Georges
December in the French countryside was colder than Georges remembered. Despite the falling temperature, they sat near the open window of their room in Zaza’s estate, watching the snow fall soundlessly to the ground.
“How easy it would be”, they thought, “to just tip myself off this seat and out the window”.
They remembered joking with Philip once, as young teens, after having been scolded by their parents for a wayward prank in front of an entire party. Philip had dropped face down onto the bed with a flourish to hide his glowing cheeks. Dramatically, he had groaned and asked, “How high is that window?”
Fourteen-year-old Georges had shrugged and flopped moodily on the bed next to him. Current Georges had a better answer now: high enough. They leaned forward a bit, rocking on the leg underneath them.
“Cur non?” they reasoned. The Hamiltons had enough children to keep Zaza and Herc occupied. Philip and Theodosia had each other. Their friends had plenty of other company. They were unnecessary, an extra in their own life. Another shift of weight left them dangerously close to toppling to their death, a still body in the fresh snow, red stain spreading garishly bright from underneath. And then they looked up.
The stars were everywhere, dotting the sky like freckles dotted Philip’s face, and shining bright as Theo’s smile. The universe seemed infinite as Herc’s heart and hugs and - just there! - a shooting star with all the life in Zaza’s eyes.The sky was broad as the ocean the younger Hamiltons always begged to be taken to and deep as the well of love their friends and family had for them.
Georges took a deep breath to clear their head, and shifted back towards safety.