Finding Color

Entering the all-too-familiar cafe, a warm gust of coffee-flavored air engulfs me welcomingly. I feel the corners of my mouth lift. This used to be one of my favorite places to be--how coincidental that Gerard would ask to meet me. Not much has changed since I've last been here. The menu above the steaming coffee machines is written in pink and yellow chalk rather than the old green and blue, but the employees still shuffle behind the bakery glass as unenthusiastically as they had before, and groups of exhausted college students still sit around the various fireplaces in large-cushioned chairs, tapping away at their latest essays. My smile widens as I remember the afternoons I spent being swallowed in the oversized chairs while downing cup after steaming cup of coffee, running through my latest classroom material with Kit. Sometimes she would show up still wearing her jazz shoes. A snort of laughter escapes my throat at the memory, and a few of the employees at the counter lift their heads to look at me. Several look disappointed, undoubtedly hoping no more customers would come in before closing time. I'll admit, it is pretty late to be having coffee, but Gerard had insisted he finish his latest commission before meeting.

One of the workers, a man with disheveled blond hair and a slightly out-of-place lip ring, stares, eyes slightly wide with shock. Then, he grins, beckoning me over. I indulge him, sticking my hands in my coat pockets as I approach. "Hey Josh," I greet him, "how are things?" He steps to the side of the cash register, leaning towards me on the free counter space. I notice a rather fresh-looking tattoo on his once blank forearm. I can't really tell, but it looks like Scooby Doo. Poor bastard. I nod towards it, and lie, "I like that. Is it new?"

He looks at me, confused for a moment, before seeming to remember the new blemish on his skin. He laughs, lifting it slightly, as if giving me a better view. "Yeah, thanks, I got it two days ago. It's my daughter's favorite--," he stops, chuckling and shaking his head, "Well, you don't really want to hear about all that. I haven't seen you here since you quit the register. How've you been?" I can't help but feel slightly disappointed. Not having seen him in several years, news of his new daughter piques my interest.

I let the topic slide, vowing to find out more later. "Good. Yeah, really really good. I'm actually just meeting someone here. Funny right?" I reach up to scratch my nose, still slightly numb and reddened from the chilled air running through the city's makeshift wind tunnels. I make a note in my head to try and find a table near a fireplace. It's then that I notice he's looking inquisitively at my healing wrist, exposed as my sleeve rode up from the motion of scratching my face. As he finds he's been caught staring, his eyes shift frantically from mine. I feel the color flood into my cheeks as I look to the floor, embarrassed.

He breathes a quick laugh after a moment, attempting to lighten the mood. "Can't believe you're meeting someone outside of work. And on a Wednesday, too. Someone special?"

Half thankful for his efforts, half offended by his remark, I respond, "No." With a shrug, I stick the hand I was using to scratch my--still numb--nose back into my pocket, mentally deciding that it's going to stay there this time.

"Ah." He responds, visibly tense. After a brief pause, he says, "Your order hasn't changed after all this time, right? I could put it in for you." I check behind me for (possibly angry) customers, finding nobody. No sign of Gerard either.

Sighing, I shake my head. "I'd better hold off 'til he gets here. I'm a bit early. Better have some manners, at the very least."

Josh straightens, rolling his shoulders back. I wince as they audibly crack, and he relaxes his limbs before quipping, "Let me know if you change your mind. I'll even make it myself, for old times' sake. These new kids on the machines tend to screw up orders a lot. Makes my job harder than it has to be..." He lapses into silence. I desperately search my mind for an excuse I can give him. I fell across a fence. My cat scratched me. Anything but, 'Oh, by the way, I tried to kill myself on Saturday.' Unfortunately, there's nothing I can fabricate on a moment's notice that I can use to validate myself to him. I'm going to have to get better at this. "You been feeling alright, Lilah?"

"Yes." I respond immediately, not wanting to have a conversation about this with him, and especially not over a cash register. Instead, I take advantage of the awkwardness between us to change the subject. "I didn't know you have a daughter." My eyes move towards his forearm, now hidden beneath the counter. I try to recall the name of his old girlfriend. "You and Dianne--?"

