Page 20 of Paint the Town, Dove
“That’s a cool name, Ryden Spectre.”
His hand was still out but I didn’t grab it. I don’t know why. He was offering me his friendship, it was within reach. But I was hesitant.
“Why won’t you shake my hand?”
“I don’t want to touch you.” I admitted.
“But you keep pinching me.”
“I want to touch you when I pinch you.”
“You’re confusing,” he groaned as he stood, blocking the sun from my view.
My eyes roamed over his black tee - a beach in a circle, the wordsHotel Californiawritten across.
“Did you visit California, Ryden Spectre?”
Spectreeee. Spec-tree. Specterrr. So many ways to say his last name.
“No, why?”
“Your shirt,” I pointed. “Hotel California.”
He crossed his arms almost as if he were embarrassed that I was looking at it. I liked the colour, I liked the design. It looked new.
Sinead and Flack never bought me anything new.
“It’s a song by theEagles. Do you know theEagles?”
I squinted up at him, the way the sun looked like a squiggly halo around his dark hair. He was taller than me, but everyone was. Two thick strands stuck out in front of his forehead, casting a shadow against his cheeks. He looked angular, big and mighty. Like an…
“Eagle…” I poked the rip in his knee. “You look like an eagle. You could be in the band.”
“Eagles are cool.”
“Your name is cool.” I rebutted, and he smiled.
In four months, I’d seen lonely Ryden Spectre sad and solemn, all by himself. But today he smiled, and laughed. He smiled at me.
[I made someone smile.]
“I’d sayyour name is cool too if I knew what it was…”
Should I tell him my name? What was the point? If Ryden Spectre ended up being my friend, I’d wind up leaving again. I never stayed anywhere for more than one year; I’ve been down this road before.
There were so many kids I wanted to play with growing up, so many chances I almost had. Countless times I’d ask Sinead to stay, beg her to, but got used to the disappointment when she’d say, “Flack’s got a new gig. Up and at ‘em Violet.”
She said she named me after my favourite colour, but I hated it. I realized that when I was seven and melted purple crayons in the microwave. Myparentsnever wanted to do anything fun, so I tookfuninto my own hands.
I dunked my hair into the bowl of chunky wax and massaged it into my scalp until light brown turned into purple.
Excitement filled my bones until I looked in the mirror and rinsed it out immediately.MomandDadloved it, though. They loved anything after taking their medication.
A week later I did the same experiment with red crayons. I liked red. Flack used to have bonfires by the trailer sometimes and have me light the match. It burned, but I was mesmerized.
Fire, red hot fire.
It could heat.
