Monochrome

by H. M. Jones

  Ishmael took a drag before continuing. “He was smarter than me. I let my Guide take me for everything. I was too down to care.”

  Abigail was listening intently. “I guess I didn’t even think about you having a Guide. I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t.”

  He laugh was bitter. “Oh yeah, I was assigned one. And he was not as,” his eyes filled with anger, “reluctant to do his job as I am.”

  She sipped her soup and listened.

  “His name was Jake.” Ishmael said the name like it tasted rotten in his mouth. “He made nice when I got here. He cleaned and bandaged my wrist. I succeeded in cutting one before I passed out. As you now know, I never could stomach blood. Guess I should’ve tried pills. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

  Abigail’s eyes darted to his wrists and noticed an ugly scar on his left. Her stomach churned. A quick stab of pain shot through her chest when she realized Ishmael not only wanted to die, but should have. She was immediately in love with his blood aversion. It had saved him. She wondered what pushed him over the edge, and felt stupid for not noticing the scar until now.

  He noticed her stare and shrugged. “Don’t worry. Didn’t do much but make me dizzy from loss of blood and, of course, it’s the reason I ended up here.”

  Ishmael ate a spoonful of soup, and continued, “Anyway, he acted concerned about me trying to take my life. He bought my room and food the first night I stayed here, and told me some sob story about how he got here. I still don’t know if it was true. I think he’d have told me anything to get me to trust him.”

  He glowered. “Hell, he even got me to admit what sent me over the edge. I can’t believe I did that.” Abigail made to ask him, but he stopped her. “Don’t ask me. I haven’t told anyone since, and I don’t want to think about it.”

  She nodded in consent. “What happened after your first night, then?”

  Ishmael took a drink and didn’t talk for a while. After a few more minutes he continued, anger in his voice. “I told him I wanted to go back. I wanted to try, anyway. He acted sympathetic, said we were to travel for at least two weeks.” She raised her eyebrows in shock.

  He noticed. “Yeah, and how was I to know any differently? The asshole led me around in circles. He never paid for me again after the first night. He told me it was the last of his currency and made me feel badly about his loss of memories. He told me he had so few left, and I felt bad, so I paid for him. I was sucked of most of my best memories after only five days. He still has blue eyes, but he’s black on the inside. I guess I chose to become a Guide to keep people from ending up with someone like him. It didn’t pan out that way. Nothing goes the way you plan in this place.”

  Ishmael paused and ate more soup, but Abigail was shocked to see tears in his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, so she just held her drink and waited. Finally, he started again, his voice softer.

  “I can’t tell you now which memories I gave up, but I can tell you I have bad memories of a dog that was put down, a first girlfriend who decided I was too weird to date and memories of a father who was rarely home and yelled when he was. I don’t know if he did anything good and I don’t know, now, why I chose to give him up among my first memories. I don’t remember the dog’s name, though it nags at me. And the girl had curly blonde hair and saucer eyes.”

  Ishmael took another drink, and Abigail continued eating her soup. After a few minutes she asked, “When did you leave Jake?”

  “Around day five. It was because of Kora I caught onto what Jake was doing. Her eyes were dark brown then. She was beautiful and so kind to me. Genuinely kind, but she was also really mean to Jake, barely even looked at him. When he went to the restroom, Kora walked over to me and told me not to trust him and, I don’t know why, I just felt like she was telling the truth. She asked me how long we’d traveled and I told her five days. I still remember the pity in her eyes.”

  Ishmael shook his head. “And how I felt like a complete sucker. I had my suspicions by then, anyway.”

  Abigail waited for him to say more, but after several silent minutes, it clear he was done talking. They finished eating and drinking in silence. “That’s why Kora was so angry with you, then.” It’d been a while since Ishmael finished his story, but he knew what she meant.

  “Yes. She was mad when I first took the post of Guide, but, until I brought you, she was never really angry with me. I mean, she’s realistic. She makes her own living and she knew I had good intentions. Intentions matter very little, in the end. I had quotas to fill, too, and the more memories I lost because I failed, the less eager I was to be helpful.”

