Red Feathers
The cold water she splashed over her face didn’t make the black spots in front of her eyes disappear.
The sound of running water rushed into her ears as she stayed bent over the sink, her hands gripping the cold stone waiting for her sight to return to her. It was cold in that room and she was barefoot on the concrete floor. It felt like she was standing on blocks of ice and Erica could feel the soles of her feet numbing over. The granite coloured t-shirt she’d been sleeping in was short sleeved and cut off mid thigh, it let the cold air stroke her skin and pull goose bumps from it.
After a few seconds she lifted a hand to the smooth skin of her head and pressed her fingers to the throbbing that started right on top of her skull. The black spots became purple and blue—then white and slowly, the grey sink came into view coated in the orange light of the bathroom.
Erica was slow as she straightened, stepping closer to the sink as her eyes lifted to the small square mirror that she had to stand a little stooped to be able to look in.
The dark brown of her eyes was almost drowned out by the little red vines of red that had mapped out paths on the white. She touched her fingers to the soft, bruised skin beneath her eyes—the blunt nails pressed against the rounded firmness underneath and the pads of her fingers became wet.
From the small window high up she heard the loud sound of the train as it ran past—its lights briefly lighting the distorted glass of the window.
Swallowing, Erica dropped her hands and looked away from her reflection.
Her feet tapped the sound of her steps as she turned and walked to the door. Without looking she reached her fingers out towards the wall as she neared the door and flipped the switch.
She expected everything to go dark but after pulling the door closed behind her she realised that the candle sitting on her bedside table had been lit.
It threw flickering shadows onto the walls of the small box-like room—the chest of draws, the bar that crossed the slim distance high up, the few clothes that hung from it and the dark sheets that blocked any view into the room from the window.
Michael was sitting on her bed. Though she couldn’t make out the blue of his eyes she could see their lightness as he looked up at her from his place. His hands were back on the bed, bracing his upper body as he leaned back. His legs were on the floor, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. Like Erica, he wasn’t wearing much—a t-shirt and shorts. His short black hair was standing on end.
As always she couldn’t help but note the differences between their eyes. His were bigger and rounder than hers. Hers gave away the fact that they were from different fathers, with the narrow shape and their outer edge that flicked up at a little.
Cocking his head to the side, he lifted a hand that held a small red plastic cup with a white plastic spoon tucked into it.
“I heard you get up.”
Her lips curved up a little and rubbing at the back of her neck she closed the distance to the bed and sat next to him, taking the cup and spoon from his hand with the small smile still on her face. “I tried to be quiet.”
“Heard you open the door to the bathroom.” He explained, putting his hand back on the mattress and tipping his head back to look at her ceiling. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm.” She spooned a little of the jelly into her mouth, feeling comforted by the soft and cold artificial taste of strawberry.
“Dream?”
Erica’s hand paused at the question before she let the spoon rest back inside the cup. She knew where this conversation would lead if she told him what had happened. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” She murmured and then took another little bit of the jelly.
Michael sighed and he reached for her.
His hand was warm as it settled on the nape of her neck. It had always been warm. His fingers whispered back and forth on her skin before sliding up her bare scalp, familiar already with the sensation of the smooth skin. She loved feeling its weight on her and she didn’t resist when he lead her head to rest on his shoulder.
“Why bother lying? You don’t do it well enough to pull it off.”
Erica shook her head and thought about how when they were like this, she couldn’t tell that he was shorter than her like everyone else. Then again, that had never mattered when it came to Michael. He’d never cared that she towered over everyone else, man and woman.
They were silent for a little longer and then he spoke again. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Are you?”
He gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”
“All right.” She moved away from him again and then turned, climbing onto her bed and tugging the scratchy brown blankets over her legs as Michael did the same, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him once more. “Better?”
He nodded, rubbing his cheek against her head. “Yeah this is good.”
The room was quiet and only the sound of her spoon scraping the jelly out of the cup could be heard.
“Did you... see something again?”
