Thawing

I wake up this morning in my car to a freight train roaring past. It shakes the car, my sleeping bag, and my frozen body within it. My breath hangs heavy and white in the air, and icicles form at my eyes. When I went to sleep all I could see was a dark empty lot. With the beginning of morning light, I sit up in a busy place with people milling around and a large train yard to my right. I can barely move my fingers, my toes, my nose. I am unsure if it is a result of the short back seat or the fact that the thermometer says 17 degrees. I push open my door and roll myself out of the car. I feel like the abominable snowman, I am wearing every warm thing I could find. A small girl is standing a few yards away staring at me. I feign a smile, which I think only scares her more. A few minuets later I wander into the lobby of the hotel next door. It looks bright and warm in there. I tell the clerk I am just wanting to warm up for a few minutes, that I cannot feel my face. "Alright" he says, "but only because you are pretty." I stand there for a moment staring at him, and then I turn and walk out, back into the cold wind of the day. Because I am pretty? What about because I am cold, or because I am human? Next door at Denny's, I ask for a cup of coffee. The young waitress is Indian with thick dark hair and a kind smile. Her and her co-wokers slip easily between Navajo and English. She sets two cups in front of me, filling them with steaming coffee. I look at her confused. "One for each hand" she says, "you will thaw out quicker." I laugh. I am still wearing two coats and multiple sweaters. I don't feel pretty, but I do feel human.