Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  It was a relief to be away from the mayhem and Evie took a cleansing breath to slow her galloping heart rate. She had made it through security, mostly unscathed by the nerve-wracking process, and she was one step closer to getting on her flight. She was that much closer to proving that she was not boring and was more than capable of being exciting.

  Evie was more than early for her flight, so after physically locating her departure gate, she felt at ease enough to roam. Evie had packed little to bring with her, to try and ease through the security screening—so much for that preparation—and so she went about the task of collecting a few more essentials on her list. She grabbed her favourite lip gloss, a pack of mints, and a bottle of water before snagging a latte from Starbuck’s.

  At her gate, she settled into a chair and pulled out her current novel. Thumbs delving gingerly into the pages of the paperback, she found her Dr. Daniel Jackson bookmark. Evie smiled down at the familiar face of the sci-fi character, the crispness of his blue eyes intense behind round wire specs, his lips clenched into that signature purse. She ran her thumb over the scientist, recalling how many adventures the two of them had shared, as her eyes ate up the words on the page while he kept her place.

  Here we go, Dr. Jackson, she thought to herself with a whimsical scoff. Another adventure – just the two of us. Evie gave the face a quick peck before she blocked out all her trepidation and lost herself in the story.

  Wired did not even begin to describe how the redhead felt when she finally got off the plane in Scotland. Weary from lack of sleep and yet still thrumming with anxiety and excitement, Evie made her way past the other milling passengers, the first to arrive at the luggage carousel.

  And, somehow, she was the last to leave it.

  Evie’s bags never showed up. It put a damper on all her excitement. Like a drone, she went through the motion of filing a report, nodding at the airport attendee’s continual reassurance that they would recover her things, without really understanding any of it.

  As the redhead rode the train from Glasgow to Edinburgh, she took a quick inventory. She had the lip-gloss, half a tin of mints, one book, her smartphone, her wallet, and various other useless odds and ends that settled at the bottom of bags. It certainly wasn’t much.

  The lolling motion of the train had her eyes and head drooping. Falling asleep on a train was an excellent way to lose what little she still left, so she distracted herself by reading. Dr. Jackson still accounted for, and it warmed her spirits to see his face staring back at her with his bright blue eyes, so close to her own colouring.

  Usually, reading was a simple way to escape the unwelcome company of stress and anxiety but now was a dogged process. Her mind was ill at ease, and Evie found it hard to lose her worries for the rapture of the story. There were too many unknowns. She worried about her luggage. Well, not for the luggage itself, but for how she was going to deal with it being MIA. She would have to grab a set of work-clothes the first chance that she could get, which was going to cost her money that she had not budgeted to spend so early on.

  The irrefutable necessity of it left a nagging feeling at the back of her mind, as Evie pondered how on earth she was going to make up for the deficit. As if in betrayal of her own sanity, she wondered if the bags would be found at all or if somehow, they had fallen into an airport blackhole, obliterated by the unstoppable swirling forces of gravity. This made her skin prickle and crawl.

  More worrisome than her clothes, shoes, and the money that she would lose in replacing them was her signed Stargate SG-1 DVD’s and Jurassic Park hardcover. Perhaps it was insensible to be more concerned about these possessions—as irreplaceable as they may be—but it really was all she could think about. She certainly couldn’t go to the nearest shopping centre to have actor Sam Neill sign a new copy.

  Evie chastised herself for falling into this predictable round about repetition of worrying and fretting and fretting and worrying. Things would work out if she didn’t lose her head. She took a deep breath and then tucked the bookmark back in. Slipping the book into her purse, she turned, resting her head against the windowpane, as she looked out the new world that whizzed by.

  This was it. This was Scotland. Her new home and her new adventure. Sure, it was off to a rocky start, but it couldn’t get any worse. Her eyes watched the scrubby green landscape, recalling that the tourist websites all said June the best time to visit. She was surprised to see that it looked very similar to the farmland she grew up on southeast of Edmonton.

  Edinburgh, however, was nothing like Edmonton.

  As she exited the train, Evie was overwhelmed by the immensity of the station. Tracks, trains, and people filled the space with constant motion. Pushed and pulled by the movement of other people, she made her way out of the loading area into the ticket hall, where she was steered up and out onto the Waverly Bridge.

  The skyline was awash with old buildings, proudly displaying their Victorian and Edwardian architecture, hazy with the misty rain that fell. Evie purchased an umbrella at a nearby shop, so she could continue without becoming soaked.

  The dispensary she was hired at was in The Shore area, among the trendy restaurants and shops that attracted the tourists as well as the trend-setting locals. It was a hot area of the ancient city and space was a commodity. Because of this, Evie had set up a flatshare by email. She was unaccustomed to shared living accommodations, having always rented on her own, but that wasn’t an option here. Evie chose not to dwell on that challenge too much. The young lady seemed nice enough, despite a distinct lack of grammatical grace.

