If

by Nina G. Jones

  My synesthesia was coming back in full force, no longer reserved for things associated with Bird. Shit, I thought Bird glowed before, but now she was otherworldly, just as I knew she would be. I imagined it would be hard to understand for someone who didn’t see things like me. Imagine your significant other glowing like a celestial being. That’s what it was like for me with Bird. But it wasn’t blinding, it was soft and radiant. It was soothing. Her aura sometimes changed colors from its baseline lavender, expanding to layers of mint green, sherbet, or a golden sheen. I never tired of it. I never got bored of looking at the totality of her beauty: her mouth and the plump pinkish lips that framed it. The tiny freckles that speckled her nose and cheeks and the occasional rogue one on her chin or forehead. Her eyes, mostly dark green with flecks of gold. Her hair, the color of embers. Lush, wild, coarse curls that made her all the more womanly in my eyes. Her skin, creamy and bordering on pale when she stayed out of the sun, but it would turn the slightest hint of caramel if she let herself enjoy it. Her body, firm with muscle, but soft to the touch.

  A dog barked. Red triangles.

  Having the synesthesia come back again was like being reunited with an old friend. The kind of old friend that you clicked with right away no matter how long you had been apart. No awkward reintroduction. No need to relearn your rhythm. It had been like we had never parted ways.

  Bird and I had sex for the first time in a while that morning. My drive had been low due to being sick, and she didn’t want to catch what I had anyway. She obviously didn’t understand that what I had wasn’t contagious. I planned on finally telling her everything, but I wanted to be in my right mind. Being depressed is not the condition in which you want to deliver not so great news.

  Sex with Bird was like swimming in a warm liquid rainbow. I saw the colors I always saw when we made love, or fucked, but now they were metallic, like mercury. It felt like I was bathed in them, dripping with the limitless colors that she inspired. A sweet and sour taste, like a nectar, filled my taste buds when we softly thrust against each other. Low moans. Soft panting. Gentle caresses. When it was hard, her kisses tasted different. The taste of her mouth was always present, but when I was ravenous, when there was pulling, groaning, growling, grabbing, biting . . . I tasted flesh. Like the finest dry-aged steak, rare. If you’ve ever had a hankering for steak, where nothing else will satisfy you but the slab of meat, with pink juices pooling around it. That first bite, that relief of tasting life, and it filling that intense animalistic craving, that’s how fucking Bird tasted.

  There was nothing like being inside of Bird. Nothing.

  I entered the coffee shop where I was supposed to meet Bird after her class, using my long walk as a roundabout way to get there.

  I sat at a table, observing the crowd around me. I used to be surrounded by people who lived under tarps, kept all their possessions in cart, and shoved needles into their arms in broad daylight. Now, there was a businessman on his cell phone staring up at the menu board and holding up the line, a woman clad in designer workout gear feeding her daughter a piece of coffee cake, a couple of people my age plotting out some “disruptive” business plan. The latter made me feel like a real winner. I was just trying to manage functioning each day, and there they were trying to conquer the world.

  A hand waving in my peripheral vision broke my people-watching. As Bird stood up on her tip toes, her sexy stomach peeked out the bottom of her cutoff t-shirt. Her long legs were covered in black spandex. I had become a huge fan of that material since I first saw her. Her body was made for spandex.

  “Hey!” she said cheerfully, planting a kiss on my lips. “You look so good today. I am so glad you’re finally feeling better.”

  “Yeah, I took a long walk today. My energy is coming back.”

  “You’re telling me,” she winked. “Are you sure you still don’t want to go to the doctor? You were sick for so long.”

  “But I’m getting better now, so it’s pointless.”

  “Men,” she huffed. “I was just scared maybe you had mono. The fatigue and all.” She leaned in with a whisper. “And if you do, I’m screwed because I can’t say no to your morning poke.”

  “It’s not mono. Don’t worry,” I said, reassuringly.

  A little girl with coffee cake crumbs all over her face ran up to Bird and planted her palms on her knees. I thought maybe she was a student or something.

  “Awww, hey little girl,” Bird said sweetly as she bent forward to be closer to eye level.

  “Was dat?” the little girl asked, pointing her nubby finger to one side of Bird’s face. I watched as the brightness in Bird’s smile dimmed. That small question triggered a deep sadness, that little finger digging and swirling inside of a long-open wound.

  “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Come here, Apple!” Designer Tights Mom said.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure I would’ve asked the same at her age.” Bird put on her sweetest fake smile. She turned her attention back to the girl.

  “When I was a little girl, someone gave me a boo boo.”

  The little girl pouted and kissed her nubs and placed them against Bird’s face like she was healing them. Bird’s eyes glossed with moisture.

  “Okay, Apple, let’s go.” The mother was clearly mortified and snatched the child’s hand, pulling her away.

  Bird took in a big slow inhale.