"Diana." He corrects. "Yeah. It wasn't really planned, but..." He shrugs, as if to say 'what can ya do?' Glancing down at his forearm, he smiles. "It's a lot of work. The two of us have been working day and night for around three years now. Well, three on Christmas Eve. Funny, you know? Never thought I'd be a dad--at least, not for awhile--but I love her to pieces. It's worth the exhaustion."

"I'm happy for you." I answer honestly. Looking backwards, I'd have never seen Josh as the type to father a child either. Like most boys in university, he drank excessively, attended far too many frat parties, et cetera, in his freshman and sophomore years. I had met him in my music theory class and he often borrowed my notes from when he skipped lectures, leading to an unlikely and frankly, exploitative friendship on his part, but we had lost contact when I graduated. I suppose Diana must have gotten pregnant the next year, and it's doubtful that he's finished school. Yet, he seems happy, for the time being, and I feel my heart lighten. Leave it to Josh to be happy in the midst of a financial hellhole.

"You wanna see her?" Without waiting for a response, he digs his hand into the pocket of his slightly wrinkled uniform pants, producing his wallet. He opens it holds it towards me, saying, "That's Taylor." In the photo, a flailing toddler is contained to the lap of an exhausted-looking woman who hopelessly attempts to brush a head of wild mouse-brown curls. Despite the apartment, looking dingy and slightly too cramped for such a ball of energy, she smiles brightly at the horseplay in which she is engaging with her mother. And she has her father's crooked nose.

I lean away from his outstretched arm, and he withdraws his wallet to look at the picture himself. "That's a great photo, Josh."

He smiles brightly, going to replace the leather pouch back in his pocket. In the midst of refolding it, he pauses to nod towards the entrance behind me. "Is that for you?"

By the time I've turned towards the door, Gerard is already inside, adjusting his jacket to hug him tighter. Noticing me, he lifts a hand in greeting, and quickly joins me by the counter. "Hey," he greets, his tone light as he tucks a strand of unkempt hair behind his ear. The gesture makes him look quite feminine, and I can't help but crack a smile.

"Hi." We stand awkwardly for a few moments, neither person knowing what to say to open the unfamiliar occurrence that is us spending time together. Luckily, Josh breaks the silence by clearing his throat.

"Are you ready to order?" He watches, half-humored, as Gerard orders a black coffee, smirking at me as he enters the item into the register. I can hear the sarcastic 'he's a keeper' sounding through his expression. I roll my eyes in response. "Your order hasn't changed."

"No," I affirm.

True to his word, Josh leaves the register to fix the drinks himself. Gerard turns towards me. "You've been here before."

"I used to work here." I absentmindedly respond, watching Josh snap at the less seasoned employees to get out of his way.

"How come I don't remember you? I've been coming here for years." I shrug. It's nothing to me, really. When Josh returns to tell us the price of the drinks, Gerard snaps his gaze away from me to rifle through his pocket for his wallet. While he's distracted, I pull a thin wad of cash out of my pocket, quickly flipping through for the right amount. "Don't do that; it's on me."

"I've already got the money out." I argued.

"I invited you out. I should pay." He reached out to lower my arm. I pull it out of his reach.

"But it's not a date," I persist.

"Well, no, but--."

"Well if it's not a date, I shouldn't have to follow that etiquette." I conclude, waving the money at Josh. He breathes out his laughter in an attempt to quiet himself, accepting the bills, and managing to choke out a quick 'thank you,' I lift the drinks off the counter, handing Gerard his.

He hesitates, half shocked, half irritated, before accepting the foam cup in exasperation, mumbling a halfhearted expression of his thanks in response. He gestures for me to follow him to a table by one of the small fireplaces. It's out of the main seating area and more off to the side of the cafe, so the chairs are wooden rather than overwhelmingly soft, but I don't mind. The less people around, the better off I'll be. "You weren't waiting long, were you?" I shake my head. We sip our coffee in silence, sometimes stealing glances at each other, looking away quickly when the other catches them staring. I'm almost a quarter done with my drink when Gerard breaks the silence, sounding hopeful. "It's cold outside, isn't it?"

