Page 19 of Paint the Town, Dove
“I don’t know you well enough to say.”
“But you just told me his name so you have to tell me everything now.”
“Why?”
I pinched his wrist. “Because I know too much. I could be dangerous. I could hunt this Corban guy down and poof… gone.”
He sighed. He sighed a lot. “I wish you’d do just that.”
That’s when I noticed the object in his hands. The one he’d been playing with every single time I’d seen him near this playground, alone.
Always alone.
Maybe we had more in common than I thought.
“Can I see that?” I softened my voice now that I decided I liked him.
“Sure.”
He handed me a purple triangle, slim and slender with a white bird in the centre. “Why do you have a guitar pick? Do you play?”
A nod. “I will play. And when I play, I will be the best guitarist on this planet. Like Hendrix, or Van Halen. Yeah,” he smiled. I couldn’t stop staring. “Yeah, I’ll be like them.”
Oooo-kay. “So you have a guitar pick but no guitar?”
“I have a guitar… Mom just bought me one for my birthday.”
My eyes lit up as I reached over and peeled back his fingers, placing the guitar pick in his palm. I hated birthdays, ever since I was born. I couldn’t forgive Sinead and Flack for bringing me into this miserable life, unloved and useless. But this lonely boy… he could besomething new. Something different.
He’d have a reason. And I’d have a purpose.
“Let’s make you a rock star.” I nudged him, absorbing the shock of warm contact against his shoulder.[I wasn’t so cold anymore.]
“What a weird way of saying happy birthday.” He laughed, shaking his shaggy hair.
I stared at him. The cheekbones that jutted out of his face, the smile lines around his mouth. He had a nice laugh. I liked his laugh. I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“Do you have any friends?” I poked, scooting in closer. He didn’t mind. At least I hoped not.
“My mom.”
“Any friends your actual age?”
He shrugged. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Close enough, do you want to be my friend?”
[The cold was back.]I placed a hand over my red face and turned away. Sinead, Flack and I moved around so much that I couldn’t settle and breathe, let alone make friends.
“I’ll be your friend if you tell me your name.” I demanded, pinching his skin once more. I couldn’t help it. Touching someone else comforted me, made me feel less alone.
He wiped his stained fingers across faded blue jeans, extending a hand. “Ryden Spectre.”
Ryden Spectre.
Ryden Spectre.