  Abigail finished the last of her beer and then asked, “Why was she so mad about me?”

  He shook his head. “Because you’re you, Abby. Like I said, you’re alive. It’s just something you give off. Plus, your eyes. They’re such a pretty green, even now.”

  She blushed but pretended to ignore his flirting. She finished her soup, and felt her stomach settle. It wasn’t half bad, though it did have a metallic aftertaste.

  Ishmael motioned to Terence for another drink. She felt nervous his bill was getting too expensive. He saw her concern and waved it away. “Also, I’ve never kept a Lead around very long. By the time I reached Kora, my Leads chose to stay or, well, chose to die. I was pretty honest with them about my job, how long it takes to travel through Monochrome, but most of them had very little life left back home, I guess. It wasn’t until I met you that I saw someone who had the strength to make it out of here. Kora felt the same, I’m sure.”

  Abigail did want to make it home. She had demons to combat still, but she must be with her baby and Jason, if he’d have her.

  Ishmael fidgeted. “I’ve still conducted my job in many ways, as you know, but, as Geoff said, I was more careful with you. I’ve hoped to help you from the moment you threatened to kill me.” He laughed. “I still do.”

  And for the first time since their strange morning encounter, Ishmael caught her gaze. She couldn’t help herself. She met his eyes for what seemed like minutes, though it was only few seconds. Leaving him to suffer was too cruel an option.

  “Come back with me. Don’t force yourself to make these kinds of decisions. I can’t stand it, thinking you’ll be here.”

  Ishmael didn’t say anything. He just finished his drink and asked, once again, for a refill. Abigail watched as a handful of emotions passed over his features. Terence refilled his glass with a reluctant shake of his head. After he finished it, he motioned for Terence to come over, and asked for their bills. Terence tallied their order in a small leather notebook. “You got moons?” Ishmael shook his head no. Terence seemed disappointed. “You had a few too many, then. A blue memory, please.”

  Ishmael nodded and closed his eyes. Terence brought a blue jar out from under the counter. Abigail made to stop him, but Ishmael saw her move and held up his hand. “It’s fine, Abby.”

  She tried facing away, but found she was glued to the scene. She watched as Ishmael’s clenched lids flashed open and he held out his hand. Terence slid the jar towards him, and raised his eyes in surprise at Ishmael’s choice. It was Abigail and she was sitting, naked, on a dirty bathroom floor.

  Abigail scrutinized the floating memory surrounded by a cloud of blue, suspended between Ishmael’s hand and the bottle Terence gripped. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t mistaken because the woman on the floor didn’t look at all like she saw herself. The woman from Ishmael’s memory was radiant, angelic, even with blood on her chest and her hair a tangled mess.

  She expected the memory to concentrate on certain parts of her body, and, while those were prominently remembered (or misremembered, Abigail thought), one of the most dominant features from Ishmael’s memory were her eyes, scared, tired but defiant and brilliantly green. Terence tried to be a gentleman, by not looking at Abigail after putting the cap on the jar, but she saw surprise in his deep brown eyes.

  Abiga
il didn’t know whether to feel more embarrassed, angry or sad. She was embarrassed for obvious reasons. It took her a second, however, to realize why she was angry. “Ishmael, how could that be a good memory for you?”

  He seemed confused, and it took Abigail a minute to understand why. He no longer remembered the memory he gave. She huffed. “You gave the memory of me, naked, on the bathroom floor of the Hotel we stayed at on the first night. You realize I was just attacked, right?”

  He blushed. “Abby, if it was a memory of you naked, I’m sure the only reason it was a blue memory instead of a gold is because of the circumstances leading up to it.”

  Her mouth hung open for a second before she said, “Then why’d you give it up?”

  He scoffed at her. “You want me to keep it? How in the world is that going to help me?”