  Under her newly acquired Hello Kitty umbrella, Evie waited at the crowded bus stop, sipping another latte—of the double-shot variety for red-eye travellers. It did not take long before a double-decker bus pulled up. It was so ironically candy apple red that the corners of her mouth itched to smile. She passed up the tight staircase to the second floor, grateful for the view. With the help of her smartphone, she double-checked her route to the residential building, as the bus eased into traffic with its bustling passengers.

  Evie had barely finished her latte when the little red marker on her map-app pinged to signal her arrival, with forty-three minutes to spare, just as she liked it. Evie filled her buffer-time with a leisurely walk around the complex, investigating the nearby roads and shops, as well as enjoying a small bridge over the canal that the building overlooked. Arriving an acceptable ten minutes early, she stood before the lady’s door. Her stomach tickling with excitement and anticipation, she pressed the buzzer.

  A series of thwumps, bangs, and even an abnormally loud shuffling was audible through the door before it was finally wrenched open. “Yeah, wha’-is-it?” a young blond called out, her English quick and heavily accented.

  The young woman’s mop of blond hair looked like an 80’s blow-out, teased so that the volume made a large cascading wave of tresses that wafted down over half of her round little face and the front of her neon green sports bra. A strikingly yellow mesh crop-top over black leggings. The girl was perspiring heavily, and Evie absently wondered if the girl had fallen out of a yoga pose to answer the door.

  Gaze landing upon the redhead, the girl’s big chestnut eyes blinked a few times and refocused, as she questioned, “Oy, I’m sorry. Were ya’ deliverin’ somethin’?”

  An icy stab rent through Evie’s middle. Caught off guard by the other girl’s confusion, she couldn’t find the right words to introduce herself or her purpose for being there. Her mind whirred uselessly, wondering in a state of panic. Does she not remember renting out her flat? Or the emails back and forth? Did I mess up the date and time—as if! I’d never get that date wrong! Maybe she lost track of time doing her yoga-thing and is just a little confused?

  Like a quizzical bird, the other girl’s head cocked to one side, starring blankly into Evie’s face, looking lost and confused and spaced out. The blonde’s eyelids fluttered a bit, looking heavy and making her appear stoned. In her thick lilt, she impatiently suggested,
“I’ma waitin’ for an Ozzy of Kevin Bacon. Is that you then?”

  “An Ozzy of who?” Evie repeated, stunned, as her brain produced a strikingly potent picture of a very grumpy looking Ozzy Osborne cradling on his lap a terribly clingy Kevin Bacon—wearing those tight blue jeans and cowboy boots from the movie Tremors. A powerful whiff of the flat beyond brought Evie back, as her stomach first rolled and then sank. She had never heard of marijuana in those terms, but the aroma was unmistakable. As she catalogued the new lingo for future reference, the redhead hoped that she had mistakenly rung the wrong flat.

  The girl groaned in annoyance, impatiently stamping a barefoot, as Evie eventually found the wits and nerve to explain, “I am looking for a Fiona Taylor, at...” her eyes darted to the number on the door, belatedly verifying that she was in fact at the flat cited in her email correspondence, “308?”

  The girl grinned and nodded enthusiastically, a striking contrast to her previous impaired demeanour as she hitched a thumb at her own chest. “That’s me!” she crowed energetically, thrusting a hand out towards Evie, expecting her package.

  “Ugh, no.” Evie reinforced, protectively tightening her purse against her side, as her stomach sank icily below her knees. Taking a deep breath to refocus beyond the girl's obvious expectations and the strong smells of the flat beyond, in vain she continued, “I was supposed to meet with you, Fiona, about sharing the flat?” It was out of her mouth, just as Evie concluded she probably no longer wanted to.

  “Sharin’ the flat?” the blond queried, wrinkling her upper lip and screwing up her nose. The girl was so far gone that all her reactions were comically overexaggerated. She waved a dismissive hand at Evie and laughed, “No-no! Me boyfriend and I made up. I dinna need a flatmate no more.”

  “Oh, umm….alright,” Evie said dumbly, as her shock was slowly overtaken by angry frustration, with a side of relief.

  “So…” Fiona asked, looking crushed, “ya dinna have the Ozzy then?”

  “No,” Evie snapped harshly. She balled her fingers into fists, restraining the strong urge to scream at the girl as she tried to politely reply through her clenched teeth, “No, I do not.”

  The redhead spun on the heel of her flat and made her way back to the stairs. Her feet trudged down them, as reality began to sink in, leaving her heavy and deflated. She had been in Scotland for less than eight hours, and already she had no clothes, no toiletries, no Stargate SG-1 DVD’s, and now no home. Her well-laid plans were quickly cascading out from under her, like a toppling tower of Jenga blocks. As she made her way out of the lobby of the building, the sky had grown dark and gloomy, releasing sheets of rain that replaced the quaint piddle-paddle from earlier.

