The Other Side | Short Story

4

Blue sets up an easel on his side of the room, and places on it a clean canvas and a single stick of charcoal. His face is rigid. He nods at me, and I do not understand, but I move nearer anyways.

I step up against the Divide. The chain around my ankle does not pull taut.

It does not stop me. I can cross over.

I breathe out, and watch Blue. 

He watches me back.

I step over the line.

I walk toward him — two, three steps — and halfway to step four the chain catches. I can go no farther. I scowl.

"Blue," I say, because this is cruel, and immature. I am finally allowed on the Other Side, but I am still too far from him. Even if I lean and reach out, I will not be able to touch him or his easel.

Blue says something. 

He holds out his hands and pats them slowly down on the air, again and again, and I think it means keep calm, keep still, don't move. I breathe in, and breathe out, and remain scowling, but I do not move.

Blue nods. 

He takes up his charcoal and begins to sketch me. The more he sketches, the more he frowns. 

I see him grinding his teeth. 

Once, twice, again and again, he turns to hack into his sleeve. Eventually he is holding that sleeve up against his nose as he draws. He's started to sweat. When he looks at me to sketch my lines, his breathing trembles.

Time passes. 

Blue closes his eyes and is very pale. He looks scraped thin. He nods so I know that he is done, and then I return to my side of the room. 

When I look over my shoulder, Blue is wiping his sweat. He clutches at himself and breaths deeply, slowly. He stands like that, held and silent and unmoving. Maybe he is counting in his head.

I sit on my mattress and wait, wait until he is better. When he is better, he squares his shoulders. His eyebrows set low and firm over his eyes. 

He picks up his easel and turns it over for me to see.

The sketch, on the easel, it's not, not. It is not me. It is not right. I do not understand. Blue has drawn a monster, and even as a drawing, even when it is not real, I am tossed dizzy by it. I look away. I cover my mouth. I close my eyes, but the world does not stop buzzing, buzzing, like the wings of a pest flying far too close.

Blue has drawn me a monster. 

Blue has drawn me: a monster.