Warrior Blue

by Kelsey Kingsley

  I slowed our walk to let her catch up and she appeared at my side. "Hey, where are you headed?"

  "Walking this guy to school," I said astutely.

  "Oh, wow, I bet you like going to school, huh, Jake?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I do. My teacher likes Mickey Mouse," Jake replied with an eager nod.

  "Do you like Mickey Mouse?"

  "Oh, Mickey is my favorite. My dog is Mickey, too. He's a Golden Retriever and he's a real good boy."

  Audrey smiled. "I love dogs. I used to have one … Well, actually, he was my sister’s dog, but she passed away and so did he."

  "Passed away means dead," Jake replied bluntly and I glared at him with narrowed eyes.

  "Jake. Come on, man."

  Audrey surprised me by wrapping her hand around my arm as much as it would go. Her hands were so small, so delicate. So fragile, I could break her. "No, it's okay," she told me gently. Then, addressing Jake again, she said, "Yes. Passed away means dead."

  "Dead means gone. Gone forever," he muttered somberly, furrowing his brow to work through the feelings he didn't quite understand. "Daisy died. Daisy's gone forever."

  "Who's Daisy?"

  I sighed, growing increasingly impatient with this exchange. "Daisy was our dog growing up."

  "Ah." Audrey nodded sympathetically. "That's true, Jake. Dead does mean gone, but not necessarily gone forever. Daisy went to Heaven, and one day you'll see her—"

  "So, was there something you wanted?" I cut her off, leveling her with a stony glare that didn't seem to affect her whatsoever.

  "Oh! Yes, sorry," she waved her hand flippantly, as though embarrassed she'd gotten away with herself. "I wanted to ask what that meant, about the color. He said he liked my color."

  I could steer her away from the conversation of spirituality, but it was more difficult to divert her attention from this when she'd already heard.

  I encouraged Jake to wander ahead but close enough that I could keep an eye on him. The instructions put more intrigue into Audrey's watching stare and I took a deep, preparatory breath, knowing there'd be more questions to follow the initial explanation.

  "One of the symptoms of Jake's condition, is that he associates colors with people," I said, keeping my voice low.

  It had been the oddest thing. I remembered him in his hospital bed, and I remembered my parents, so afraid that he’d never talk or walk again. I remembered the shock that resounded throughout the room when he finally did speak, to let me know my color was red—angry. I’d been so angry at nobody but myself. Not scared, not worried. Just angry and so, so bitter. I was only ten and too young to feel so much hate. But those first words—“You’re red, Blake.” Nobody knew what they meant at the time. Nobody knew what to think. But we had clambered toward his bed, crowding around him with hugs and smiles.

  I wished now that our brief moment of happiness and relief had lasted longer.

  "Wow," she responded, astonishment in her eyes. "So ... he sees auras?"

  I shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it."

  "Well, what do you call it?"

  I snorted. "I call it a symptom."

  Audrey hummed contemplatively. "I'd call it a gift. A very special one. Not many people are given intuition like that. He's lucky."

  This conversation wasn't going the way I had anticipated. "Lucky?" I scoffed as my eyes drifted to my brother. Thirty-four years old, six-foot-two, and jumping from puddle to puddle along the sidewalk. "I'm not sure where you get lucky from that."

  Audrey gaped at me, a flash of anger darkening her gaze. "What an awful thing to say."

  Startled by the harsh bite in her tone, I lowered my brows and glared right back. "Uh, excuse me?"

  Pointing ahead at Jake, now fidgeting with his fingers and peering across the street at a Labrador walking with its owner, Audrey said, "Not only is he unburdened by the harsh reality of the world around him, but he has the gift of honest intuition and a brother who obviously adores him. That is the very definition of lucky, Blake, and it breaks my heart that you could actually look at him and say something like that."

  Her statement felt like a slap in the face, and I was instantly ashamed. "I guess that's one way to look at it," I said thoughtfully.

  Audrey smiled then and changed the subject. "I'm actually a little surprised to find that you're a twin."

  I stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Why?"

  "Because," she said, shrugging shyly and watching her feet, "Sabrina was my twin."