  “Hey,” I reached under the table and put my hand on her leg. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s not the first time. I work with kids her age all the time.” She smiled, and scrunched her shoulders, letting out a quick breath as she relaxed them, as if releasing the entire interaction from her memory. “I’m going to grab some tea. Want anything?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

  She stepped away from our table. I thought about pushing the issue, but we had a deal, and if I was going to know it all, so was she. Besides, this was her opportunity to tell me more if she wanted, and clearly, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.

  After a few minutes, Bird came back with two piping hot cups.

  “What’s this?” I asked as she handed me one.

  “You have to try this tea, it’s my favorite. Thai coconut green tea.” There was this unspoken tension I felt as someone with a Y-chromosome. I didn’t want Bird supporting me but she was inherently generous, and she didn’t see the purchases as me taking, just as her sharing.

  I needed to get a job.

  At this point, I was like a stray Bird found on the street. I needed to choose if I was going to be an indoor cat or an outdoor cat. I couldn’t be both.

  “Thanks,” I winked at her. I was tempted to tell her that she shouldn’t have, but I didn’t want to make her feel bad for doing something kind.

  “So, on the way over here, I called my boss,” she said. “He said they have openings for a bus boy at a few of their restaurants and kitchen staff, too. You mentioned you didn’t want to be a server, so I didn’t bother to ask about that.”

  I wasn’t very good at serving others. I could get snippy. I didn’t have Bird’s almost angelic levels of patience. I also wasn’t very good at jobs, at least from my limited job experience in high school and college. Correction, I could be employee of the year material for weeks or months at a time, but I was always one incident away from snapping or just not showing up and instead staying in bed for weeks. But this time would be different, I told myself.

  “I have maybe cooked a can of spaghetti-Os . . .” I confessed.

  “I think busing would be a great start. You can always move to kitchen. Carlo said he needs the help, you just need to stop in and chat with him. I told him it might be a few days because you were still sick.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop by this week.”

  It was official: I was becoming an indoor cat.

  BIRD

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” Jordan came in screaming as he busted into my apartment, f
lailing his phone in the air.

  “You go it? You got it!” I said. “Ahhhhh!” Jordan and I jumped up and down. Ash came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “I take it something really good just happened?” he said as we shrieked.

  “My ear!” I heard Trevor plead through the speaker phone.

  “Alana called me herself. She wants to meet tomorrow. The show will have three distinct acts. I will choreograph one. The theme of the show will be parables told through animals. Our section will be about the jungle at night. Glow in the dark costumes, black lights, neons, it’s going to be amazing. You’ll have to audition, but I want you in.”

  “Congrats man!” Ash patted Jordan on the back.

  “They want to move fast. Show in four and a half months showing for four weekends. If it’s successful, there will likely be a tour.”

  “This is crazy!”

  “I know. They have a casting call out, but I want you as one of the leads, and those will be individual auditions.”

  “Oh my god, oh my god!” I jumped into Ash’s arms, wrapping my legs around him. He held onto me with one arm, while scrambling to keep him towel on with the other.

  “You got this,” he winked and I planted one right on his lips.

  I had pretty much forced Ash to rest at my place after I found him and he was finally getting his appetite back to put on the weight he had lost. I made him promise to take it easy and not get too wrapped up with his work. I understood that sometimes inspiration grips you and takes a hold of your mind until you let it out, but if you don’t manage that as an artist, you burn out, or even worse. Sometimes the very thing that gives you purpose as an artist, the angel of inspiration, can transform into a demon.

  I was going to help Ash achieve balance in his life. I knew once he got a hold of that, he would be able to achieve commercial success. I could just feel things were starting to look up for us. Jordan got this huge gig, I was getting the audition of a lifetime, and Ash would be getting a job and finishing his project.

  “Alright girl,” Jordan said, pulling me off from Ash. “We need to talk about your audition because I want you to nail it and it’s on such short notice.” He turned to Ash. “Can I steal her?”

  Ash smiled, but the smile was heavy. He was still a little tired. “Of course. Make her shine the way she shines in my eyes.”

  BIRD

  During my last big audition, I drank too much water beforehand. Which is why I had to pee so bad, and how I ended up in the bathroom overhearing those girls taunting me. I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life, so I didn’t drink very much water this morning, and now my throat was dry as I stood in front of Jordan, Alana Roché DeMill, and the head of production for Danse Nocturne.

  I couldn’t believe THE Alana was here, but apparently, she believed in this project heavily and would oversee everything, including auditions.

  “Are you ready?” Jordan asked stoically, as if he hadn’t seen me in the shower or raided my fridge a hundred times.

  I cleared my throat, desperately trying to generate some moisture, and nodded. He pressed play on an iPhone hooked to a speaker and “Never is a Promise” by Fiona Apple began to play. I was asked to come in with an original piece and I spent the past two weeks working ferociously on it.

  As soon as I extended my arm for the first beat, I closed my eyes and the nerves that pricked my skin melted away like warm wax. I had no fear. Fear was not a choice. I had to get this right. If I blew it, I didn’t deserve to be in LA. I should just pack my bags. People would kill for this opportunity, and I had to do it justice.

  I barely remember the dancing itself, as each move was its own distinct moment in time, lived and forgotten as the next one came. And then there I was, folded, as the last note of the music sang.

