Monochrome (10 page)

“Ishmael! Go check the mirror.”

He moved away from her, a disappointed slant to his shoulders, but when he got to the mirror his face glowed. He twisted around and wrapped her into a tight hug. “Thanks, Abby.”

She shrugged out of the hug, embarrassed by the contact. “I didn’t do anything,” she answered awkwardly. He shook his head at her but didn’t argue. She yawned and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m beat. What do you want to do about the sleeping situation?”

Ishmael took a pillow and the comforter off the bed, leaving two thinner blankets, a pillow and the sheets. Still standing next to her, he tossed the pillow and comforter on the floor and ran his hands through his hair. “I think we can both sleep. I doubt anyone else will mess with you tonight after hearing about the Traders.”

He touched her arm lightly, and she felt the same shocking sensation she felt when he touched her at the bar. She pulled away from his touch, but he didn’t seem to mind. Understanding settled on his countenance as she rubbed her arm where he touched her and backed away from him.

His face was morose and guilty as he lay down on the floor. He flipped half of the comforter over his body, put his hat over his face and whispered, “Goodnight, Abby.”

She moved to the top of the bed, pushing herself under the remaining blankets. The thin blanket on the bed was scratchy and smelled like musty basement, but she was too tired to care. She laid her head on the lumpy pillow and fell asleep to the sound of Ishmael’s even breathing.

Abigail shivered in her sleep. The room grew much colder throughout the night. The old oil heater in the corner hissed weakly and barely emitted warmth, maybe because the power in this Hotel seemed on the verge of blacking out at any moment.

Wood, oil and candles were favored for light and heat in this particular town, and, from the sputtering of the oil heater and the flicker of the bathroom lights, it was apparent why. At first, she was sleeping too heavily to dream, but as the night got colder, her dreams became more lucid and disturbing. Her first dream was about Ash.

*

Twelve-year-old Abby and Ash were playing in Ash’s yard, racing each other to this tree and that fence. But Abby was getting tired of racing. Ash was so much smaller and faster, so she told Ash she wanted to rest. Ash suddenly got very angry with her.

“Your fat ass can use the exercise,” she shot out.

Abby’s heart fell to her stomach. Ash never treated her like this. “What’s wrong with you, Ash? I just said I’m getting tired. We’ve been running all day. Maybe we should play inside for a little bit.”

But Abby’s patience only made her best friend angrier for some reason. “
I
want to run, fat ass!” She yelled at Abby, shoving her backwards.

Abby stumbled, but remained standing. Confusion subsiding, she felt a hot rage burning in her core. She balled her fists, pulled her hand back and punched Ash in the face.

Ash fell backwards on her butt, but shot up and rushed at Abby. “You bitch! You punched me! You’ll regret that.” She plowed into Abby knocking her over, but Abby rolled Ash onto her back and smacked her in the face. She sat on Ash, holding her hands down.

Ash cussed at her, spewing hateful words and calling her every bad name she knew. Hurt by Ash’s words, she got up from the ground and kicked her in the side.

As she ran home, crying the whole way, she could still hear Ash scream, “I hate you! Don’t come to my house ever again! This is it, you know! Find yourself another best friend!”

The next morning Abby found her spare toothbrush, sleeping bag, and a chubby plush doll, among other odds and ends, in a beer box outside her door. She didn’t know Ash’s mom had been beaten so badly that morning by Boggy Bob she was bedridden. She didn’t know the anger plaguing Ash. She wished she had. Sleeping, Abigail’s heart still missed her first best friend, and replayed the fight over and over, until the dream changed. Toby was next.

Abby and Kristin stood in front of Abby’s locker. Kristin reached over and peeled a picture of Toby off the inside of Abby’s locker and ran her fingers on the side of it. “Abby, I have to tell you something.”

Abigail nodded an ‘okay.’ Kristin bit her lip. “Toby and I were hanging out at the game Friday.”

She nodded again. Toby told her already. “Yeah, I know. He told me.”

Kristin seemed shocked but relieved. “Oh. He told you, then? And you’re okay? I was sure you’d be pissed.”

Abby felt her ears burn. “Why would I care if you guys hang out when I’m not around?”

