All the Pretty People Are Blue by Jc Fairchild

All the Pretty People Are Blue

Jc Fairchild

I sit upon the cloudy roads, covered up with a big light coat, as the wind rippled and blew, the colors of deep navy passed in the crowd and above in the hard sky. A storm was brewing for so long to uncover something inside, and there was me trying to hide. I watched the men and women, and everyone else walk so freely down the boulevard like a lion walking out of his cage. Stepping so fiercely and feeling the breeze against their skin. So lively with smiles, and under my coat, I sigh, sneaking a gaze down at the rainbows. All the colors of the universe trickled in when I slept, kissed on my crown when my mother brought me here. When did I start feeling so ashamed? Was it when I was eleven, and I saw it winding through the stars, the starry night from where I came. Every constellation shimmered in the shaggy separation of our yard of sand and grass, and there was Orion shooting his arrow to say I was special. Our hearts were lined in glass cases in our chest because of the planet’s damage, and inside were our hearts, that were kept safe like it was a special jewel. However, we could open the door with a small silver hinge. I heard other people when they fell in love, the heart case gained a lock and key. I only saw that with my mother. But looking back, everyone in my house, which was 5 other people, had ripples of blues that matched the ocean, while others had a glimmer of yellow matching the stars or a summer sunset so perfectly. Blue, I learned was where people lined up and, in my family, the prettiest were blue. Blue was pride that was shared between my brothers, and I would watch in awe as they talked about the shades and tones of blue. Yellow was the same, but it shared a different energy like they broke a ray off from the sun and comforted me after certain problems or shot me off into the sky with bold questions, tone of voice, or for some, their presence .

It was when we came back from the nights by the ocean many years ago, that my chest curled into itself and burst out like a shotgun shell. We were just on the bottom floor when it happened, and everything was so peaceful. Panting, and clutching my chest, I sprinted up the old oak steps, slamming shut the giant white bathroom door with a small crack in the middle . Leo and Rem, both of my brothers, jumped out of their skin. I could still hear them below me, as the world took me in its hands and swirled me in pain.

“Mom! It’s happening!” Rem shouted, cackling, and smacking his large hands together .

They had been placing bets for a while then, wondering when it would happen. I remember hearing them whispering in the back of the old jeep, telling me to butt out of it. He knew he had won, for he knew me better than anyone seeing as he was older. He might have been foolish when it came to many things, but he saw my ways, and age was striking that trait out of the park. It always did, I know it did, especially if one looked at my uncle also .

“What shade do you think he’ll be? He won’t be navy for sure!” Leo bellowed, pushing his finger towards his chest, smirking.

I was 5 when Leo’s chest started baking, crystalizing into a deep navy that one thought they were looking at a sky. Like someone had thrown in a pinch of mystery, a loud mouth, and a wild head of blonde hair, and you had my brother . His coming was non-destructive, it bloomed like a flower in spring. Slowly spreading one day like coffee across a page. Rem’s, I don’t remember. It was the last thing I saw before running. Both of their excitement and looks of shock filled their eyes before it hit their faces because they knew, as well as I did.

“Maybe he’ll be light blue, match the peaceful tides, you know?” I could hear Rem below me, and pictured him at the table cocking his head with messy floppy, raven hair.

And hearing the heavy steps below with silent breath creaking, and could picture my mother by his side for a minute. I always knew it was her, the way the floor pressed down and the house did not scare her. The sweat beaded down my forehead, and the glass case fogged as it pumped profusely. The beading sweat slid down the side of my face to add to the outing we were just at playing games. Glancing around the room and feeling the voices wrap around my brain and squeeze, I saw a little raven fly over in my eyes, circling around their voices . Looking at the field photos on the left corner, I recalled that my mom called Rem a little raven since he was born. He was always finding things either in writings, books, or in people. Later on, he knew the respect of and acceptance of people keeping a secret .

And then the deep rumbly muffled voice of my uncle echoed in my ears, and my chest lurched forward. My eyes swirled and I fell to my knees, clutching the corner of the chipped white countertop . But as my knees shook, the rumble pushed me back and it was 2007. I was on the edge of the beach watching my sister, Stephanie, swim and laugh, paddling over and under the sea in stride like a dolphin . My brothers were further back submerging themselves deeper into the giant tides laughing, calling out to me .

