Vanilla Chaos

Chapter 27: Bubblegum

"Dear Paris, dear France, dear the world." It was Nelly's largest ever mural and what would very likely be his last, "My name is Oceané Bleu and thank-you for listening to me when no-one would. We've done some remarkable things in this past month - I still feel as if I'm dreaming, I'm just one person and my work has done all of this, I just can't grasp it.
But as wonderful as all of this is, they cought me. I'm leaving Paris, no more paintings, no more change, no more Oceané. I'm heartbroken.
I just ask one thing of you, beautiful world, please never go back to what you where.
Thank-you,
Much love,
-Oceané Bleu."

He had written on the plain vanilla wall in various shades of blue, from cyan to indigo to the colour of the silky sky above us. Blue is the colour of freedom, imagination and people. That was what this entire thing had been about: people. Fat people, thin people, straight people, gay people, white people, black people, Asian people, cisgendered people, transgender people.

Because in the end, people are people and no discrimination or bullshitty societal 'norms' can change that.

When we kissed it tasted like bubblegum and we were surrounded by the smell of spray-paint.

"Nelly." No, not the tears. "Promise me one thing."

"Of course, my love." He smiled although it hurt him.

"Think of me when you're out there."

"You're all I have ever wanted, you're the first and last thing on my mind every day."

One more kiss in the humid, French jungle, our faces both stained with the thick rain rolling down our red cheeks. We just didn't want to let to go of each other, these embraces were our last. At that point I was beginning to come to grips with it all. It made things easier for me to use a dream as analogy. Nelly was just a lovely dream, one that had stolen my first kiss, had been happening since I was nine years old and had changed the world. Nothing but a pleasant dream. And it was nearly time to wake up.

I had his phone number and could video-chat him on my computer back in London, but maybe it would have been better for me to just let go, to try and forget about him, to try and turn Heidi Rouge back into Heidi Bonde. Avenelle-Jérôme, my first love, my last love? His name tasted like chocolate on my tongue, rich and velvety.

I was lying to myself.

Nelly's eyes sparked like electricity, "Heidi, let's make our last night maginficent."

He took my hand and we ran through the streets: two teenagers alone in Paris at 11:00 at night, when we were supposed to be asleep. This was love, this was living, this was one final night of freedom.

I gasped, "Champs-Élysées! Nelly, I remember it here!"

"Follow me!"

I remember the sound of my high-heels whacking the pavement as we dashed down the street. It looked so different at night. We passed a gorgeous hotel and tryed to avoid the disapproving gaze of the many adults who were on the street. Some were dolled up, some slightly tipsy, some were completely drunk, some had cigarettes in their hands, some were young, some were old, some were laughing, some were crying.

And then we just stopped, and watched the city, alive as ever. My hand in his, all I knew was one thing: I would never be able to forget him.