Kristen’s eyes darted to Toby’s picture. “Um…Well, we didn’t just hang out. We kissed.” Kristen didn’t try to hide the blush and self-satisfied smirk pulling at her lips.

Abby’s eyes widened and her heart raced. “What?”

Kristen kept her eyes adverted. “We kissed, a lot, and he told me he wants to be with me. He just started dating you to hang out with me.”

Abby’s hands shook and tingled, shooting pins and needles through her fingertips—a sure sign she was getting too angry to control her temper. She glared at Kristen, skinny, straight brown hair, beautiful light green eyes. Her heart sank. Of course Toby was after Kristen. She didn’t want Kristen to think she cared about her and Toby. It was easy to see Kristen wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. Kristen was bragging about Toby’s attraction to her. She was never a good friend. She was always trying to one-up Abby.

She snatched Toby’s picture from Kristen’s hands, tore it into tiny pieces and threw the pieces in her face. “He’s all yours. Good luck with a cheating boyfriend. I hope he’s worth losing one of your only friends.” Abby’s heart was breaking, but she refused to let Kristen see her cry. She slammed the door of her locker with a resounding clang that echoed before stilling, and made her way down the hall to Toby’s locker.

Toby was standing at his locker with two of his juvenile delinquent friends. They were trading money and cigarettes. Abby pushed his two friends aside and shoved Toby up against his locker, smacking his head against it.

His eyes were frightened and he stuttered when he spoke. “I’m s-s-s-orry, Abby. I was h-h-high. I don’t even like Kristen. She’s just trying to start shit.”

Abby let him go. “I don’t want to see your face again. If I do, I’ll break it.”

He was visibly scared, but didn’t want to be embarrassed by a girl in front of his friends. “Like I’d wanna’ see you again. I’m the only guy nice enough to give your fat ass a chance. Try finding better.”

All anger drained from Abby’s body with those words and was replaced by an ache in her chest and stomach. She thought he was attracted to her. Now she understood she was misled.

Tears came rushing to Abby’s eyes. She spun around so Toby didn’t see the tears he conjured, and ran to the girl’s bathroom. She stayed in the bathroom all day long, crying, only coming out when the last announcements were made.

Adult Abigail felt acutely the knowledge that she was fat and plain and no one in the school could see past her surface, not Toby, not Kristen, not anyone. Even though adult Abigail was tall and fit, had nice skin, dark brown, wavy hair, and beautiful hazel green eyes, she felt hot waves of self-hate settle on her while she slept.

It was as if she was no older than thirteen and no memories but these mattered. She couldn’t remember no matter how chubby she’d been as a girl, she was still very pretty. She couldn’t console herself that physical appearance was a shallow representation of the person inside. She couldn’t remember having to work on herself from the inside made her the person she was today. She couldn’t find happiness, though she felt it was there, just out of reach.

She tossed in her sleep and shivered as the air of the room dropped in temperature. Tears ran down her cold face, leaving chilled tracks in their wake. Her sleeping mind was grateful when dreams of Toby and Ash faded and were replaced with a dream of her and Jason.

Like the others, this was not a dream at all but a vivid memory. She was sitting on the back of her car watching Jason, who was leaning on the back of his ’74 Malibu, playing his guitar. Abigail’s heart soared with his voice and the feeling he trusted her enough to share this with her.

Jason sang “She Will Be Loved,” his long hair falling into his face as he concentrated on the music, his eyes shut tight and his work shirt unbuttoned. She hadn’t actually thought he’d bring his guitar after work, when she suggested it a few nights ago, but he had.

He came up behind her at work, placed his hand on her back and said, “I’ll help you clean up before we leave. I’m done for the night, and I have something for you.”

Abigail remembered bugging him the last hour of work, trying to get him to spill the secret. Jason just smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders, his long black hair tied away from his face.

Listening to him sing a song about a woman who needed love, who was lost in a bad relationship, like her, who wanted desperately to be treated like she mattered…it made her throat close up and her pulse beat in her ears.
I hope this song is for me
, she thought over and over again. Jason’s beautiful tenor voice trailed off at the end of the song.

He jumped off the back of his car and rested his guitar on the back of it. “So. What do you think?” He swung his hair off his shoulders; his golden-brown face was playful, his forehead crinkled in happy lines. He had to know she was his. “Do you think this will do the trick?”

