SoMa Literary Review

Blue

By Andrea Rush

Creek side was good. Babbling brook sounds always refreshed the mind. The need to say little and just drink the Bud Light brought little tingles of advertising delight to her senses – it was nice to fit in. Who could really blame her? The aspect of trying to hard to be different was getting to her. It was simpler and easier to fit in… after all she was blonde. The screen went blank and she turned her attention to the man who’d switched off the TV. It was one of the men in blue. Bill was his name and like her was a real blonde.

The thought of being a fake blonde brought corresponding shudders to her core. That wasn’t spiritual at all. Blonde wasn’t a calling, it was a part of nature and if you didn’t have it – you shouldn’t flaunt it – simple. But then again, if she didn’t have it…would she be one of those – those who tried even HARDER – by being a bottle blonde. She was over thinking things… made her head hurt… like everything else… life was way to short for philosophical discussions, especially with herself… might create wrinkles or something untidy in her brain, which would require someone to fix it – a brain tidier – like Dr. Weaton. He was a brain tidier… he was also a pervert – but never mind about that – that would really give her wrinkles.

She looked at the long table before her and noticed the stuffed lamb leg, drooling with vegetables. The vegetables were positively obscene – red peppers bleeding with sweet potatoes, a murder scene to be sure. . The mere sight of so much fattening food made her look at her thighs… and what had Dr. Weaton said? Vacuous? Something like that… it wasn’t necessary to be young anymore he’d said, as long as you could be vacuous you could buy yourself to heaven. He was talking about Anna Nicole Smith. Now she’d been beautiful… then fat… then beautiful… then dead. Interesting how death made you skinny. She pondered her own death for a moment. She looked at Granny who sat across the table from her chewing long and slow with her dentures.

“How old are you Granny?”

The old woman in the flora print blue dress looked at her over the rims of her reading glasses. She’d stopped chewing, and pushed her food to the side of her dentures so she could speak. The wad of food made her look like a lopsided chipmunk.

“Never you mind Priscilla…” Granny waved her knife at Priscilla “You get back to eating… you need food in you…. after all you need to get yourself married… and no decent man is gonna wanna marry a skinny chit of a girl like you.” Granny’s eyes glinted. “He’d crush you in the throes of…” Granny trailed off with a grin on her face.

Priscilla looked at the old lady with a mixture of dismay and contempt. The old woman was talking about sex. SEX! What on earth?? She was old enough to be petrified in a museum… what on earth would she know about sex?

Priscilla took a deep breath to calm her nerves and looked at her watch… It was nearly 8:00… god she couldn’t wait for the dinner to be over. She needed to get back to her room so she could be there for ‘him.’ Him was good… She closed her eyes for a moment and savored the memories of being with ‘him’ He didn’t care that she was skinny, nor fat, nor good, nor bad, he just wanted to be with her. It was bliss…. bliss…bliss…bliss… bliss…

“What was that Priscilla?” Bill interrupted her thoughts. “Did you say something?”

Bill was one of the ‘blues.’ He was always dressed in blues… reminded her of Archangel Michael… all the blues… but then again… the blues kept her safe. Safe from Dr. Weaton, who wanted to electrocute her brain… safe from Granny who peered at her over her glasses…

“Nothing…nothing at all.” She looked at Bill dreamingly. At that moment, Dr. Weaton walked through the door. Dr. Weaton wore a white coat and held his blue pen in his hand. He clicked the top nervously. He always wanted to give them pills to keep them calm. Shiny red and pink pills… he had a clip board where he’d tick off who got their pills. Then he’d write when they got their pills with his brilliant blue pen.

Around her they were all whispering ‘pills…pills…pills…” Dr. Weaton frowned and looked at the table. Looking like a priest with the Eucharist, Bill brought in the tray with lots of small white half-paper cups, which held the small pills, The blue coats started to hand out the pills to the patients, or ‘the family of the insane’ as Priscilla liked to call them.

Priscilla never took her pills… why? She wasn’t sick… at all… she didn’t need pills – besides she couldn’t eat the pills because they made her fat. They always made her fat. She got up from the table with the rest of the gang of pajamas… and yawned. She wasn’t in the mood for the game tonight what was it? Bridge tonight - it wasn’t fitting for someone as young as her to be playing bridge…

She made some excuse…and walked away… slowly. Dr. Weaton followed. “Priscilla you need to take those pills… after the evening meal you need to take your pill.”

Priscilla turned to Dr. Weaton. “I don’t need pills Dr. Weaton. I need ‘him.’”

Dr. Weaton sighed and leaned back in his superior fashion. “I told you that ‘him’ doesn’t exist Priscilla. “Him” is all in your mind.”

“I’ve got some sort of eating disorder – I don’t need pills.” Dr. Weaton gestured to a couple of the blue coats. “If you won’t take your pills – I’ll give you a shot instead.”

“Okay…okay. I’ll take the pills.” Priscilla took the pills from his large male paw in her small hand. She noticed the fine blue lines on the back of her hand which matched the ‘blues.’ She smiled “I wish I wore blue…but noooo y’all have us dressed in white.” Dr. Weaton looked at her down his nose. She supposed in some sort of turned up ‘I have power’ sort of way he was good looking… but he was so damaged by power. “How can you possibly see us with all this white around? We’re like invisible doves floating around in these halls.”

She turned towards the mirror which was in the hallway. She made a face at it… certain that others were looking at her. Dr. Weaton handed her a small cup of water. She threw the little red drops to the back of her throat and took a swig of water from the paper cup. The gentle glide of the pills reminded her of how they soothed her nerves. It was a game she played with Dr. Weaton to not take her pills- made her feel powerful – maybe that’s why he wants to have sex with me… because “I” have the power. The thought made her giggle.

She walked away crumpling the cup into a white wad and threw it at Dr. Weaton. It hit his breast pocked where his azure pen glinted in the florescent lights. “You’re just jealous of ‘him.’ because he gets to have lovely sex with me…with me…with meeeee…. “ She lifted her arms and started to flit her fingers up and down. “You see I’m soooo skinny now I am floating and flying and being me… and you’ll never catch me….noooooo.”

She flitted down the hallway watching her reflection in the two-way mirror. The white of the Formica floor and walls gave a sense of death tunnel travel. She stumbled into her room still singing to herself.

She did one more twirl and landed in bed on her back. Everything started to spin around. It reminded her of some frat party she’d been too where she’d drunk too much. Her friends had rescued her from some boys. That was college before she came here. Here… here… here… this was nowhere really.

The door creaked. She looked and saw ‘him.’ He glowed. He was beautiful.. He pulled the shade on the one window in the door. He turned towards Priscilla and gave her his largest gentlest smiles. “I am here my sweet. For you.” He hung up his wings with blue shiny tips.

The clatter of the pen went unnoticed by Priscilla, who grinned with vacuous delight at her visitor.

Andrea Rush is attorney by career, writer by heart: mother, wife, fixer-of-problems and time shifter to manage it all.