“Peter, come on!” Rem shouted, heaving Leo’s wet mane that he grew out that year under the cold plume of saltwater.

Lunging up, gasping for air like a panting dog, Leo’s sharp blue eyes found me quick. They reminded me of a blade because they cut into you deep. Those eyes were either filled with love or hate, but in that moment when we were young, his eyes let him mix both emotions together .

“Yeah loser, come on! You’re missing out!” he screamed, waving his tan hands dripping down with water like a leaky sprinkler.

My legs buckled again, and I threw my head up, and the rumble came again, followed by a deep laugh from under the bathroom floor.

“Look just left!” my uncle’s past voice fell into my ears, and the world was filled with sun.

The way a sunset boiled in summer, and my sister’s laughter rung like church bells in my ears. The sweat pooled to my lip, and I remember

the fresh ocean waves when I ran in. The hands over my head, pushing me under until I saw the glimmer of white cascade across the mountainous waves. Like looking through glass, and I was sitting at my grandmother’s table again eating, seeing the yellow daisies wilting in front of me.

“You have to choose; I can’t make both.” Her smile, the white apron hung just at her thigh, and flour dust rose into the air, circling around until the clouds filled my head.

“Oh, well, maybe for you...”

The hardwood pressed against my butt as my head smacked against the wall. My heart dove down and crunched together like playing cards, and I felt myself go pale . Sinking further into the clouds, like a soft cushion, until I slammed out of the chair, seeing the black clouds cluster outside in a rapid fury and coming back to reality . The house leaned and groaned, as the heavy clouds strolled over, ringing out water in a wash rag over us, like my tears that rolled down my cheeks .

“Argh!” I clutched once more as my heart pounded its fists against the cage.

I glanced up and caught myself in the reflection. Black hair stamped to my forehead, my eyes so bloodshot, and blood dribbled out of the corner of my lip from biting down. Purple lightnings crashed across the sky, and Leo’s boisterous voice protruded through the walls. The low light in the hallway outside the door flickered, until a crunch of glass exploded down from the overhead .

“This is a show!” Leo’s voice came again, and I could picture his polished lion nails curled into his fists on the table.

Well, maybe it was. The rain slammed down even harder, giving a final jerk to my heart. Growling at my reflection, I punched against the glass door bolted to my chest and against the silver hinges, causing it to shatter . My heart peeked out, looking at me, his outline was blurry. He matched my shaking like I was coming in from the cold, as drool fell from my lips . My eyes pooled with tears, and I thought of all things that were blue. My tears, the paint in art class where Miss Pauper yelled at students for not returning brushes, the oceans I swam in, and the color of my grandmother’s shoes. I was submerged in blue. But when my heart nestled back, collapsing into the platform below him and laying back into where he always was, my eyes grew wide. I felt the air leave my system like I suddenly forgot to; the tip of my nose was red like the vacations we took to Iceland. The red drew up my face like tomatoes gaining their color . Sputtering and seeing the green in my eyes escape to another land, air slowly crept back to me. The clouds outside drew away, my head hung low, as I ran a hand over my shaking knees, pleading for them to stop. The air grew tight again as I came back up, my breath grew still, but this time it was different. What was this? My hands touched the growing glass so lightly, like it was a wound. The cracks slowly disappeared and the glass recovered from an auto fix but it looked like fallen snow. Slumping down, I pressed myself like a critter of the night into the clawfoot tub, and calloused hands covered my whole face. The only way blue came out was through tears then, and it was hours before I left . Roused by my brothers, I pressed my sweater over my head, now shaking and trying to calm my nerves. Sighing, I walked past them, smiling over the red heat in my face .

“Well, what’d you get?!” Leo prodded my chest with a skinny finger, leading me downstairs.

Rem joined his curious gaze in pursuit . The bobbing of blonde waves ushered behind me, but Rem’s black hair led way into the darkness. One I laid in later, crawling deeper in a creation of a room I made that night and I called it finding.

across the kitchen, as he sat in his chair. Swirling the cup in his hand as his light-yellow heart jumped in its cage like a dog excited for someone to come home .

