I’m moving through the story a little faster now after getting used to the handwriting and the flow of the story so hopefully I’ll have more to post in time for a little Thanksgiving reading!
The waitress brought the check laying it briskly on the table no longer eager for Doc’s attention. He dropped neatly folded bills on the shiny red Formica then leaned back, arms stretching over his head extending a yawn, words slightly distorted by his gaping mouth. “So you ready to do this?”
“W-what you mean now?”
“Of course now. Why not now?”
I stared at him with nothing to say. He held out his hand. “Give me the keys, I’ll drive. You should relax as much as you can before we start.”
Speechless I placed the keys in his palm standing to follow as he walked out of the restaurant into the steady heat of the afternoon. Stopping by my car he opened the passenger door waiting until I sat and buckled my seat belt before walking to the other side. Settling behind the wheel he started the engine eying the gauges on the console as he navigated out of the parking lot. “You really shouldn’t drive with less than a quarter of a tank, especially if you don’t know where you’re going. What if you’d gotten stranded?”
I laughed my forehead in my hands. “You are very used to telling people what to do aren’t you?”
He shrugged pulling sunglasses over his constantly changing eyes and continued to drive and drive and drive. Hypnotized by the rhythmic passing of white staccato lane lines and Doc’s bell-like humming of what sounded like Disney movie tunes I reclined my seat, closed my eyes, bunched my jacket for a pillow and welcomed sleep.
My eyes fluttered open a few hours later as he pulled to a stop in front of a small ranch-style house with a tragically landscaped yard. Unassuming and generic it was the epitome of beige, dirty beige siding, beige shutters, light beige door, beige-brown patches of dead grass like abstract polka dots decorating the lawn.
Silently we walked towards the unlit house. Following him I climbed three concrete steps merging into a small porch. There was the soft click of a key and then we passed through the front door into the compact foyer. He flipped a switch and my breath caught in my throat.
I should have known. The exterior of his house was the unassuming book bag catholic school girls use to hide their short skirts and high heels. The inside of his house was undulating with color. The foyer walls electric blue with burnt orange crown moldings. Large scale oil paintings thick with texture hung from them, yellow, red, blue and green swirls of human body parts, arms, legs, curves of backs and lifts of chins memorialized on canvas. Random rainbow stained partitions of parquet, oranges, reds and blues built a patchwork floor. I walked slowly behind as he headed towards the kitchen passing more artwork, electric landscapes, abstract waves and blocks of color, huge life sized canvases, some simply propped against the wall, a large violet shaded breast leaning against an equally intense couch with apple red velvet pillows.
The entire house was wide open. No walls separating the foyer, living room, dining room and kitchen. Each space an analogous homage to the miracle of the rainbow. Dropping my keys on the kitchen counter he walked to his shiny black fridge offering me a neon green soft drink in a slender glass bottle. Grabbing his own bottle he stood across from me leaning against a red oven. His eyes were alive in this space, an excited shimmy of every color he passed, a kaleidoscope regarding me with a palpable air of concern.
“You look tired,” he took a sip of soda, “maybe we should start first thing in the morning when we’re both refreshed.”
I barely heard him preoccupied instead with looking around his candy-land house, at his eyes moving from color to color like Jack’s jumping beans. In theory everything about him and his house should have been jarring, should have just been wrong. Instead the smash and flood of color miraculously found a way to soothe. Nudging off my shoes I sat on the edge of the counter swinging my legs and sipping my drink holding the neck of the bottle easily between two fingers. “Your house is…your house is insanely perfect.”
Reaching into the fridge he grabbed another bottle, draining half in one long swallow. “It’s how I see the world. This is the only place I can surround myself with color without worrying about this.” He tapped the side of his right eye drawing my attention back to their Rorschach menagerie of colors. Their ever changing now seemed the most normal. It was impossible to imagine them any other way. They seemed to promise honesty. The shifting eyes of a man who until twelve hours ago I never knew existed. A man who shouldn’t exist.
Finishing my drink I let loose the question I was afraid of. The one I’d been shuffling around my mouth since the need to have my life erased became the only viable option. “How much will it hurt? A lot? It seems as if it should be one of those things that’ll come with a lot of pain.”
His voice was soft. “It’ll hurt.”
I hoped down from the counter. Walking over to the fridge I reached in for another drink, grabbed a bottle of sunshine yellow liquid and popped the top. “Maybe tomorrow is a good idea,” I said looking down at the floor, “after bunking in my car last night sleep in a bed sounds amazing.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder knocking me lightly with his knuckle under my chin they way I always imagined a father might do. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
I followed him down a short butter yellow hallway then through a shiny brick red door. The bedroom was white with a purity that was stunning. A baroque crystal chandelier hung low from the ceiling, layers and layers of crystals seemingly illuminated from the inside out. The walls were spotless with a barely perceptible sheen, glass bedside tables emerged like ghosts from their smooth surface. The floor was low pile shag fluffy and deliciously soft under my bare feet but the bed, the bed was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
It was a four poster masterpiece. Victorian and ornate constructed from what on first glance appeared to be entirely of glass. Amazed I ran my hand over its surface, every detail perfect and smooth. I looked at Doc quizzically.
“It’s a polymer plexiglass,” he said, “Indestructible.”
Transfixed by the chandelier light refracting through the panes of the headboard, I ran my hands over the milky cashmere comforter draped evenly over Egyptian cotton sheets. “It’s amazing, just unbelievable…”
He looked around the room finishing the last of his drink. “It’ll do, it’ll do.”
Chuckling at the incredulous look on my face he stepped back hand resting lightly on the door knob. “There are clothes in the closet. Pajamas if you need them. The bathroom is down the hall first door on the right. I’ll leave you towels and a toothbrush. Get some sleep. We’ll get started in the morning.” He gave one last smile winking at me with eyes full and pale as the moon before closing the door behind him.
I sat quietly listening to the sounds of him moving down the hallway. The subtle rustle of running water as the toilet flushed, the whisper quiet clicks of lights being turned on and off. Standing I walked towards the closet toes curling against the plush carpet. The inside of the closet was as thoroughly white as the rest of the room. Stark and mostly empty save for a pair of jeans folded over a slim bone white hanger, a pale yellow button down shirt, two crisp white tank tops, black Havaianas flip flops, grey chucks and a large white sleep shirt with a giant yellow smiley face in the center. I ran my hands across everything, fingering the clothes, smelling the newness of the shoes. It was all my size and all eerily similar to what hung in my own closet.
Shrugging off my jeans and tank I eased the cotton sleep shirt over my head and down my shoulders feeling it lightly brush the back of my knees. Climbing into bed the sheets were a welcome cool against my skin and it all smelled the color of white, crisp and open. Soft.
A small oval speaker sat demurely on the ghost table. No radio dials. No blinking lights or on/off switch. Examining it I ran my hand over its unmarked surface until my index finger slid over a pebble smooth dimple an inch above the bottom. Trailing my fingers over it again with the slightest increase in pressure I exhaled in surprise as Nina Simone’s throaty voice rolled from the speaker. Turning off the remaining bedside lamp I leaned back against the firm pillows. Snuggling under the soft comforter as Nina’s Cry Me A River coaxed my eyes closed.