Erica couldn’t help tensing against him. She straightened, putting some distance between them and hunching a little as she continued eating. His arm slipped away. She could feel Michael’s eyes on her.
“What is it?” He asked.
Erica shrugged. “It’s nothing. But is there any point in bringing that up?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Erica looked at him, her eyes flicking over the face lit by the orange glow of the candle. “You don’t like it when I talk about my visions.”
His face didn’t change but she could feel the way something in him shifted. “I never said that.”
“I’ve known you my entire life. I know when something makes you uncomfortable.”
Michael looked over at her. “Does that mean you won’t tell me about it?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He nodded.
Her eyes slid away from him. Erica didn’t ignore the fact that he had neither confirmed nor denied what she’d said. Flattening herself back against the wall she finished the rest of the jelly.
“I dreamt of them again.”
Michael copied her and leaned back against the wall too, his eyes falling to where the blanket covered his feet. “The same two guys?”
“Yeah.”
His jaw tightened. “What happened this time?”
She placed the cup beside her, leaning it against her thigh. “Nothing.” She tipped her head up, taking in the cracks on the ceiling. “Hmm—we were just sitting there. The blond one brought me coffee then started arguing with the short guy.” She snickered. “Blond guy called me ‘baldy.’”
Michael frowned. “That’s a vision?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing happens.”
She looked at him. “Nothing has to happen for it to be a vision. A vision to me, is when I’m shown something I need to know, need to see. It’s just a—like a small gift.”
“So there’s nothing to this then? Even though this isn’t the first time you’ve seen them?”
At that she smiled at him. “No. I understand the reason why I see them.”
“Then what is it?”
“It let’s me know I’ll meet them and that they will accept me just like they do in these slices I see of us together.”
There was a warmth to her smile when she spoke of them, a warmth to her voice that was rarely applied to anything else.
Michael wondered if one day he’d be able to tell her how much that bothered him.
He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, feeling the smooth skin slide against his as he looked at her. “I accept you.”
Erica looked at him. She didn’t say anything.
And then she looked away.
The sound of running water rushed into her ears as she stayed bent over the sink, her hands gripping the cold stone waiting for her sight to return to her. It was cold in that room and she was barefoot on the concrete floor. It felt like she was standing on blocks of ice and Erica could feel the soles of her feet numbing over. The granite coloured t-shirt she’d been sleeping in was short sleeved and cut off mid thigh, it let the cold air stroke her skin and pull goose bumps from it.
After a few seconds she lifted a hand to the smooth skin of her head and pressed her fingers to the throbbing that started right on top of her skull. The black spots became purple and blue—then white and slowly, the grey sink came into view coated in the orange light of the bathroom.
Erica was slow as she straightened, stepping closer to the sink as her eyes lifted to the small square mirror that she had to stand a little stooped to be able to look in.
The dark brown of her eyes was almost drowned out by the little red vines of red that had mapped out paths on the white. She touched her fingers to the soft, bruised skin beneath her eyes—the blunt nails pressed against the rounded firmness underneath and the pads of her fingers became wet.
From the small window high up she heard the loud sound of the train as it ran past—its lights briefly lighting the distorted glass of the window.
Swallowing, Erica dropped her hands and looked away from her reflection.
Her feet tapped the sound of her steps as she turned and walked to the door. Without looking she reached her fingers out towards the wall as she neared the door and flipped the switch.
She expected everything to go dark but after pulling the door closed behind her she realised that the candle sitting on her bedside table had been lit.
It threw flickering shadows onto the walls of the small box-like room—the chest of draws, the bar that crossed the slim distance high up, the few clothes that hung from it and the dark sheets that blocked any view into the room from the window.
Michael was sitting on her bed. Though she couldn’t make out the blue of his eyes she could see their lightness as he looked up at her from his place. His hands were back on the bed, bracing his upper body as he leaned back. His legs were on the floor, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. Like Erica, he wasn’t wearing much—a t-shirt and shorts. His short black hair was standing on end.
