Killian
Out on the sidewalk, I turn to her. “How about we start with seeing Brooklyn today? We can head into the city another day.”
“I’m fine with that,” Caroline acquiesces easily.
Since she’s wearing comfortable shoes, we start walking. I show her most of the neighborhood spots, the clubs, the bars, the local parks, the buildings which used to be factories and warehouses, the row houses on Park Slope. She observes it all like a child, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.
“There are so many colors here,” she says. “I think that’s the most surprising thing about New York for me.”
“What do you mean?” I turn to her.
We’re walking along the row houses now, under the shadows of the trees, which are just in their first bloom of the season.
“Someone like me, like us, who was born and raised on the West Coast might expect New York to be a capitalist city. Think about how they show it on TV, people are always in a rush to get somewhere. The trains are grey, the buildings are grey. It’s so dull and lifeless.
And you compare that to California and it’s so much color, vibrancy, the beaches, the ocean, the general atmosphere says you’re meant to relax here. ”
Caroline looks up at me, her eyes bright. They’re grey, but they’re the only color I see on the street.
“But it’s not dull and lifeless,” she says. “Look at all these colors.”
“Yeah, there are colors,” I agree.
She wrinkles her nose and looks at me like I said something to completely ruin her mood. “You’re an artist, Killer. You should appreciate the colors of the world.”
“Have you seen any of my art?” I ask her. Because if she had she would know that I don’t appreciate the colors of the world. What I paint is raw emotion. Mostly anger. I paint what I see in the world, which isn’t always color, but rather the emotions brought out in people.
“Just when I search your name on the Internet,” she says.
I look at her through the corner of my eyes. “You’ve been looking me up on the Internet?”
Her cheeks turn pink, matching her dress. “Only to look at your paintings.”
“I’ll show them to you,” I say.
She looks at me in surprise. “You will?”
I nod in agreement. My paintings aren’t a mystery nor are they something I want to hide. That was something I knew from the moment I started painting. I wanted to share it with the world. More than anything, I want to share them with Caroline.
Happiness shines in her eyes and she looks at me like I’ve given her a part of my soul, like she’s grateful that I’m trusting her. Or maybe she’s simply enjoying experiencing something new, something that wasn’t in her reach before.
“Let’s play a game,” she says.
I look at her hesitantly. “What kind of game?”
“It’s a color game. Each of us pick a color and go in a separate direction and take photos of as many of that color we find,” she explains.
“You don’t know where you’re going so that’s a terrible idea,” I dismiss.
Grabbing my arm, she pulls me to a stop. Her hand is warm against my skin. I almost hate to admit how nice it feels. Caroline tells her head back, frowning up at me.
“I’m not a child. I know how to use a map. And it’s not a terrible idea.”
She’s talking to me like I’m a child. This is a new city for her, and sometimes New York is dangerous even for people who’ve lived here for years. I look into her wide, guileless eyes. She’s close enough that I can see the blue rings around her irises, the gold fleck in her right eye.
I want to paint them exactly like this. Open. Trusting. Staring up at me.
Not wanting to disappoint her, I agree. “Okay. But I pick the area and I tell you exactly where to go. We’re going to be on the phone the whole time.”
She jumps with excitement making her tits bounce in her dress. I have to look away immediately before I’m caught staring.
“Okay, yay! What color do you want?”
“I’ll take red.”
“Then I’ll take blue.”
We exit the neighborhood and decide to go in our separate directions, circling back in thirty minutes. I call Caroline to keep her on the phone as I start walking away from her. There’s a restless feeling inside my chest but when I glance back, she’s happily looking around for her color.
I’m aware that I’m acting like a parent whose child is going away on their own for the first time. I can’t let go of this protective, possessive feeling I have over Caroline.
“Ooh, this is a good one,” she says in my ear. “Have you found anything yet?”
Honestly, I haven’t even looked. If I don’t play the game, she’ll still be disappointed so I look around searching for the color red. I find it in an awning. Then again in the faded letters of what used to be a bar. Again on graffiti painted on the side of a building.
All the while Caroline is in my ear, happily exclaiming each time she finds something. The excitement in her voice is what makes this game worth playing for me. Even as an artist, the colors are not what excite me. It’s what I create with them that’s exciting to me, and lately, not even that.
“I think you’re going to love this,” Caroline says.
The timer on my phone goes off indicating that it’s time for us to meet back where we started.
“Does that mean we have to go back now?” Caroline asks, disappointment clear in her voice.
“Yeah, but we can still keep playing the game when we’re together.”
I turn around, walking back where I came from. I get there before Caroline and when I don’t see her, I panic a little.
“You know how to get back right?” I confirm.
I can almost hear her eye roll. “No, Killian, I’ve gotten on the train and I’m heading to the city.”
“I’m just trying to confirm that you’re not lost,” I say.
“I’m not lost,” her whisper comes in my ear. I turn around and she’s standing right behind me, a soft smile on her face. The wind whips her hair around, making her laugh quietly.
I disconnect the call and slip my phone back into my pocket.
Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Did you just hang up on me? Rude.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
She nods. “Starving.”
I take her to a Greek restaurant that’s no more than an alley, just big enough for the counter, a long table along the window, and standing room only. Someone is leaving as soon as we walk in and Caroline grabs a spot at the table while I order.
While I wait for our gyros, I glance behind me at Caroline. She has her elbow resting on the table as she watches the world outside. And I want to paint her like this too, a part of the world, but completely away from it.
“Thank you,” she says, when I set her food in front of her. “Did you manage to get a lot of good pictures?”