  My toe caught a crack in the sidewalk, and I stumbled, reaching out to steady myself against a storefront. Audrey grabbed my arm in her hands and asked, "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," I said, righting myself. "Uh, so you’re a twin, huh?"

  "Yep," she nodded. "We weren't identical, like you guys, but we looked alike enough."

  I was behaving like an idiot as I remained silent and let the moment process. I pretended to be distracted by Jake, watching him drag his finger along the storefront windows, while I found myself thinking a question I hadn't thought in decades.

  What does it all mean?

  It meant nothing, of course. It was just another coincidence to toss onto the ever-growing pile. But the thought felt natural, racing around my mind as we walked closer to Jake's daycare. Would she continue to walk with me, after he was dropped off? Would she follow me to work like a lost puppy, desperate to be taken in?

  Lost. I'm the one who’s lost.

  "Has he always been like this?"

  Audrey's voice fractured my thoughts and I turned to her abruptly. "Huh?" She gestured toward Jake and my flesh prickled with immediate defense. "No," I spat out. "He hasn’t. Why?”

  Unfazed, she smiled toward my brother. "He's incredibly sweet. Is it just you two?"

  "No. Our parents are alive."

  "Do they live with you?"

  I wrinkled my nose. "What is this, an interrogation?"

  Audrey's laugh was brighter than the sun. "No! Oh my gosh, you're so—"

  "This is our stop," I cut her off, as we neared Jake's daycare.

  Her eyes glanced toward the building and I thought I noticed a glimmer of recognition sparkle in her eyes, but it disappeared quicker than I had time to react. "Oh, okay. I'll wait here for you, if you don't mind."

  I minded. I minded so much, my brain screamed with obscenities and my bones tensed beneath my skin. But outwardly, I shrugged nonchalantly, as if I didn't care. Like I didn't want her to get the hell away from me. Like I didn't want her to burrow in the palm of my hand so I could carry her with me everywhere.

  "Yeah, sure. I'll just be a couple minutes."

  She gave Jake a hug and wished him a good day, before perching herself on the cobblestone wall and pulling out her phone, averting her attention until I'd return. I took just a second to look at her light washed jeans, the white Adidas on her feet and the baggy lavender sweater hanging over her slender frame. She reminded me of the girls in high school, so many years ago. The ones who held themselves out of my reach, exchanging dirty glances and whispering insults. Freak, goth, creep. They had wanted nothing to do with me, and that was just fine, the feeling had been mutual. They were fake, ingenuine, plastic, and plastic breaks. Plastic melts to reveal the ugly wiring beneath the surface.

  Yet, while Audrey reminded me of them aesthetically, something told me the resemblance stopped at the surface. And I knew, if she continued to wait, if she continued to walk by my side to work, I would likely want to see her again. Just as the good doctor instructed. And, I would do it while ignoring the warnings that she was light, she was good, and that I was the darkness looming in the near distance, just dying to snuff her out.

  ***

  "Wasn't that Butterfly Tattoo Chick?" Cee asked, her eyes trained on the front window. Together we watched Audrey walk away, her feet moving along the air, practically floating with every step.

  "Yeah."

  Before Audrey could disappear, she waved one last time, wiggling her fingers with optimistic fl
ourish and smiling like our walk had been a journey through Disneyland.

  "What the hell are you doing with Butterfly Tattoo Chick?" Celia turned her attention on me, her lips stretching in a judgmental smirk.

  "I bumped into her at Jolie Tea."

  Cee narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "So?"

  I hadn't mentioned to Celia the frequent circumstantial coincidences regarding the so-called Butterfly Tattoo Chick. I'd kept that shit to myself and Dr. Travetti—nobody else needed to know. But now, we'd been seen together, and I didn't know how to hide it anymore. I didn't even know if it should be hidden, period.

  "I've sort of seen her a couple of times," I casually mentioned, shrugging for effect.

  "Sort of? What, you're friends with her?" Celia laughed incredulously. Then, laughing harder, she waved her hands and added, "Wait, wait ... Are you screwing her?"