  I looked up, scanning the usually dead eyes for a hint of assurance, and I saw Jordan’s flash to tell me I did well.

  I was expecting to be dismissed. But Alana whispered something to Jordan, then leaned back and uttered something to the director. She looked at me, raised her finger, and motioned for me to come up to the table.

  I wanted to run to her, but my body moved like it was trudging in mud. Alana was middle-aged and elegant, her posture and physique still undeniably that of a dancer. Her salt and pepper hair was fiercely straight and shoulder length, and she wore an enormous cream sweater that should have been bulky, but magically fell in all the right places.

  When I made it to the table, she motioned for me to come closer. I bent over and she squished my cheeks in her hand, which was covered in several large rings, turning my face sharply from one side to the other.

  “You don’t get much work because of your face, no?” she said in the faintest French accent. Alana released her grip and I stood up sharply. My eyes bounced over at Jordan and the other guy, but their expressions seemed as uncomfortable as mine. I should have been insulted, and maybe stormed out, but Jordan had warned me that she was unusual, and there was something in her directness, in an industry full of phonies, that was comforting.

  So, I just barely shook my head.

  “Well, most people are stupid cunts who wouldn’t know true beauty if it jeté’d all over their face,” she said in disgust. “If those assholes spent less time looking at a few scars, and more time focusing on your technique and spirit, they would see what a fine dancer you are.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Jordan’s big white smile light up. He knew she was going to compliment me.

  That evening I received a phone call. I would be in all three acts of Danse Nocturne, not just Jordan’s.

  BIRD

  THAT NIGHT, ASH and I celebrated with pizza on the roof. It had become our regular secret hangout spot. While he was sick, I had taken all of his work and stashed it in my storage locker downstairs with his permission. Now, we were just surrounded by black tar covered in splashes of vivid color.

  Occasionally, especially at night, Ash would get antsy about being cooped up. He didn’t like walls, which I took for him being somewhat claustrophobic. The roof was a place we could go to get some space and air. On a few perfect nights, when sleep tried to evade him, we even made a makeshift bed and slept up there.

  It was on this particular night that Ash first told me he loved me.

  “Eat up, skinny!” I said, opening the pizza box.

  “You should talk, bird legs.”

  “Low blow!” I playfully sneered at him.

  “Oh I love your legs,” he said, pulling one towards him, and kissing the inside of my shin softly. “Long, toned, creamy . . .”

  I giggled.

  “Your feet on the other hand. No one warns you when you date a hot dancer that you should check those first.” He grabbed my foot in his hand as I tried to flail out of his grip.

  “These feet are going to be all over the stage of Danse Nocturne,” I said, tauntingly flexing and extending my toes. I was so happy that Ash was feeling better.

  “I’m thinking I’m ready to paint again.”

  “That’s great. But please, take it easy this time. You can’t just wear yourself out like that.”

  “I know. I will.”

  “Because I need you healthy and I don’t ever want to see you back out there. You can’t leave me like that again. Things are finally starting to look up.”

  “I won’t.”

  He looked and me with a mischievous smirk.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking.” Ash grinned. “You’re a ballsy little bird.”

  “Ballsy?”

  “Yeah, and feisty.”

  “Where’s all this coming from?

  “You moving out here, supporting yourself when your parents would just pay for you to do what they want. The way you pour your soul out at auditions where people judge you and you keep doing it. Most of all . . . the way you jumped in the night we met. I was dick about it. I never thanked you. That was incredibly brave. You are a
brave person. One of the bravest people I know. It’s a rare quality. My dad would like you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He always talked about the people in the military, the things he had seen. The acts where people put themselves at risk for someone else. And you didn’t even know me, Bird. Like I said. Brave.”

  “Or incredibly stupid.”

  He picked at his pizza. “Meh. Bravery can look that way to some. Especially cowards.”

  “That was deep. Did you make that up?”

  “I want to say I did, but it sounded a little too good.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m glad one person doesn’t think I’m a complete fool.”

  He shook his head at me. “I have to tell you something.” It never sounds like it’s going to be good when someone says that.

  My stomach twisted. I always feared there was something lurking that was unsaid, but things were going well and I told myself it was just me, while always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “What is it?” I tried to sound comforting, but the words came out in a panic.

  Ash looked down, hesitating. It made my heart pace faster. “I love you.” His pale jade eyes met mine.

  It felt like those superhero movies, where the damsel in distress is falling to her death, and then the hero flies out of nowhere and scoops her up and shoots up into the sky. One extreme, followed by another.

  Ash was my superhero, except instead of superhuman strength or the ability to fly, he had super senses and a magical paintbrush.

  I don’t know why, but I cried. Not all-out weeping, but a tear escaped my eye. I think it was because of how far the person in front of me had come. He was someone who didn’t even want to defend his own life, someone who always looked down, who wanted to be forgotten. And now, he was coming to life.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked, wiping the tear away.

  “Because you’re going to be amazing one day, and I get to watch you grow in front of my eyes.”

  He wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.