FROZEN FRICTION

I used to consider him important, but not anymore. What he did was unthinkable.

He followed me into this dark, frosty freezer, pretending to help me deliver chicken nuggets to the cafeteria lady. He claims he didn’t know the heavy-duty door would close shut behind us. My breath forms smoke circles in the air. My legs tighten, and my toes tingle.

He’s standing too close to me. I feel his breath on the back of my neck. What are his intentions? I hear a choking sound, but no words come out of his mouth. Does he dislike me so much that he would rather die with me in a freezer than speak up and tell me what he wants?

I don’t care what he wants. I just want to get out of here alive—and away from him. I scan the walls, looking for instructions on how to open the door if you find yourself locked in a freezer. Time is not on our side. There must be a way out.

As I keep searching, I turn and see his lips turning blue, his hands waving in the air. The gurgling sound distracts me from what I’m doing. I have no choice but to stop and figure out what’s wrong with him.

“What are you doing?” I say.

Still, no words escape his lips. I think he’s pretending he can’t speak, just to force my attention onto him.

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

His body slumps over a pile of boxes. I catch him before he plunges to the floor. Saliva dribbles from the side of his blue lips. The choking stops.

I’m just a teenager—how am I supposed to understand what’s happening to him?

“Hey! Are you trying to go to sleep in here? Wake up!”

I remember watching a show on television when a firefighter couldn’t wake someone. He turned the person onto their side—and they opened their eyes. I decide to try it. As I turn him over, he starts choking again, and slimy spittle leaks from his mouth.

What is that? What the hell! Is that a chicken nugget?

You almost died choking on a frozen piece of meat. Who does that?

“Can you speak now?”

Still no response, but his eyes are open, and the choking has stopped.

I don’t have time to be angry. We need to get out of this freezer. I lift him and lean him against

the boxes near the door. A few tumble over, revealing a bulletin board covered in pinned papers.

I move closer, but dizziness washes over me. My vision blurs, and the words on the papers swim. We are both in trouble now.

As my focus fades, I can’t see his face clearly. I slide down just enough to touch his hand. My fingers are cold and stiff, but strangely, they’re warm when they wrap around his. I tighten my grip and whisper, “I forgive you for stealing my girl.”

It’s important that he hears me. It feels like we’re leaving this earth together. We can’t be angry. Mom wouldn’t want us fighting.

Suddenly, the heavy door swings open.

A voice says, “Where are my chicken nuggets?”

Jewell Pearson is a New York born, currently living in sunny California. She is pursuing Creative Writing at Full Sail University. When she isn’t writing, you may find her reading at the beach, crafting at home, or binging her favorite streaming program.