  "I'm not screwing her," I muttered through gritted teeth.

  "So, then you're friends."

  I shook my head and headed toward my workspace. "Not friends either."

  Celia followed me. "So, what, you just happened to take a beautiful autumnal walk together for no particular reason?"

  "Yep."

  "God, you're so full of shit, Blake."

  She could think I was full of shit all she wanted. I didn't care what she thought, and I proved my point by ignoring her statement and setting up for my first client of the day. Cee just continued to stand there, watching me through scrutinizing eyes, until finally she snickered and headed across the shop to her own station.

  "So, is this about me and Shane?"

  That grabbed my attention and I turned to glare at the back of her head. "What?"

  "Shane asks me out, I cut you off, so … what? You need to find someone else to get your fix?"

  I laughed, disbelieving. "You're high, Cee."

  She shot a glance at me over her shoulder. "Not high, smart-ass. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you'd be doing with Barbie."

  There was a genuine glint of concern in her eyes, between her words and in the twitch of her lips. Celia was my friend. A former friend with benefits, sure, but she was still my friend, first and foremost. She thought this was a backslide, a strange cry for help in the form of a preppy girl with a butterfly inked to her chest, instead of the small of her back, and suddenly I felt I owed Cee an explanation.

  "I bumped into her at the poetry club," I said. "She writes, too."

  "Oh," she replied, genuinely surprised. "That's cool."

  "Yeah. We ran into each other again at Jolie Tea this morning. She walked with me to Jake's daycare, and that's it." I shrugged nonchalantly, leaving out the fact that Audrey had asked me to meet her at the club on Saturday. The reminder fluttered my lids and forced my throat to swallow.

  "Wait," Celia said, "she met Jake?"

  "He was there," I replied.

  "Wow," she muttered under her breath.

  I dug deep between every letter of that three lettered word.

  Wow. She wanted to ask how it went, Audrey's meeting with Jake.

  Wow. Celia's first meeting with Jake a few years ago hadn't gone well. Jake didn't care for Cee initially. He thought she was too angry, dark and scary. She had a right to be—her husband and the father of her kids had screwed around behind her back. Of course she was angry. Red. But Jake hadn’t liked it.

  Wow. Perhaps she had the same thoughts as the good doctor. That there are no coincidences. Only signs and Fate. And my brother approved of this ray of sunshine that had somehow seeped into the gloom of his brother's life.

  Wow. Wow wow wow.

  Meet me on Saturday.

  Audrey had asked me to write a poem to read. She would write one, too, she said. I was already nervous, and yet, I was also cautiously excited, too. I found myself looking forward to it. Looking forward to the warmth of the sun on a dark night in October.

  Chapter Twelve

  "WHAT ARE YOU doing tonight?" Mom asked out of obligation as Jake tried on his Halloween costume. He was going as Daniel Tiger.

  "Going to the club," I told her, like it wasn't a big deal and like I wasn't meeting up with a woman. Was this a date? I hadn't figured that out yet.

  Mom nodded, pursing her lips in the way that told me she was thinking. In the way I knew that she'd now say exactly what was on her mind. I hoped she wouldn't. Things had been even more tense between us since our failed family dinner. That was almost a week ago and we'd had several phone conversations since, but her tone had been tight and my spine had been rigid.

  “Don’t you miss going out during the week?”

  I lifted my hand to the bridge of my nose and pinched. "Mom …"

  "I'm just asking," she said, forcing an air of innocence into her tone. "I mean, limiting yourself to only going out on the weekends has to be rough."

  "It's called being an adult, Mom."

  "But wouldn’t you like to have options? Remember when you were in college? You were out every other night, and you had friends, and—"

  "I was a kid!" I scoffed incredulously.

  "Yeah, and? Why should anything change?"

  "Because I have a job," I laughed, shaking my head. "I have responsibilities."

  "Well, if we find Jake a—"

  "Mom," I closed my eyes and shook my head, "not now, okay?”

  "I’m saying, if, Blake. If we find Jake a nice place, then maybe you could get out a little more.” She nudged an elbow against me and said, "And hey, you’re my only hope for grandchildren.”

