The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Twenty-six Sounds Sparkly and Blue

Maybe in all the other universes I don't answer the phone. In this one unfortunately I did. It was Derrick. A good friend, really, but he has one of those voices. Annoying enough in person. But all the high pitched muddled tones tightly compressed, transmitted, then exploding from the receiver on my end cause a disturbing splatter of vile colors. He evaded my bullshit excuse about being in a hurry long enough to invite me to a party. I accepted without thinking. Anything to get off.

I hadn't been to a party in ages but I was increasingly confident I'd learned to manage my peculiar brand of agoraphobia. Faulty, untested assumption that quickly failed. Soon as I got there I almost turned right around and left again. It was supposed to be a smallish event. Fairly easy to handle. But there must have been twenty or thirty who'd arrived before me all crowded together open plan partying. People had been drinking for awhile. Not quite a Bacchanalian revelry but a lot of the guests were well oiled and very loud. Those who weren't, mostly female, had to shout to keep up, adding falsetto flashes to the mix. As soon as I walked in I was overwhelmed by the noise. Smacked in the head by the butt end of a rainbow full of hammers and sickles. It was staggering. Where were my trusty plugs when I needed them? Oh, right, back home in the drawer with Ruth's socks.

Then someone grabbed my elbow and dragged me inside. Took some effort to focus on Derrick. I tried talking to him for a bit but the psychedelic light show was flailing my brain. I excused myself, hurried upstairs to the bathroom and locked myself in. The sound was mercifully muffled but it was only a short term solution. I wasn't sure what to do next. Couldn't just sit there on the gobbler all night with my head in my hands. I got up and tried to pee. Didn't really have much to give. Washed my hands. Stood there for a minute. Tried to pee again. Pretty silly, really. Didn't know if I'd be missed but sooner or later someone was bound to come a-knockin'. So I slipped out but, instead of going back downstairs, I walked the other way down the hall passed the bedrooms. The buzzing crowd beat a retreat with each step so I just kept going.

Finally got to the den at the far end. The word even sounds like peace and solitude. Den. A deep sigh arc of greeny blue. Like the colors of the home team playing in the game on the television. There was nobody in there. Even better than the bathroom. The t.v. volume was mercifully unidirectional and quite low so I sat down on the couch and started watching. It was hard to take the game seriously since the play-by-play announcer was following the action from a roller coaster car in flames. I picked up the remote and changed the channel. Now the American president was addressing the public about something or other. How anyone could believe a word from a man who leaks thick pitch was beyond me. But what the hell, he wasn't my president. I was about to move on when a woman walked in. Your basic plot twist in a cheap crime novel.

Tall. Slim. Short silver hair. Tightly focused features. Great dress. Better shoes. Maybe early fifties. Maybe. An oldie but a goodie. One of those genetic freaks who could still call time a friend. And she was also one of those 'scan first, ask questions later' types. Reminded me a bit of Mrs. Robinson in 'The Graduate.'

"Hi there,' she said, finally seeming satisfied, "what are you watching?"

"Oh, it's... it's the president. He's giving some kind of address."

She turned and looked at the t.v. for a second before her expression turned sour.

"What an asshole!"

I loved the way she said that. A silver trumpet blast. Just loved it.

She turned back to me.

"Mind if I join you?"

"By all means." I signaled to the other end of the couch. "Always room for one more in the asshole peanut gallery."

She laughed and sat. We started to talk and the president passed into oblivion. It felt like we had just talked last night. And the night before that. My apprehension about the effect of her voice evaporated as she spoke. Her speech was deliberate, measured, considered, setting off rhythmic oscilloscopic waves in my brain. Sometimes shorter lengths, sometimes longer lengths. Vacillated between soothing, then pleasantly arresting, then soothing again. Wholly hypnotic. Didn't say much. Didn't have to. She was intelligent, thoughtful, confident. Used to persuasion in general and command in need. Then I find out why. She tells me she's a lawyer. Trial. Of course. Don't know how I missed it. Had to be another bloody lawyer! All those secrets forever flitting around in the background like shadows. Just had one die on me already.

That should have killed it right there. But her words, the actual words, hinted at something else. There were occasional pale blues padding consonants and coral pink shades that sometimes sneaked into to blend with her vowels. They made her sound a bit like someone who might also have a secret Hello Kitty collection stashed in the back of her closet. It was wonderful. An intriguing, assertive person slowly revealing another side of herself to a stranger out of nowhere. Without even realizing it. Like watching her undress in the next room through a peephole. Wonderful. Although, really, she already had me at asshole.

Then she stopped abruptly and just stared at me. The effect was remarkable. Like being suspended. Or boneless. Then her lips finally parted in a wicked smile. The verdict was in.

"So, want to get out of this place? Go get a drink somewhere quiet?" she asked.

What? And leave the riot downstairs? The man unapologetically soiling himself on t.v? Not a tough decision. We barely said goodbye.