"Shelter"

      After learning that Mom had to travel to Hartford for a conference, I just had to come along to sightsee. It was January though, and when we arrived to the city, I could have mistaken the place for a ghost town. It was so cold, the only people standing outside were waiting for the public bus. After eating lunch at a local café the next day, I joined those transporters under the hut, but it remained cold, so cold. My layered bundling covered two thirds of my body. I think my eyes alone remained visible. The wind made the chill less bearable. My only solace from the freezing torture was the graffitied iron sanctuary surrounding me and the others.
As the waiting continued, a cab drove by with its number painted on the side: 666-6666. “How Demonic” I thought. The underworld would feel nice during this desperate need for warmth. I contemplated raising my arm to hail the cab, but I could not bear to let any body heat escape, even from my arm.
If God was not finished with my endurance test, He added another challenge with a phone call from Mom. Unfortunately, my phone was in my purse, lying comfortably on my back. What should I do now? Let it ring and have mom assume my death, or sacrifice my arm’s heat to relive her anxieties? As I began to lift the first finger, the bus finally arrived. With each step I felt the heat of the bus thaw every vein and capillary in my arm.
I found a seat in the back and finally left a message on my phone. One of the locals, a man, turned to me and smiled: “New in town?” He asked.
“How’d you guess?” I chattered.