i r i d e s c e n t

iv. iris

the most fragile lavender

COLTON

I had lost the North Star.

Staring up at the glowing clusters surrounding the slowly turning ceiling fan I realized I was missing one necessary part of the constellations Ollie and Bee had stuck on my walls last summer. "You need more decorations," Bee had told me, "and shoe boxes and Grateful Dead posters don't count." The years had taught me that there was no use arguing with her when she decided to do something for either of us. Especially not in this case because she had said, "now whenever you see them you can think of us and our star parties and..." her voice had trailed off, and she wouldn't meet my gaze. "And?" I had prompted, wanting at least a full explanation for why she had shown up at my house at 9:00 pm, with 5 Michael's bags, four books, and a sleepy Ollie in tow.

"andmaybewhenyouseeythemyou'llthinkofusandbehappyandnotsolonely." All in one breath. When she wanted desperately to speak but was afraid, the words would spill as fast as they could from her lips before self-conscious second thoughts slammed shut the portal of her mind. Her words were brave even though she thought she wasn't. I couldn't say no to that.

12 years was a long time.

And Ollie, bent over star charts and books thrown haphazardly across the floor ("if we're doing this it's gotta be accurate"), was a lion halo of cinnamon curls falling into his face, a blue, freshly sharpened pencil marking the spots for the celestial journey of a summer night, a silly, peaceful smile that perpetually seemed to grace his face. Even when he wasn't smiling he was. It was his eyes, I think.

We played Neon Indian on Bee's phone, using a glass to amplify the sound.

I had synesthesia, and sometimes I thought I could still see lingering tendrils of music, hanging faded in the air. Our laughter, too. It had pealed in shining silver bells, tinted with Bee's pink giggles and Ollie's russet rumbling. Tarnished remnants always remained when they left.

Now it was summer again, and I had grown so used to the stars' soft green night glow, that I didn't even realize a piece was missing until I saw an uncharacteristically dark space. I wished I could notice things before they were gone.

Ursa Minor was missing her tail. Poor little bear. At least it wasn't her heart.

Silky sheets pooled around me, and I grasped at them, clinging to the cotton with desperate fingers as my mind refused to stop. Drowning. I had lost the North Star. It wasn't a big deal, I told myself. Enfolded in the white cocoon, I was safe and okay. Didn't I remember the glory of a few hours ago, when Bee had set the sky on fire for me? It was a hell of a 17th birthday present, and my mind had rendered the occasion even more magnificent. She wouldn't have had anything less.

But I had lost the North Star. And I already felt lost and soon gravity would collapse in on me and my sheets felt too much like a shroud.

Bury me alive, or pull me into space. Drag me to hell, lift me up to heaven. I'm there, I'm there.

I had an embarrassing, absurd urge to cry. But boys aren't supposed to cry, especially not boys who lived in pretty pueblo style houses in palm and pool encrusted neighborhoods, with two healthy, shiny parents fast asleep upstairs. They weren't supposed to drown in their beds either. They weren't supposed to take little blue and white pills. And they definitely weren't supposed to race the ever-circling thoughts in their polluted minds.

So I plugged in my earbuds instead, watching the colors and the radioactive sky on my walls until an iris dawn bloomed behind black curtains.