  I laughed at her attempt at a normal mother-son conversation. The sound was damn near hostile to my ears. "Yeah, okay."

  "I'm just saying, maybe you could meet a girl."

  "You have no idea if I've met a girl or not already," I dared to mention, and why? Why had I done that? I wondered what Dr. Travetti would say about that come Monday.

  Mom looked instantly startled and hopeful. "Have you?"

  I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and shrugged. "I've seen this woman a couple of times," I answered honestly, not divulging the context in which I'd seen her.

  "Wow," she mentioned, clearly taken aback. Her voice demonstrated shock and I struggled to find the happiness I thought I'd also hear. "Why haven't you said anything?" Ah, she was hurt.

  "It's not serious, Mom."

  "It's serious enough that you thought to mention it."

  "I mentioned it because you won't get off my case," I said brusquely. "And because I wanted you to know that I'm quite capable of meeting people, even with Jake around."

  She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head exhaustedly. "Okay, Blake," she sighed, dismissing me. And then, she walked away.

  ***

  "You came!"

  Audrey bounded toward me. It was a cold night and whatever top she wore was kept secret beneath her bright white coat. I wondered, though. What color was her shirt? And did it reveal the butterfly I’d carved into her chest? Could I make out the outline of her bra? Was she even wearing one?

  I wondered what she'd say if she knew what vile things swarmed my brain. I wondered what she'd do.

  "Of course I did," I answered, unsure of what to do. Should I hug her? Should I kiss her cheek?

  Without giving me a moment to decide, Audrey wrapped her arm around mine and led me toward the steps down to the underground club. The contrast of our coats, black leather and soft white, was stark and alarming. We were the Yin and Yang, balance, and for the first time since meeting her, I wondered if maybe that could be a good thing.

  After heading inside, she made a beeline to the reader list.

  "Okay, you put your name down first," Audrey instructed, offering the pen to me.

  "Why can't you go first?" I asked, eyeing the ballpoint skeptically.

  "Because I want to make sure that we're both reading," she reasoned with an encouraging smile. She insistently tried to pass the pen into my empty hands. "Come on, Blake. Don't leave me hanging."

  She was grinning a
t me, unbothered by my persistent scowl as I stared at the implement in her hand. Finally, I took it with a begrudging sigh and quickly scribbled my name on the first empty line.

  "You can write mine down, too," Audrey said, her smile unrelenting, and so I put the tip of the pen to the line beneath mine. She watched as I scrawled her name in my trademark sloppy cursive. Chicken scratch, my mom always called it. She’d always thought I should practice neater handwriting, but Audrey's lips closed, hiding her teeth, and her smile shrunk to something smaller and more contemplative. "I like the way you write my name," she complimented.

  "Huh?" I laid the pen down and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

  "Your handwriting is so pretty." Her fingers touched the dried ink and traced the A with her nail.

  I couldn't help but laugh. "My mom hates it," I admitted. "She always complains that it's too messy."

  Audrey looked up to smile into my eyes. "Messy can still be beautiful."

  The simple statement immediately reminded me of those lame quotes girls came into the shop looking for. But this felt different and didn't feel like something she'd read online. It felt like something that was written on the spot and made special, just for me.

  She thought my handwriting was beautiful—did she think I was beautiful? That seemed unlikely, but so did all of this, walking through the poetry club with her on my arm and finding a vacant table to sit at. She looked to me as though I was more than how I felt, like a gallant hero, or a noble gentleman. For a moment, I chose to play the part she seemed to squeeze me into and pulled out her chair.

  "Thank you," she said gratefully, removing her coat to reveal her light blue top. Adorned in lace, it clung to her arms, and the hem blossomed out to hang loosely around her narrow hips. Her skintight jeans complemented it well, accentuating the length of her legs and the heels on her feet.

  If I stared too long, I wondered too much. What the fuck was she doing here with me? Hell, what the fuck was I doing here with her?

  "You look like you wanna run away," Audrey said quietly, hanging her coat from the back of the chair.

  Was it that obvious? I forced a pained smile, and without answering her question, I asked, "Do you want something to drink?"