in my bones. I know it in my breath. I know it in the way the air feels on my skin. I know it in the way the cold seeps into me and reminds me that I’m alive.

Today is the end.

I stand up. I walk to the window. I look out at the world.

The snow is still falling. It’s been falling for weeks, months, years. It feels like it’s been falling forever. The world is white. Everything is white. The streets are white. The houses are white. The trees are white. Everything is white.

But something is different.

Today is the end.

I walk to the kitchen. Ingrid is there. She’s making coffee. She looks at me, at my nakedness. She doesn’t say anything.

She pours me a cup of coffee. She hands it to me. She doesn’t say anything.

I drink coffee. I sit at the kitchen table. I look out the window at the snow.

Brita is there too. She’s staying over again. She’s looking at me with concern in her eyes.

“Karen,” she says. “Today is the last day.”

I look at her. I look at her concerned face. I look at her worried eyes.

“I know,” I say.

“Are you ready?”

I think about the question. Am I ready? I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know I need to do this.

“I think so,” I say. “I think I’m ready.”

She looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure.”

I finish my coffee. I stand up. I walk to the door. I put on my boots.

I don’t grab my bag. I don’t have one. I don’t need one. I don’t need anything.

I walk out into the cold.

The cold hits me like a wave. I feel it on my skin. I feel it in my bones. I feel it in my breath.

I feel everything.

I walk through the streets of Seward. I walk past the corner store. I walk past the church that has been closed for years. I walk past the house where the old woman used to sit on her porch.

I walk toward the Washington Avenue Bridge.

I walk through the snow. I walk through the cold. I walk through the darkness.

I walk toward the end.

I reach the edge of the bridge. I stop. I look at the river.

The river is still frozen. But the cracks are getting wider. The ice is breaking up. The water is starting to flow.

I stand there, naked, looking at the river. I think about the ice cracking. I think about the water starting to flow again.

I think about what that means for me.

I step onto the bridge.

I walk. I walk across the bridge. I walk through the cold. I walk through the snow. I walk through everything.

I stop in the middle of the bridge. I stop at the place where I dropped the bag.

I stand there, naked, in the middle of the bridge. I stand there, exposed, without anything at all.

I think about the bag. The bag I dropped in the snow. The bag I let go of.

I think about what it felt like to let it go.

It felt like freedom. It felt like being released. It felt like everything.

I think about the month. One month. The month of walking naked through the world. The month of shedding layers. The month of becoming myself.

I think about all the things I’ve done. I think about all the things I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that I don’t need the layers.

I’ve learned that I don’t need the performance.

I’ve learned that I don’t need anything.

I think about the man in the library. I think about his questions. I think about the answers I’ve found.

I think about the rules. The six rules.

One. No clothes.

Two. No explanations.

Three. Stay in the district.

Four. Let them touch you.

Five. No one takes your bag.

Six. Don’t stop.

I think about how I’ve followed them. I think about how I’ve done everything he asked.

I think about how I’ve become myself.

I stood there for a long time. I stand there, naked, in the middle of the bridge. I stand there, exposed, without anything at all.

The snow falls. The wind blows. The world is white.

And I feel everything.

I feel the cold on my skin. I feel the wind on my face. I feel the snow on my shoulders.