The Moth

Chapter Eighteen: Days In Color// Halves

Chapter Eighteen: Days In Color// Halves 

"Aye."

I looked up from my book and watched Lyon take a seat next to me.

"Hey," I said, nodding at him.

"Ignoring people as usual, I see."

I shrugged. "Book is too good. Plus, no one was even talking to me. Nothing to look at."

"I was calling you for a good two minutes before I walked up."

"Oh. Heh." I looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry. What is it?"

"Nothing. Just trying to get your attention."

"Mm." I flipped the page and kept reading.

"You see that boy over there?" He nudged me. "Hey. Look. The boy in the dark shirt."

"Where?" My head jerked up and I scanned the park.

"Don't be so obvious about it! To your left...no, more left...behind the tree over there. He's chasing a soccer ball...Now he kicked it over to the guy in the hoodie...he just stopped running. Has his hands on his knees...Tch, why's it taking you so long to find one frickin' boy?"

I laughed. "I'm sorry. I just don't — Oh. There he is. In the red cap, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I don't know!"

"Why didn't you just say that?"

"Because— nevermind. He looks like Mario."

I burst out laughing and dropped my book. "Oh stop. No he doesn't."

"Yeah he does!" He adjusted his sunglasses and hit the space between us on the bench. "Yeah he does. If he had a mustache and overalls instead of jeans." His lips twitched and I put my face in my hands, trying to hide my smile.

"What is wrong with...is this...is this how you see everyone?"

He smiled, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Pretty much." He ducked his head.

I watched him play with the pages of my book. It must've slid off my lap and he'd picked it up, tracing his fingers over the title on the cover.

"Do you see any color at all?"

He looked thrown for a split second before shaking his head at me. "Way to jump right to it, Cecilia."

I bit my lip. "Oh. Er. Sorry. I didn't mean to... make you uncomfortable."

"Yeah. I know. That's nothing new, in your case."

I stayed quiet, marinating in the knowledge that I probably made him uncomfortable on a regular basis. Turning in my seat, I swung my legs over the back of the bench, lying down and letting my hair fall off my forehead and over the side.

"It's all one color."

I turned to him. "What color?"

"Grey, I guess. I see things that are extremes of colors. You know, like this bench arm rest. It's black. My shoes are white at the top." He raised his right foot up to show me. "But the rest is different levels of grey."

"You see shades of grey."

He looked at me. "Don't do it. Don't.."

"...Do you.."

"No. Stop. That's not funny."

"...see everything in.."

He glared.

"Fifty shades."

He made a low exasperated sound in the back of his throat and opened up my book, turning it over and placing it over my face. "You're not original."

It slid off and landed with a thud on the concrete. I flicked my eyes over to where it landed, annoyed that it'll probably have bent pages now. Or small scratches on the cover.

"So you do?" I watched him.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. I mean," he shook his head. "No. I see gray. Yes there's shades, but...ugh. That joke is old. And lame." He looked at me pointedly.

I stared at him. "...So no colors, at all?"

"No."

I reached my hands up — or down— and touched the rough concrete, tracing mindless patterns with the tip of my finger. "...I can't imagine..."

He shrugged. "Then don't. You're not the one who has to worry about it."

I swung my legs back to the front and sat up straight, the blood rushing from my head.

"Sorry. I should've thought about that first. I didn't mean to say it like that."

He gave me a small smile. "Aye."

He grew on me, you know. Never realized he'd have such an impact on my life. But now it's been split in halves; befores and afters. Before him, after him. Before my soul knew connections, after it collapsed in on itself.