  She felt stupid for even asking, or for caring. Of course he didn’t want to keep it. She’d made it clear she was going home, so remembering her, the way he remembered her (no matter how inaccurate), served to upset him.

  Accusing him of not wanting to remember the memory was an empty accusation at best. Still, she was angry with him for another reason. How could he give someone else a memory of me naked! Terence broke her reverie. “You are a true gentleman, Ishmael.”

  Abigail harrumphed, but they ignored her, a dismissal of her pain. Silent mansplaining, Abigail sulked.

  “That’s not why I gave it up, but thank you.”

  Terence spoke up, tentatively. “Don’t worry, lady, I won’t look at it again.”

  She blushed but didn’t say anything. Ishmael looked at her sheepishly, but she pretended not to notice.

  “What do I owe you, Terence?”

  The process seemed to pain him; his voice was apologetic but serious. “You have moons?”

  She searched her pocket and brought out a moon. She hadn’t spent all the money Ishmael got from the black-haired woman.

  Terence took it and put it in his clean apron. “Good. Only a pink memory, then. Just a nice one, nothin’ too special.”

  Abigail nodded and closed her eyes. She thought about giving up a memory of Ishmael to show him how it felt to be thrown into a jar, but she stifled the urge. Really, she found it to be too difficult. If he didn’t agree to go with her home, she would treasure the memories of him, no matter how painful. While it was easy for him to give up memories of her, it seemed she wasn’t as strong as him in that respect. She concentrated on the task at hand. Again, images flew past the back of her eyelids. This time, the memories were tinged in pink, like the first time she gave. One passed Abigail’s eyes, and she concentrated on it:

  Abigail sat on a cushy bench seat, leaning her head against the cool window of the ferry. She was going to the town across the water for her first day at the local community college. For weeks, she’d only spent time with her dad and step-mother and was very homesick for home, her mom, step-dad and her old friends.

  She loved her time with her dad and step-mom, but she still longed for the familiar. Washington was beautiful, the ferry ride to school was relaxing and sported a perfect view of the mountains on a sunny day, but she was still very lonely.

  She was thinking about home and staring at the spray rolling from under the ferry when a young man cleared his throat next to her. She looked up and noticed the blond guy in a knit beanie who was in front of her in the ferry line. He was her age, about nineteen, and his pretty blue eyes shone when he smiled. “Can I sit here with you? This ferry is always so busy in the morning. Commuters.”

  She motioned to the soft bench seat across from her. The young man sat across from her and extended his hand. “I’m Nick. You going to the college?” He motioned to the backpack lying next to her.

  She shook his hand. “Yeah. I’m Abigail. I just moved here.”

  Nick nodded like he knew everything about her. “Yeah, I can tell.”

  Abigail frowned at him.

  He shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t recognize you, and you’re my age, so I just figured…It’s not a big town.”

  “Bigger than where I come from.”

  He kicked his feet up and put his hands behind his head. He liked the way he looked and was showing off for her. She decided not to notice him, which annoyed him a little bit. He sat back up, “You don’t mind my company on school mornings? I mean, I know a lot of the other people our age who are going to the college. I went to high school with them, but I don’t really like them much. They’re stuck up.”

  She wanted to laugh. Nick seemed pretty cocky and a little stuck up to her, but she didn’t say so. She wasn’t sure why, but she liked this self-assured, brazen young man. She grinned. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  Nick smiled back flirtatiously. “I knew it.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “Can you turn down the charm a notch? It’s early.”

  He laughed. “Not a chance. You’re just gonna have to keep up.”

  She shrugged. “I think I’ll manage.”

  With that, Nick arranged his backpack behind him, laid his head down on it, and closed his eyes. “Don’t let me sleep through the ferry arrival call. I do sometimes and the workers don’t check well to see if everyone is off.”

  She grinned. “Alright.”

  Nick peeked at her with one sleepy eye. “I’ll show you which bus to get on, too, so you don’t look like a rookie.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I hope that doesn’t mean I have to share my bus ride with you, too.” He snickered, closed his eyes and went almost immediately to sleep. She read her book and, once in a while, watched the rise and fall of Nick’s chest.

