As I pull open the back door, the wind and the cold hit me, both at once, and threaten to simultaneously knock me off my feet and freeze me to death. The cold might have caused goosebumps to form on my skin if they hadn’t already been there from the anticipation.

            The blinds on the inside of the door clack against the glass noisily as I close it behind me, wrapping my arms around myself to protect a small part of my body from the threatening cold. I look around, trying to find it, but it doesn’t seem to be there. But it has to be. I know it is.

            My face feels nearly frozen, now. The corners of my eyes sting with tears from the wind and cold, water settling on my cheeks and making them colder. I sniff a bit, looking about myself and kicking over the bucket next to the door in search of the jug. Not there.

            Rubbing my arms, I step gingerly over the assorted junk on the back porch, maneuvering myself behind the outside bar and looking at the shelves of things beneath it. A green mosquito coil catches my eye, but it’s not what I need. Matches? I grab for them, fumbling with the object as I stuff it in my pocket, then keep looking. Kerosene lamp? Half way there. I need the kerosene, not the lamp.

            Then I find it, right next to the lamp. Right where it should be. The gleaming, golden kerosene jug seems to almost welcome me, seems to almost smile warmly and offer an embrace, a refuge from the cold. Thankfully, that’s just what it will provide.

            I grab for it, wrapping the fingers of my right hand around the handle as I cradle the bottom of the jug with my left. I hoist it up to my hip, rest it there as I straighten up, and then pull it close to my chest as I head for the door with my prize. Once this is done, I’ll relax. I’ll rest easy tonight.

            As I open the door, the clacking noise welcomes me again. I frown, thinking that the golden glow of kerosene was so much more welcoming, despite making no noise or movements. The door slides shut behind me, and I take the bottle and the pack of matches to the kitchen counter. After setting them down, I slide my hands up to cover my cheeks. It doesn’t help, as they’re just as freezing. My cheeks are cold and my hands are guilty.