December to Remember Sales Event

I found the hedgehog at the top of the hill

rolled in a ball, frightened by a car—or so 

I hoped—its quills expertly splayed in self-defense. 

The hill with an 18.8% pitch. The only link 

between dorm room and lecture hall.

The one I sprinted down to meet the boy 

who said he’d sleep with me if I made it there by midnight. 

The one I slogged up after leaving my boyfriend

the night his boyfriend showed up. Though

I’m not sure he would’ve claimed I was his boyfriend. 

We only slept together once. And not even that. 

But even small things back then felt large. 

Take living in another country, when a trip 

to the farmer’s market was a lesson in semantics,

the difference between fresh and still alive. 

Where even a remote road lined by shrubs of beech 

offers up the surprise of your first hedgehog. 

Last December a friend posted a photo from back then, 

our laughs convincing us nothing could harm us 

if we curled tight enough in on ourselves.

The same friend I walked home with after school 

when we almost missed the brewery festival. 

No inflatable long-armed man bowing to us 

from the entrance. No underpaid employee 

twirling a sign that read: Amazing Things Await! 

Just a local gathering hidden behind a wooden gate

and a makeshift maze we navigated on a motorized keg 

all while drinking from a never-ending stein. 

Later I peddled the 18.8% incline with her 

standing on the back, then fell asleep curled in her bed, 

cause we both were too afraid to sleep alone.