I nod, taking a bite. Setting down my Gyro, I take my phone out and unlock it, setting it on the table between us.
Caroline swipes through all the photos I took, humming quietly to herself. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed.
“My medium of art is paint, not photography,” I say.
Looking at me, Caroline says, “These are really good. Not that I’m a photographer. This one is my favorite.”
She turns the phone slightly towards me so I can see which photo she’s viewing. It’s an old poster that’s been ripped and under it you can see faded paint that was once red. It’s so uninteresting I can’t understand why it’s her favorite.
“Why this one?” I ask. “Why not the flowers? Or the awning?
“Something about this one just reminds me of forgotten days,” she says softly. “Like no matter how hard we try to cover it up there are some things which linger long past their time and can never be erased.”
When she looks up at me, I see the reflection of those forgotten days in her eyes.
Days when she was just Caroline and I was just Killian.
When we could still dream of something else.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe those days can never be erased and have become a part of our souls.
No matter how much we try to cover them up with something else they will always be there.
“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be forgotten,” I say. “Maybe they are meant to be relived and reimagined in ways we never thought possible.”
“I really hope that’s true,” she whispers. Slowly, she lowers her eyes. “Can you send me this photo, please?”
I send the photo to her, happy that she will have a little reminder of our afternoon. Finally, she sets her phone on the counter between us for me to swipe through.
She took a lot more photos than I did, clearly more interested in the game than me.
It was a chance for her to explore a part of Brooklyn by herself and I can see her excitement in her photos.
There’s an old ribbon tied to someone’s bike.
The door of a bodega. Rides at a playground.
A photo of the sky so blue it hurts to even look at it.
Immediately, I can see the difference between her photos and mine. I looked for things. She looked for life. I stop at a photo of graffiti done entirely in blue. It’s a woman with a scarf wrapped around her head, her face in profile as she laughs at something. It’s a moment captured in time.
“I thought you’d like that one,” Caroline says. “Isn’t the artwork amazing?”
The artist did an incredible job of highlighting the small details. You can almost feel the joy of the painting.
“You took a lot of good photos,” I say. “Maybe you’re the one with the artistic eye.”
Caroline just laughs, shaking her head. “I can’t even draw a straight line. I’ve seen your artwork, remember? I can’t do what you do.”
“There are different mediums of art,” I say. “Obviously, you see the beauty in a lot of everyday things that people might miss. I looked for color. You looked for a life in color. That’s the difference.”
I push her phone back.
We finished the rest of our meal in silence, watching the road outside. Even silence with Caroline it’s different. It’s more peaceful, less lonely. I haven’t once thought about going back to the apartment. As long as I’m next to her, I’ll spend the whole day outside.
After lunch, we just walk around aimlessly.
I think she enjoys this part as well. Because she appreciates life and she wants to be a part of it.
Not other people’s lives. She wants to be a part of her own life, and not just as a supporting character.
No one is telling her what to do, what to eat, what to wear, all the things I’ve seen happen to her myself.
“Come on, I’ve been saving the best for last,” I tell her.
Caroline looks up as we get closer and pouts. “This is our apartment.”
“We’re not going back yet,” I say.
We walk farther to Brooklyn Bridge Park and as I expected, Caroline’s jaw opens slightly as she looks at the view.
“Oh my gosh, this is literally five minutes from our apartment,” she exclaims, walking towards the railing.
It’s busy this time of day, people sitting on the grass, on the benches, standing along the railing.
Caroline easily finds a spot and she’s so bright, people notice her right away.
Especially a group of guys standing not too far from where she is.
They glance at her in appreciation and open curiosity.
Stepping up next to her, I hide her from their view, glaring at them. It’s enough to make them look away quickly.
“I want to go on one of those,” Caroline says, pointing at a ferry.
“I should have expected as much,” I say.
She turns to look up at me, tugging her sweater closer around her. It’s gotten cooler as the sun dips and even more so closer to the water. Caroline’s cheeks and nose are slowly turning red. I remove my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that, it’s not that cold,” she protests.
I press my finger against her lips. “Shh. Don’t argue. Just watch.”
Caroline watches me with wide eyes, breathing out softly before nodding once.
Removing my finger from her lips, I turn to the water, curling my hands around the railing so I don’t touch her again.
I feel her eyes on my hands and it’s not the first time.
Even when I’m cooking, she’s looking at my hands.
I don’t understand what fascination she has with them.
We watch the sky change from blue to pink, purple, orange. The sun reflects across the buildings of Lower Manhattan, lighting them up like they’re on fire. Occasionally, I glance at Caroline and she seems lost in thought, watching the sun set.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head, still looking at the water. “I don’t think I’ve felt this way in a long time.”
“Like what?” I ask, curious.
Caroline licks her lips, doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Quiet. Calm. Not anxious. Like my nervous system is crashing and there is nothing I can do to stop it.” She looks up at me. “At the same time, I feel this is an illusion and it’s going to disappear as soon as I blink.”
“I used to feel the same way,” I tell her.
“And? How did you get over it?”
I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “By telling myself that if it’s real, I get to experience it all again tomorrow. If it's an illusion, then I know what I have to fight for. You have to be willing to fight, Caroline.”
Swallowing, she looks back at the water. “I don’t want to fight alone.”
“Who says you’re alone?”
When she turns to me, I’m already looking at her, telling her silently that I will be by her side if she needs me. The softest smile curves up her lips, and she breathes out a heavy sigh, as if exhaling all the pressure and negativity before she turns back to look at the water.