It was like a scene out of the Old West, as my partner and I stood before each other armed with a slew of profane words and reddened eyes. The kitchen was overcrowded with our bruised egos, and overheated with our hot tempers. The only cool thing in our presence was the cup of ice that we were so passionately arguing over. I imagined chunks of frozen water cracking up against the hollow space between his ears. The look in his piercing eyes made me feel that he was having some harsh fantasies of his own. There we stood, chests heaving, anger rising, and patience falling. War was imminent, set into motion by an 8oz cup of ice. The clock raced past time, screeching its way towards midnight. At 11:59, I had a thought. If one of us were taken away this instant, would we be relieved, feeling vindicated in this “Cold” war, or would we yearn for another moment to share a cozy space in time? This question made me think a little deeper. If this shall be the last time I would ever look into his eyes, would he have internally said goodbye to a crazed woman who was too stupid to love freely? I started to think of our better days when butterflies danced around my stomach, and anticipation eased out of my nervous palms. Ice didn’t matter so much then. Sure it cooled off a nice glass of lemonade but it wasn’t important enough to be the “other woman.” Across the country, behind the drawn curtains, I wondered how many lovers were fighting over “cups of ice.” In other words, the minute distractions that means absolutely nothing in the end. But today, nothing was everything as the ice indicated a deeper issue, separating lovers. The coldness before us represented an unwillingness to put aside our egos and work together as a team. In some houses a cup of ice is a cup of lust, selfishness, financial distrust, or a kryptonite of their choice. It’s all the same because it presents an equal opportunity to kill love. When the clock struck 12, suddenly, that cup of ice meant nothing more than a barrier between two lovers.