Abigail’s heart raced as she asked the question she hoped she knew the answer to. “Do the trick?”

Jason scrunched his nose, embarrassed. “Do you think Jessica will like it?”

Her body felt cold and heavy, as she backed away from him.
Of course, you dummy! He’s practicing on you, his friend, for Jessica, the girl he loves.
Abigail pictured the tan, petite girl who came in once in a while, always flirting with Jason, touching his arm, asking him when he was going to take her out.

Jason told her he’d asked Jessica out, but she always found an excuse not to go.
I hate women who play games with good men.

“So? What do you think?” he asked again, when Abigail had yet to speak.

Abigail felt like crying. She knew it was stupid to feel this way. She had a boyfriend and no right to expect anything out of Jason.

She didn’t even want to try to compete with Jessica’s sweet charm. She wasn’t sweet or bouncy, she was smart and stubborn, and most boys didn’t like trading one for the other. But she was crazy about Jason, and he seemed so different than other men.
He
was smart, asked her opinion, and listened to her answers. He didn’t always agree with her, but he was honest and unassuming, which she preferred to simpering.

She knew she never felt so much passion for her boyfriend, who was nice enough but a little dull. The fact was, no matter how many men wanted her now, Jason didn’t seem to be one of them.

“She’ll be yours forever if you sing to her.” Her voice was choked and awkward. “I promise,” she whispered.

Jason hugged her with one arm, a buddy hug. “Thanks for being my lab rat.”

The colors around her seemed to dim and her heart felt still and dead. Sleeping, Abigail still wondered if Jason chose her because she later actively pursued him. She always held a suspicion she wasn’t chosen by Jason, but settled on. This thought crushed the remainder of her tired mind’s hope.

Dream Abigail noticed a chill in the air and shivered. She watched Jason walking towards his car, and it seemed as if he was taking the happy part of her with him. As he drove away, waving enthusiastically, the air froze her in place, the colors faded from moon-yellow to dull grey, from grey to nothingness black, until there was nothing to dream. There was just cold.

Ishmael was startled awake by the cold and by bad dreams of his own, when he heard silent sobs from the bed above. He sat up gingerly, not wanting to scare Abby. He peeked over to the bed and saw her face set in a painful grimace. Tears made their way steadily down her face, even though she was asleep. He felt immediately guilty for being the cause of her pain. Doing his job would be her downfall, as it was for all of his Leads.

Hurting Abby felt personal. He didn’t know why she was different. Though, if he were being honest with himself, he considered her beauty, liveliness, intelligence, and strength very attractive. He’d never led anyone with whom he felt an immediate connection before, who had so much left to give the world.

A cold draft rattled the window behind him and a gust set goosebumps up his bare arms. Nights were winter cold in Monochrome. He knew that well enough. He picked up his pillow and comforter and walked to the other side of the full-sized bed.

He put the pillow down on the bed and lay down behind Abigail, making his way under the thin blankets she already lay under, and pulling the comforter up and over them both. He felt their mingled warmth almost immediately. His blood quickened and his body heat reached for hers. He kept space between them, to respect her, but it was almost too difficult not to wrap his arms around her. He felt like the worst kind of creep for wanting to hold a sleeping stranger.

But it surprised him when he realized wanting to hold her didn’t come from lust. He just wanted to keep her warm and to be warm, and to feel her form fold with his. He’d been lonely for so long, and no amount of one-night stands with lifeless females in Monochrome compared to being next to someone alive and strong.

Ishmael knew he’d catch hell from her in the morning for lying next to her. He hoped she decided not to slug him when she woke up, but it was too cold in the room for him to care. And he hated to see someone so tough and stubborn cry in her sleep. He lay down next to Abby inches from touching her and softly whispered to her the most consolatory thing he could think of. “Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep…”

The cold, black night of Abigail’s dream faded. She felt a blanket of warmth covering her sleeping body. The nothingness she felt and saw around her shifted, and she heard a deep, careful voice behind her. Dream Abigail pivoted to find the source of the voice, but saw only a single path of black stones, twisting into a blue wood. The wood was where the voice came from. It was louder now and more distinct. She knew this voice, but couldn’t place it. She guessed there was nothing to do now, but follow it and find its source. She listened and recognized the voice was reciting Coleridge.