He was the only man in my family with chester hair and this weird, patched beard that was already growing silver. His favorite thing to do was fishing, and growing up he led us around like lost boys on a pirate ship . But looking at it, it was only a small metal thing, called St. Ally. It didn’t get rid of the excitement though. It meant we could go swimming and reel in some fish wherever he took it. It was mostly by our house, where a rope line separated us from the boats. Besides fishing, Uncle Thomas’s second favorite hobby was drinking.

Shuffling my arms over my shirt, I stood against the wall, now laughing at something Rem had said in a low chuckle as I watched the white rooted line under his locks of hair. The raw feeling ate at me, and the waves came back again, and suddenly I was walking between the sand as I watched him smirk looking at the floor. At that moment, I knew. They never had to know. The saltwater air rolled in from the sand and the patches of grass in our yard. Suffocating against my face mixed with freshwater I splashed from the sink .

“So, what’d you get?” my uncle Tom asked, departing to a more serious tone, bowing his head and studying me intently . His heart had settled down, as he continued to bite the rim of his coffee cup of Jim.

“Navy . . .” I choked out, before coughing, and repeating in a better tone . A more believable one . It wasn’t a whole lie if I thought about it. I had realized that after hearing Rem knock on the door in his slow knock, seeing only two small splotches of it. I remember watching the cracks in the wooden floor and how they connected together like a forbidden puzzle . “Well let’s see it then!” my sister grinned at his side .

She must have come in from the rain, her hair looked like wet straw. There she sat a few inches from my uncle, wiping her nose of the smell, but her gaze never left me either . Every eye was on me it seemed. Stephanie was years older than me; her short figure took a few years to grow out of when height finally came to its senses from my dad who died in the war. His small bronze round frame hung silently in the hall, and I could feel his eyes on my back too . Some days, when I would hang my legs from the balcony, my mother would pass it and gaze at it for a few minutes, before closing her eyes and pushing her head up high. With an exhale, she’d then march out into the yard to find children laughing. And then my name would be called to come out into the heat and make the memories we could while it lasted. But if one ever needed to find Stephanie, it was by the ocean waves on her surfboard and when I’d walk down from school, her white pointy teeth and freckles would find me and invite me in to teach me her favorite hobby . I shook my head furiously, wiping sweat from my brow.

“It still is jostling; I just want to sleep.” I said very quietly, glancing at my mom’s back as she pressed her elbows deep into dishes. The hissing water splashed onto the old lunch plates smeared with tomato sauce.

“Oh, come on, just flash it!” Rem pressed, as Leo jumped over and grabbed the hem of my shirt .

“No!” I yelled, clutching my shirt, letting my elbows smooth the fabric down.

“It’s still all over and absorbing, just...” I started.

“Let him be, boys.” My mother’s voice came through .

The clinking of dishes faded out as my mother

walked towards us. Her black hair fell down in neat knots, forever holding a place of order, each one wrapped so nicely, it seemed perfect. Her eyes finally joined mine, and something clicked inside and looking back, it felt like she knew. But how could she? I scratched and combed my hair away and parted it down the side just like I had seen people on the beach do .

Now, I look up at the passing cars and watch the gray roofs take over the beach trails . A tall pale man with red hair passed holding bags under his arms, following a few other people who passed by in a blur . Grumbling, he continued to press forward as his heart jumped in blue. I exhale and close my eyes and feel the warm air surrounding me in light . Some nights I can still hear the grumbling . Years had passed and people had left . My uncle got a business started with ships when I was 12. He left one night after yelling filled the house. My mother never yelled, but something frazzled with her that night. I saw a painting hanging in a drug store at 14. A man’s silver face haunted me. White hair like a beach Santa, standing tall with a shovel. The cashier repeated: here’s your change. Saw my look and told me a story . We sat on the counter, drinking Pepsi . He died out at sea but I found out I had a cousin . His eyes bore into mine as if he was always there, and was just waiting for a room to be open on his own journey.