  Abigail lifted her hand and watched as the remainder of the pink stream memory left her body. She immediately felt a little worn, but the pink memory didn’t leave her feeling as tired as the blue memory she gave Geoff. It made her wonder if Ishmael, too, felt more tired after having given up the memory of her, or if his body was used to it by now.

  She knew who she picked to give up. Nick. He was an old friend she no longer talked to, but she liked to remember his funny attitude, his self-assurance and his easy repartee. She tried, for a second, to remember the memory she just gave. She searched her recollections of him and found their first encounter missing. That must be it. I gave up the memory of meeting him.

  Thinking of Nick, now, felt incomplete. She wasn’t even sure why she chose to hang out with him. He was obnoxious in most of her memories, and she wasn’t fond of cocky men. Suddenly, she felt so tired, and, for a second, lonely, though she couldn’t say why.

  Terence put a reassuring hand on hers, his large palm dwarfing even her long fingers. “Thank you for your payment. Take care of my friend here.”

  Ishmael shook Terence’s outstretched hand as they got up to leave.

  “What do you do with the memories you get?” She asked Terence, as they were leaving.

  She was thinking, of course, of the one Ishmael gave up, but also of the ones she’d given. He glanced at her. “I trade them for goods and alcohol.” Of course. Her spirits dropped.

  “Don’t fret. I won’t trade Ishmael’s memory lightly or at all, if I can help it.” She’d forced herself to be content, nodding in thanks and walking quickly out of the bar. Ishmael followed her.

  The soup revived Abigail’s energy a little. She kept up with Ishmael’s quick strides. They walked side-by-side, avoiding conversation. She couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t given her an answer about returning with her. She wanted to bring it up again, but wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. Plus, she was still annoyed with him about giving the memory of her. She understood why he did it, but that didn’t mean she was okay with a stranger having it.

  It reminded her of the Traders and their filthy job. The thought made her shiver. She rubbed her arms to ward off goosebumps and to shake the memories clouding her mind. “You’re cold?” She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Ishmael’s voice. He hadn’t spoken since they left the bar.

  She shook h
er head. “No. Just thinking unpleasant things.”

  Ishmael slowed his pace. “Like what?”

  She thought about not bringing it up. She didn’t want to upset him, but she also didn’t want to lie to him. “I’m uncomfortable with someone getting that memory of me, and it made me think of the type of person who deals in that sort of memory, which made me think of Traders, and I just…” A visible tremor racked her body.

  He slowed his pace even more, and a frown settled on his face. “I didn’t think it out well, did I? God, I’m an asshole. I just thought, well, it might alleviate some of the,” he paused and rubbed his face, “tension between us.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t worry about it. I won’t be here to see it misused, but it just feels like being in a dirty magazine you didn’t pose for. It’s weird.” His face contorted into a self-loathing frustration, and it made Abigail wish she didn’t bring it up.

  Ishmael stopped and lit a cigarette. “Terence is a good man. He’ll keep his word. But,” he faced her, “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought it through better.”

  He sighed. “It didn’t help, anyway. I mean, I don’t know what you look like naked, but it doesn’t keep me from thinking about it. I’m attracted to you, and I’m a man, so I’m gonna think about it.” He grinned, unembarrassed.

  “Yeah. Hey, if it helps you not give up other memories you want to save, I understand.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not it. Not at all. To tell you the truth, there are very few memories more…powerful than the ones I’ve recently gained. The memories with you are new and emotional and tangible in a way the others are not, perhaps because my other memories used to have companions I gave away a while ago. I don’t know. And that’s infuriating, you know? To not know what you’ve given up? To not even be able to second guess your choice because it’s just gone?”

  He talked mostly to himself. Abigail understood what he was saying, but he didn’t need confirmation. She felt the same way about the people whose memories she’d given up and the memories attached to those she gave up.