As always she couldn’t help but note the differences between their eyes. His were bigger and rounder than hers. Hers gave away the fact that they were from different fathers, with the narrow shape and their outer edge that flicked up at a little.
Cocking his head to the side, he lifted a hand that held a small red plastic cup with a white plastic spoon tucked into it.
“I heard you get up.”
Her lips curved up a little and rubbing at the back of her neck she closed the distance to the bed and sat next to him, taking the cup and spoon from his hand with the small smile still on her face. “I tried to be quiet.”
“Heard you open the door to the bathroom.” He explained, putting his hand back on the mattress and tipping his head back to look at her ceiling. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm.” She spooned a little of the jelly into her mouth, feeling comforted by the soft and cold artificial taste of strawberry.
“Dream?”
Erica’s hand paused at the question before she let the spoon rest back inside the cup. She knew where this conversation would lead if she told him what had happened. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” She murmured and then took another little bit of the jelly.
Michael sighed and he reached for her.
His hand was warm as it settled on the nape of her neck. It had always been warm. His fingers whispered back and forth on her skin before sliding up her bare scalp, familiar already with the sensation of the smooth skin. She loved feeling its weight on her and she didn’t resist when he lead her head to rest on his shoulder.
“Why bother lying? You don’t do it well enough to pull it off.”
Erica shook her head and thought about how when they were like this, she couldn’t tell that he was shorter than her like everyone else. Then again, that had never mattered when it came to Michael. He’d never cared that she towered over everyone else, man and woman.
They were silent for a little longer and then he spoke again. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Are you?”
He gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”
“All right.” She moved away from him again and then turned, climbing onto her bed and tugging the scratchy brown blankets over her legs as Michael did the same, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him once more. “Better?”
He nodded, rubbing his cheek against her head. “Yeah this is good.”
The room was quiet and only the sound of her spoon scraping the jelly out of the cup could be heard.
“Did you... see something again?”
Erica couldn’t help tensing against him. She straightened, putting some distance between them and hunching a little as she continued eating. His arm slipped away. She could feel Michael’s eyes on her.
“What is it?” He asked.
Erica shrugged. “It’s nothing. But is there any point in bringing that up?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Erica looked at him, her eyes flicking over the face lit by the orange glow of the candle. “You don’t like it when I talk about my visions.”
His face didn’t change but she could feel the way something in him shifted. “I never said that.”
“I’ve known you my entire life. I know when something makes you uncomfortable.”
Michael looked over at her. “Does that mean you won’t tell me about it?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He nodded.
Her eyes slid away from him. Erica didn’t ignore the fact that he had neither confirmed nor denied what she’d said. Flattening herself back against the wall she finished the rest of the jelly.
“I dreamt of them again.”
Michael copied her and leaned back against the wall too, his eyes falling to where the blanket covered his feet. “The same two guys?”
“Yeah.”
His jaw tightened. “What happened this time?”
She placed the cup beside her, leaning it against her thigh. “Nothing.” She tipped her head up, taking in the cracks on the ceiling. “Hmm—we were just sitting there. The blond one brought me coffee then started arguing with the short guy.” She snickered. “Blond guy called me ‘baldy.’”
Michael frowned. “That’s a vision?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing happens.”
She looked at him. “Nothing has to happen for it to be a vision. A vision to me, is when I’m shown something I need to know, need to see. It’s just a—like a small gift.”
“So there’s nothing to this then? Even though this isn’t the first time you’ve seen them?”
At that she smiled at him. “No. I understand the reason why I see them.”
“Then what is it?”
“It let’s me know I’ll meet them and that they will accept me just like they do in these slices I see of us together.”
There was a warmth to her smile when she spoke of them, a warmth to her voice that was rarely applied to anything else.
Michael wondered if one day he’d be able to tell her how much that bothered him.
He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, feeling the smooth skin slide against his as he looked at her. “I accept you.”
Erica looked at him. She didn’t say anything.
And then she looked away.