Leo had died some years later. He was always riding the edge, not knowing when to pull back from it. Despite warnings, he kept going and doing whatever he wanted with his friend, Yogi. My mom never liked him, and it said a lot, as she never hated anyone . As I got older, the bone started brewing and growing inside of her like thorn bushes in secret in spring . We had our own rooms in her heart, as it watched us attentively in her own glass cage, but others needed to earn a room later on. I always felt like there was a secret hatred from the way Leo spoke to me when he got older. Jealousy leaked into anger of having a secret. Betrayal in a whiskey cup, he clinked it at the bar, drinking until one day he disappeared behind the newsprint with his friends. Sometimes I wish I showed the color then, but maybe I don’t. Rem went for newspaper business at the bay, and we had this respect between each other that grew after that night . He respected my secrets, as I did his . Our brotherhood grew closer together as parts of the boys we once knew in ourselves shoveled out into the sand and never came back . We grew apart, but at the same time grew closer. My sister left for another place, writing letters every week with polaroids in between the envelope and letters addressing us all. It was Fall when she wrote a letter to me, giving me this polaroid with a stormy beach and her surfing.

“We should surf again sometime Peter! It’s been a while. Let me know, and I can pick you up sometime!” she had said in black ink scribble . Anytime I walked out to get the mail, I never had to read the whole envelope address. It was the way she crossed and wrote her “T’s” in my name that gave it away, and the envelopes were always bulky.

As I stood by the mailbox and white fence, holding the photo close, my eyes bounced around like a ball rolling around. Behind the brewing clouds and her skinny legs, it made me think a little . It made me slide into my bed later that night, and close my eyes, and sink deeper into that room I made of old cardboard boxes filled with black liquid of a starry night sky. Consulting my heart and letting him hop out of his cage, wrapping his hands around the cord that connected inside to me to keep me living . In those moments, I never was able to explain why some of the boxes were overflowing. They just were. But when the wind slowly crept inside my room from the open window that night, I could hear the familiar past cackle and saw the taller men in the hall . Walking high and mighty, blue . Their hearts high fiving each other, as I shut my door with a bang from the wind. It was another moment they were waiting for as they glanced at me, waiting until they both clapped my back, laughing as we went down to eat. It was the first

time Leo didn’t hate me. We had gone down the beach that day and I grabbed his metal flask out of a dare, sipping without coughing. It patched up something, maybe he didn’t feel as betrayed.

There were nights after that time in front of the mirror, in a crappy black tank at early hours into the night and before school that the rainbow heart sprayed liquid out against the glass, leaving my chest leaking from the hinges and dribbling down. I wiped it up with toilet paper and stashed them deep into my pockets . The little guy looked at me, banging his fists in anger against the glass. My fingers grazed against it, seeing the barely visible yellow and blue spots hidden underneath the huge splotches of reds, greens, and oranges that reminded me of the changing fall in the east. The small spots were never enough, even if they were there. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, before sliding the light black sweater over my head, feeling his beat. Thump and bump, causing waves to grow in my eyes in the reflection of the door knob handle, stopping and wondering why. Sniffing and grabbing my collar, I watched myself closely. It followed me deep into sleep where in that little room I had put a chair, and could watch all the stars above me like I did when I was younger in the yard . He yelled at me in frustration, continuing to beat his fists against the glass. He only wanted the same as I, but he had a mind of his own. He was a few steps ahead, but he wanted me on the same page .

I could hear his voice as I looked at the door . A little voice muffled like it was under water, and I grabbed my shirt collar and peered down.

“Why can’t you, just?!” A tear rolled down the glass, as the bathroom door opened, and I was gone.

