First Section of Prose/Poetry Collaborative Piece

When Leila leaves, she sees a playing card lying in the snow next to the steps. It’s bent in half, lengthwise. She nudges it with her toe, flips it enough to see that it’s the Jack of Hearts. Figures.

Anything can set her off when she feels this way – the thought of playing War with the kids slumps her shoulders. Jason always got mad when the Jack came around – he wanted a card named after him. So they took to calling the Joker the Jason. Leila wonders if the kids still play that way, still call it that.

The air is that dry cold, the kind that hurts the inside of her nose and makes it hard to breathe deep. She balls her hands in stretchy cotton fabric and wraps her arms around her chest, wishing she had more than this sweatshirt, which is so big for her that the cold air comes right up at the hem and fills the empty space around her body. Still, it was nice of Ron to let her borrow it. She puts her nose into the collar, to keep it warm and also to inhale the scent of man – car oil and woodsmoke and shaving cream.

Snow is crusted along the lip of the sidewalk, all the way down the hill. The sky is just starting to turn from flat grey to something brighter. It’ll be a pain to get her car down the icy incline to the main road. She’s glad she’s not parked right out front, though. She doesn’t want anyone inside to make a big deal out of her leaving. She’s just ready to go. Her head doesn’t ache yet, but she’s thirsty, and she feels the tension in her neck and between her shoulderblades. All day long at work she will roll her neck, stretch her arms out in front of her, crack her back, but it won’t do much good.