I blink before responding, "It tends to be that way in December." He sighs, hums in agreement, and the conversation stalls again. After several minutes, Gerard rests his cup on the table, crossing his arms. He sits that way for an uncomfortably long time, surveying me, before laughing. "What?"

"You don't talk much." He folds his hands on top of the table, waiting.

I raise my eyebrows and my lips part slightly. My mouth closes in order to prepare a comeback, but instead I mumble, "No."

"What's that about?"

"I just don't have much to say." I turn my head to look out the window. Something I've never liked about the city is how hell-bent people can be to get places. There is no such thing as a leisurely walk in the city that never sleeps. Before I can develop the train of thought further, Gerard's voice calls me back to reality.

"You seemed to have lots to say at the meeting on Monday." He lifts his drink to his thin lips with both hands, eyes not leaving mine. Somehow, the movement puts me on edge.

"That was a once off thing," I conclude, briefly adding, "I think a lot."

"Like just now?" He nods towards the window. I blush furiously at being caught allowing my mind to wander.

I stare at my hands, wrapped around my steaming cup. "I suppose." The silence that follows is anything relaxed. I can feel his gaze on my face, and I resist the childish urge to let my hair hang over my eyes like I would in high school to avoid the judgmental stares of bullies. When he breaks our hiatus in conversation, I'm relieved only for a moment.

"Maybe that's why you were at the group in the first place. If you think about everything all the time without letting it out, you're bound to get depressed sometimes. It's totally normal." I can physically feel my rage and my anxiety battling it out inside me. In the end, my anxiety wins, and I hardly have the ability to stammer my response.

"I'm not depressed." I'm still looking at my hands. They're shaking now, and I release my foam cup from my grip, scared that I'll either drop it, or crush the plastic in my fingers. Gerard continues, sounding frustrated.

"Well, if you're in that group, which you are, then you've tried to kill yourself like the rest of us have. It'd be pretty surprising if you weren't." It's not just my hands that are shaking now. All over, I'm trembling, though I'm warmed by the nearby fireplace. Breathing slightly ragged, I lift a hand to brush a few stray strands of my dark curls behind my ear. I haven't even noticed my eyes becoming glassy until my vision is clouded. I'm not sure if it's because his words are true or shocking, but if this is what Gerard, a total stranger, thinks of me, what must everyone else be saying? I blink back my tears, bravely moving my gaze to meet his. His expression is hardly readable, faint traces of concern and guilt lingering, but there's something else unidentifiable. He mumbles, "I'm sorry. That was really insensitive. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"No." I manage, in agreement. We fall into yet another spell of uncomfortable silence. I continue drinking my coffee to pass the time, though it's gone cold, and I'm sure Gerard's has as well.

"Do you want to walk with me?" He asks suddenly, "Just around. I haven't seen the city's Christmas tree yet."

"It's freezing out, Gerard."

"It tends to be that way in December." He mimics my tone from earlier, laughing. I can't help but smile back. "You can borrow my gloves if your hands get cold. Or we can always go inside. Come on, let's go see it." He stands, holding a hand out to me. A quarter cup of cold coffee forgotten, I take it.

Notes

I'm finally updating this again. Feels like forever, huh? I'm getting into the swing of things a bit more now, as I've just taken all my exams, and I'm starting a creative writing independent study, which I think will encourage me to write a lot more. I'm slowly breaking the crazy writer's block I've had for, like, a year. That being said, I'm pretty rusty in the writing department, so definitely be expecting an increase in the quality of my shitty writing in upcoming chapters. I haven't actually written anything in a very long time, but feel like I'm getting back into it a bit. I've also never written anything with this much character interaction, so this is all some crazy shit for me right now.

I've said variants of the word 'writing' maybe 500 times in that last paragraph. Basically, ignore the shitty writing for now, 'cause it'll get better later. You all liking this so far?

Rates/comments/subscriptions are always so encouraging. Comments especially! Thanks to everyone who's commented. It's really helped me when I wanted to walk away from writing this for a few days.

--Sparrow Delanuit