The Color of Love

VII: Milkshakes & Magic.

"You're seriously a musical prodigy?"

Ellis groans before dropping his head onto the table. His hands come up to cover his head as if to protect himself from a ceiling collapsing. "Ugh, let's not call it that."

After rehearsal, and a bit of an awkward introduction to Ellis's fellow musicians, they decide to grab a late bite at a 24-hour diner downtown. The inside of the restaurant is like a time capsule, a jukebox with a belly full of nickels sitting in the far corner, checkered-tiled floors, red leather booths and swiveling stools at the front counter. Servers glide by on roller skates, the women's skirts wide and flared and the color of pink cotton-candy. The men wear over-sized bow-ties and white soda jerk hats. It is like stepping into a completely different era.

At this time of night the diner is lively, teenagers donning cheerleading uniforms and football jerseys, cheeks covered in paint and glitter as if it were war paint. They babble excitedly about the homecoming game their team just won as they dig their silver spoons into a giant, messy banana split. An old couple reminisce on their first date, right here in this very booth nearly fifty years ago, how they laughed and bat their eyelashes over a strawberry malt with two straws, and a basket of curly fries. The ambiance of the place is almost peaceful, and Zachary seems to feel it too. He leans back against the old leather of the booth, the anxious beast in his chest no longer pacing— docile for now.

"What should I call it then?"

A waitress rolls by with a silver tray and places their drinks on the table. A chocolate milkshake for Zach, with a swirling mountain of whipped cream on top, complemented with a maraschino cherry. For Ellis a strawberry milkshake whipped up in the same fashion. Ellis takes his time sampling the whipped cream before providing a proper answer.

"I don't know, 'a really good musician' works."

Zachary pops the cherry into his mouth. "But they said you learned the piano when you were only three years old! And that you play like twelve instruments."

The rest of the orchestra was very obvious in their respect for Ellis and his talent. It nearly bordered envy. Ellis looked ready to leap out a window during the whole exchange.

"Fifteen," the blonde's cheeks are as pink as his drink. "That's not the point though."

"I don't see why you're being so modest about it." Zachary stirs the mound of cream into his shake, watching as it swirls through the chocolate in pale ribbons. "You're in an orchestra, Ellis. I'm sure most of them have spent years in university to be where they're at now, and you just waltzed in, auditioned and got the job. What you're doing is amazing! You're like a genius or something."

Zachary had expected for his compliments to lure Ellis out of the shell he has encased himself in. With the expression the latter owns however, the painter's words must have felt harsh and barbed. Ellis shifts a little in his seat, shoving his cherry down to the bottom of his glass with a straw.

"That's why I don't really like to bring it up. People treat me differently once they learn about it. They say stuff like I'm a 'prodigy' or a 'genius' or whatever— put me on this pedestal and deem me untouchable. I don't feel all that special, I feel like everybody else. Who cares if I can play the mandolin or the ocarina? I don't want people to look at me and see competition, or someone that they have to defeat, knock off their 'pedestal' to progress. I just want to play music, you know? That's all I ever wanted to do. Everything else that comes with it doesn't matter to me." Ellis suddenly becomes embarrassed, hand moving to his mouth as if the words were uncorked and poured like wine from his tongue. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

Zach reaches forward to take his hand. It's cold from gripping the frosty glass. "No, no it's okay. I didn't even think of it that way. I'm sorry for bringing it up."