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Light Blue

novella

Active Member
Light Blue

In 1977 light blue was something you put on your eyelids if you were a certain kind of disco-chick girl with platform shoes, a sparkle belt, a Huck-a-poo shirt, and hair inspired by David Bowie circa The Man Who Fell to Earth. I was not a blue-eyeshadow kind of girl, though. Light blue was the color of the cotton shirts I was supposed to wear to high school, with my gray pleated skirt and knee socks. I accessorized the dictated ensemble with a peacock feather roach clip, a man’s tweed waistcoat with a satin back, and a sun visor. I remember the sound of my brown leather clogs on the pavement when I walked to the subway in the morning, under the canopy of Kwanzan cherry blossoms that lined my street. I remember the feeling of drinking the spring air in and knowing I would not be 16 forever. I clogged past the war criminal’s house, past Trip Keating’s whose father drank with the priests, past the wacky lady who let squirrels in. Each house had some darkness within. Everyone has trouble. I knew that already, walking by so loudly in the early morning light, cupping a lit cigarette in the palm of my hand. I didn’t worry, though. I felt that the dark things behind my own door would come right in the end.
 

novella

Active Member
continued

Thanks, Josh. Here's more . . .


At the end of the street, the cherries ended. It was barren and the rising sun shot me in the eye. I passed the two highrises where the Iranians lived who had split to America when the Shah fell. They were crazy brown boys with long teeth and flailing arms and legs kicking soccerballs into the traffic. No sign of them in the early morning. Just the empty white pavement and the rushing cars. I liked to be alone on the street, before the rush-walking suits hit their stride, swimming over each other in a tide of gray. I was a fast walker, but not like them. I was not in a hurry, just liked the feel of it.

I will not eat today, I told myself. There is no reason to. I will not eat today, not even a little bit. A diet soda at lunch. A Pepsi Light, with the little picture of a lemon on the can. This was not an original idea for the day, but a daily mantra. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Mostly I willed it to work with all my mind, putting denial first above everything.

The guys were on the subway platform, Kevin, Michael, and Tank. I could never figure out if they waited for me or just showed up at the same time, but they were always there when I got there, and we always got on the same train, though there was a train every couple of minutes. I guess they waited. I smoked on the platform, Marlboro, what else. It was okay then to smoke almost everywhere. Not allowed, really, but no one said a thing. The tile walls were covered in black tags. Snoop 42, CASE, The Racket, nothing beautiful. Just tagging for tag’s sake. Some of them I knew, but I thought it was a stupid thing to do.
 
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