Some nights when I would sit awake at night in the room of finding, he would throw his hands out as the glass door was open and walk across. It reminded me of those the landline phone cables. He looked like a rainbow splotch floating above the candles, where his little eyes bore into me before the shooting stars took over . I’d see my sister and uncle in the yellow flames who were always laughing like bright suns, and the mighty men that my brothers were in blue sections of the sky from the pieces I had of it . But this heart wasn’t solid blue or yellow, it was just small splotches hidden . Other times he grew into silence, following the ways past people did when looking at the same thing. What an interesting thing as I laid down my head, and watched the rain drip across from the glass ceiling. His rainbow flickering in my mind in the off corner, before drawing off into sleep when I got it. My snores joined his growling in the midnight hour. He wanted his freedom, but my mind grabbed his hand, and they stared at the ground. Other nights it was peaceful and he understood why. The mind held onto him like a child’s hand, patching our hurt to the body we had all been a part of. He showed him another room, and they watched together curiously at the little flicker in the back of his glass container and up a few stairs to show where the soul was. It always was putting themselves into things, but never showing an appearance. He reminded me of the light that hid under the door that day my color had come into being, shattering like glass, and he left pieces everywhere. It was when the patience came in, and he saw pieces of what made him here. He saw pieces of me that were inside himself . While they had their party, I watched around the boxes of liquid that were collapsing, and watched the world from afar in the telescope that I made at 11 years old . My hands were tightly grasped, watching the land of the dead, and hearing the messengers at the door to deliver a new message. Or the letters that came through the slot at the first door that could appear at random when I decided to not be in there. But I always was, and the second door started to come whenever it wanted to.

It came a day then, that I grew tired. And when I looked up, the sand blew across the beach in a little tornado and the family with the red-haired man ran across the beach. The kites waved

around, and I sighed as the weight pushed down on my shoulders heavier. Closing my eyes, I felt the hourglass in the room drift, the sand reminding me of those of old, those of the times I had left with the constant feeling of unlocking the lock. The rainbow heart looked at me, smiling, knowing his ticket was close. Some colorful wager of freedom of how old summers felt when one just let go. The clothes hung loose, and just below the collar; the rainbow peeked out . His little hands grabbing to get out, shining and moving around like some kaleidoscope. He wanted to know when he could come out, and his little words flew up to my skull, and every night after some began to hurt. There was the world of questions or accusations flowing around and stabbing into the sides of where I lived . I gave up one night as his little voice asked me under the stars,

“When?” .

Like he had been so frustrated, he felt my tiredness too. I traced my finger across the seam of my shoe that night, watching the constellations run and step over planets . I could only see if the world existed and the little heart said we wouldn’t know unless. Unless had come unexpectedly. I was suddenly in front of my house, feeling the wind gather around me but in lighter fashion . I opened the door softly and slid in, clicking the lock to the right and the air huffed against my face. My heart fluttered in his own dance. The kitchen floor looked at me, asking me what it could do, until Rem’s black hair fluttered upwards before diving deeper into a book he had been writing. And if I looked close enough, in some corner of my mind, the ghost of our father sat near, egging him on to just write something better. Maybe he couldn’t hear him, but he didn’t need to. And if he needed it, I could tell him myself, leave out the father part . My mother stood next to him, talking to him. A quiver in her voice of some mail that had come in. He waved his hand dismissively, the ink staining his knuckles and side of his hand like he had been working for hours. “Mom, you worry too much, I have it.” He spoke gently, digging his fountain pen deeper, until both sets of blue eyes snapped up and found me . Their hearts shared the same gaze of curiosity .

Looking back from where I am now, I realized the sun had gotten a little brighter that day . The room of finding gazed back at me in all its glass walls, and I stayed without complaint this time. Lightbulbs grew out of the ceiling and could turn on and off with my command. Keys jingled on lines from the wall like that metal can phone game we used to play. The chair had broken in there, but a softer one took its place . There was a little hour to find myself when I got there whenever I needed, and anxiety didn’t guard the door to let me in. Maybe it was in the sipping with a brother I left behind and the arguments I witnessed with family, or the way people change, as I do too. I slowly pulled the jacket and shirt over my head, letting him breathe. The reflection in the glass of my heart, who had his small fingers interlocked stood still. He beamed at my mother who stood and looked like a waterfall, finally bringing peace. I steadily unlatched the hinge and his little smile grew as he looked at my mother in profound curiosity, but love grew a flame when he heard her voice . He looked at me and sighed contently, hugging my side and snuggling in like a small cat. The door between us had finally opened, my heart had smiled at me, watching the white drapes flow behind her in the window, until he stepped out onto her open palms. The saltwater revolved around us, into my nose and from her face . Rem only smirked at me above the ink stains .

“Peter . . .” he said through a safe lip smile .

The small trickle of my tears inside and out had flown so high, I forgot how to. But in that moment, I learned not all pretty people are blue .