I'm Scared of Heights | ONC 2023 ✔️

13) A Shade of Blue

Natalie

There's a fine line between oversharing and being authentic. Oversharing stems from the inability to determine the appropriateness of a conversation topic or a vain attempt to raise one's social status. I did not perform the latter today. No, that will never become a part of my existence. The former, however, is debatable.

Was that appropriate? The thought traverses my mind, hitting each nook of my useless brain.

Should I have said that?

That always seems to be the golden question.

Often, I conclude my actions were "fine" or at least redeemable by some measure. Sitting in Winn's batmobile, I know I can't take those words back. Winn will remember everything from my disposition to my mother to my new circumstance.

Let this evening haunt me for eternity, or count as a shot at authenticity.

My mind shoots at authenticity. Everything in me, whatever that may be, tells me to concur. Which, by any measure, will result in my demise. Since, of course, my head remains in some distant world, untouchable. Either way, I wanted to talk and talk I did.

Winn rubs his left side and squints his eyes in the fading light as he drives to the local bakery. Flashes of Winn's widened eyes and parted mouth cross my mind, pasting on when I knocked into him on the scrambler and when I told him my place of residence was past the local bakery.

He blinks twice before touching the base of his neck. "Are you angry with your mother?" he questions. His left hand rests loosely against the wheel, and his right hand drapes onto the center console. Though the clench of his jaw and the tightness of his shoulders give his inner state away.

The clouds are whispy, almost invisible, shrouding the darkened sky in a blanket of flowing visions of lighter swirls of color. A series of cotton-like clouds intrude like shadows. They creep forward, purging the ether from any light. In short, the sky is more interesting than the topic at hand. No, interesting is the wrong word. The weather would be a preferred topic compared to the LE. That in itself is notable.

"In more ways than one," I answer, letting my face relax into a non-expressive state. How could I not be "mad" at her? Winn speaks, probably trying to comfort me, but it's background noise to my elephant mind.

For the second time today, my mind collapses with weighted memories. Memories of when we were closer, laughing together like a family, when I believed she was a superhero, perfect in every way, flood my brain. Each thought is depressing at best, haunting and decrepit at worst. My mother is a senile ghost of my childhood past. The way that she floats around town, greeting faces I've grown to know over the past four years. They don't know and don't need to know about this case.

If only Dad had gotten her to drop the case.

He couldn't.

Caleb and Lindsey don't know about that facet.

And I, well, I haven't talked to the LE since the fair last Thursday. I'm sure that's the day the world went downhill. Thanks, Mother.

"It's raining," Winn remarks, bobbing his head to the monochromatic color of the sky, some grey with hints of violet and blue in an odd muddled pattern. "Don't you hate the rain? It always rains on the parade." Winn snorts. "Literally."

"Rain alone isn't awful. It's the least destructive storm one can have," I find myself saying. A long breath escapes my lips, fogging up Winn's window. With that, I pin my back to the black leather seat and face forward.

"Very true." He nods. "Rain isn't pleasant, though."

"You hate rain?"

Winn momentarily lifts his hands from the wheel, making the car swerve. "Yeah, they're little living terrors." His left turn, similar to every left turn, is executed in a wobble. His right turns are never unsteady. At least, that's what I've noticed thus far. "So, you like rain?"