  Avoiding the downpour, Evie stood in the foyer, her butt leaned back onto a warm radiator, and pulled out her phone. She would need to find a place to stay for the night promptly, and she wasn’t sure what her options even were. As she searched in the area, she quickly eliminated hostels and expensive hotels. Just across the canal, there was a small hotel that listed rooms still available for a more reasonable price. It had hardly any amenities, but the redhead decided it was her best option for the time being.

  Evie stood up, wincing as the intolerably hot backside of her jeans pulled tightly against sensitive skin. Tossing aside thoughts that boarded along the lines of failure, doomed-venture, and why the hell did I ever think I could leave home and do this on my own, she found the determination to not let this be the end of her Scotland adventure.

  “Just a bump in the road.” She told herself, as she took out her umbrella and stepped out the front door into the deluge.

  Evie struggled with the latch on the umbrella, unaccustomed to even carrying such a thing back in Edmonton, where rain showers were often fierce but short. When it finally sprang open, one of the spokes caught the arm of her glasses. The frames were flung off her face, clattering to the rain-soaked cement lenses-side down. The arms stuck straight up, proudly rubbing her bad luck in her face, like an ill-willed omen.

  “Of course,” she grated, slapping her palms frustratedly against her thighs, as she nodded in agreement with this latest ‘bump in the road.’ With a long sigh, she bent down to pick them up, feeling the cool drip of rain splashing against the exposed peak of her back between the hem of the hoodie and her jeans. She lifted the black frames upwards, looking through them up into the grey sky as best she could without letting the rain spatter her face. Even with the right lens covered in raindrops, she could see the pit marks and scuffs permanently embedded in the material. “Just great. Yup, of course, they’re scratched. And these were my favourite pair.”

  Evie wiped the lenses off with the hem of her cotton tee—the cardinal sin of all opticians—before slipping them on her face. They were fogged and scratched, and she knew she would look as unprofessional as hell for her first day at work, but for the time being, she could at least see.

  The redhead gave another resigned sigh and made a pathetic attempt to straighten her shoulders, but it was chilly out now that the rain had decided to pour. She gave up and let them hunch in, doing the zipper of her hoodie up as high as it would go to hide the quiver of defeat that nagged at her chin beneath the thick fabric of the collar.

  Evie left the parking lot, making her way across the charming bridge over the picturesque canal, and away from the perfect flatshare that had turned out to be her worst nightmare. Her feet carried her south on Tolbooth Wynd to Maritime Street, following the blue line on the app. By the time she found the hotel, her internet search had provided, her flats were uncomfortably squishy.

  A wooden sign hung off a cast iron rigging of a stone-clad building. It showed the purple head of a unicorn outlined in black and underneath were the words, The One-Horned Mare. It hung over a set of stairs that led down from street level to a side door. Not accustomed to descending into basements for a business entrance, Evie pulled out her phone and triple-checked that she was at the same place displayed in the web browser. Her GPS said that she was bang on. Cold and wet, she shrugged and hesitantly descended the steps.

  The rain had made the stones slick, and she slipped off the bottom step, as she came to the bottom. Luckily a metal handrail saved her from a nasty spill. It didn’t, however, protect her from the puddle that had accumulated at the bottom of the stairwell. Her shoes slapped the water as she regained her balance, sending waves cascading up her shins, along with a bunch of unsavoury dead leaf litter. Evie cursed, all feelings of positivity washed away by the little black rain cloud that seemed to be following her around today, drenching her with misfortune.

  At least, no one was there to witness her unceremonious deposit before the door. The thing was damn near medieval, made of dense wood and painted a rich Tyrian purple that matched the horse’s head on the sign above. A large knocker hung from its centre, above a large iron grip. She felt like it might be necessary to know the secret password if she wanted to gain entry. Yet, reassuringly enough, she could hear the soft sounds of muffled voices coming from inside. So, Evie took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  Taking her off guard, the heavier than expected door, forced her off balance, and she had to shoulder it open to get inside. A bell above rang to signal her entrance, and all the people in the venue seemed to stop and turn. All eyes lingered with a moment’s regard that seemed to stretch on forever in her mind, before they turned back, nonplussed. What she had thought was a hotel appeared to be more of a pub, teaming with patrons enjoying meals and drinks.

  Stunned and a little overwhelmed by the day, she stood there inside the doorway, taking it all in. She wasn’t sure this was the kind of place that she could stay. Were there even rooms? Had she gone through the wrong door? Why was she such a screw-up?! Couldn’t at least just one thing go right for her today?

  The man behind the bar waved to her, beckoning her to come in. Evie didn’t think. Her body just moved of its own volition, doing as she was commanded, ready to hand the reins of this misadventure over to anyone willi
ng to take them. Embarrassed and exhausted, she fought back the tears that threateningly pricked at her eyes, plopping down onto a square stool at the man’s bar top. She swiped her hands under her scratched lenses, wiping away the dampness clinging to her skin from the weather and smudging her mascara in the process. Seeing black on the pads of her forefingers, the redhead cursed under her breath again.

  “Never you mind, there pussycat,” The man behind the bar said, in a voice that was somehow both silvery and smoky, “yer looking just fine.”