SOUND of a relentless, howling WIND
The concrete towers of Portage and Main create a wind tunnel. The sky is a flat, oppressive sheet of galvanized steel.
JEFF (17), bundled in a practical but worn parka, hunches his shoulders against the assault. His face is pinched, his eyes watering from the cold. The tears cool on his cheeks.
Three paces ahead, SIMON (17) marches. He wears a long, dark wool coat that flaps behind him like a cape. No hat. His dark hair is a chaotic mess. He is performing for an audience of one.
Jeff jogs to catch up, slipping on a patch of black ice.
The wind rips the words away. Jeff shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, knuckles scraping lint. He looks miserable.
Simon swings around a light pole, cheeks flushed a violent red. He looks magnificent and ridiculous.
He points a gloved hand at a sliver of bruised, peach-colored sun disappearing between two office towers. It’s only 4 PM.
They reach an intersection and stop for a red light. Simon vibrates with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jeff leans against the metal traffic control box, exhausted. The cold seeps through his jacket.
Simon turns. The theatrics drop for a second. His dark eyes are frantic, hyper-awake. He steps closer, blocking the wind. The smell of cedar soap and old wool.
The light changes. The WALK sign flashes.
He spins and runs into the crosswalk. A pickup truck turns, HONKING aggressively. The DRIVER flips them off.
Simon stops mid-street and gives the driver a full, dramatic bow. Jeff grabs his arm and pulls him to the other side.
SOUND of the wind cuts out, replaced by the low HUM of fluorescent lights.
The air is warm, smelling of floor wax and fast food. The sudden silence is jarring.
Simon shakes phantom snow from his coat, looking at his reflection in the dark window of a closed office. He aggressively swipes his hair back into place.
He starts walking again, boots squeaking on the linoleum. Jeff trots to keep up. A SECURITY GUARD watches them warily.
Simon's shoulders flinch. A microscopic tightening.
They burst out of a door near the train station, back into the biting cold. The sky is now a deep, angry purple. Simon points.
They run up the ramp onto the white suspension bridge.
SOUND: A ferocious, high-pitched WAIL as wind screams through the bridge cables. It vibrates in the teeth.
Below, the Red River is a churning sludge of grey water and grinding ice chunks.
Simon stops in the middle of the bridge. He grips the railing, knuckles white, and stares down at the dark water.
Jeff huddles beside him. He glances at the river, then at Simon's face, transfixed and tragic.
Simon turns his head slowly. His eyes are watery from the wind.
Simon lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, stolen by the gale.
Simon is staring at Jeff's mouth. Jeff nervously licks his chapped lips. The theatrical mask slips from Simon's face. He looks young. Scared.
He lets go of the railing and turns fully to Jeff. He reaches out a gloved hand, hesitates, then awkwardly brushes a piece of hair from Jeff's forehead. The leather is cold, the touch is careful.
The wind seems to die. The world goes quiet for Jeff. Toronto. January. Two months.
Simon looks pained. The twitch in his jaw is visible.
Simon stops. His chest heaves. The wind howls around them.
The words hit Jeff like a slap. He takes a step back. Tears prick his eyes, freezing on his lashes.
Simon looks torn. He takes a step toward Jeff, hand reaching out. The air between them vibrates.
SOUND of a sudden, short, aggressive SIREN CHIRP.
Blinding white light washes over them. A POLICE CRUISER has rolled silently onto the pedestrian path. Its lights flash, painting their faces in frantic strokes of red and blue.
The moment shatters. Simon's theatrical mask snaps back into place. He straightens his coat, lifts his chin.
A COP gets out of the car.
They hurry down the other side of the ramp, half-running, and duck behind a large oak tree on a gravel path. They lean against the rough bark, gasping for air. The police lights spin above them on the bridge, casting shadows through the bare branches.
Simon looks at him. The manic energy fades, replaced by a deep sadness.
Simon nods. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, crumpled paper bag with grease stains on it. He hands it to Jeff.
Jeff opens it. A cold, squished, rock-hard cinnamon bun. He breaks off a piece and eats it. It tastes like sugar and cardboard.
SOUND of the bus engine RUMBLING, the HISS of the heater.
The bus is packed. Steam rises from wet coats. The floor is a soup of grey slush.
Jeff and Simon stand near the back, holding on as the bus sways. Jeff grabs an overhead strap. Simon stands close, looking tired, the performance finally exhausting him.
The bus turns onto Portage Avenue. Jeff watches the city scroll by the fogged-up window.
Simon leans in. The bus rattles over a pothole, knocking his hip into Jeff's. He doesn't pull away.
Jeff looks up at him. Simon's gaze is intense, but softer now.
Slowly, deliberately, Simon moves his hand. He covers Jeff's bare hand on the metal pole with his own gloved one. The touch is shocking. Public. Undeniable.
Jeff's breath catches.
Jeff stands there, feeling the warmth seep through the leather.
SOUND: A loud SQUEAL of brakes. The HISS of doors opening.
Simon flinches. He pulls his hand away as if burned. Panic flares in his eyes.
He's already backing away, pushing through the crowd.
But he's gone, shoving past a woman with a stroller and jumping off the bus into the snow. The doors start to close.
Jeff scrambles to the window, wiping away the condensation with his sleeve.
JEFF'S POV - THROUGH THE FOGGED WINDOW
Simon stands on the corner under a streetlamp, his coat billowing, looking small and lost.
Waiting for him is SIMON'S FATHER (50s), stern-faced, arms crossed, radiating fury.
Simon shrinks. The great performer, the master of winter, becomes a terrified little kid.
His Father grabs his arm. Rough. Simon stumbles.
BACK TO SCENE
SOUND of the bus engine ROARING to life.
The bus pulls away. Jeff stays pressed to the glass, watching the two figures recede into the frozen night. His face is a mask of dawning, heartbreaking clarity.
FADE TO BLACK.
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