Jamie.
He’s staring down at me, but the easy smile and the light filling his eyes are absent.
My first thought is that he knows that’s my painting all over New York.
My second thought is that’s stupid. Of course he doesn’t know.
“You okay?” I ask hoarsely, trying to clear my throat.
He blinks, ease returning to his gaze. “Yes, thank you.” But then he squints at me. “Areyou?”
My heart rate still needs a way to come down, and the rush of people around me isn’t helping.
“Is there a quiet place here?” I try breathing evenly.
He nods. “Follow me.”
Students split for him like the Red Sea. I didn’t realize this could happen to someone in real life. I’ve gotten so used to clawing and shimmying and squeezing.
He reaches a room I haven’t stepped into before and opens the door, looking at me and nodding his head inside.
I walk in, heading straight to the window and gripping the sills. I close my eyes and take deep breaths until every part of me calms.
After a few minutes, I turn around to see Jamie leaning against the wall, watching me carefully.
“Thank you,” I say. “And I’m sorry I keep being a bother to you.”
He frowns. “Did I say that?”
“No, but—”
He raises his eyebrows. “So you know what’s going on in my mind?”
I blink.
Jamie looks around the room. “This is the art classroom. I like to come here to clear my mind. I’ve been lucky that every time I come here, no matter when, there’s no class. I think it’s a front for money laundering.”
I laugh, and he looks at me, pleased.
There are easels placed beside one another with soft stools in front of them. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover one side of the room, overlooking the inner courtyard. Art from students hangs in intricate frames all around. There’s a pang in my chest at being somewhere that could have felt like home, but I know if I were here before last night, it would have only hurt.
“You want to talk about it?” Jamie asks. “You looked pretty… shocked.”
I slide down to the floor, and he does the same. We’re on opposite sides of the room, the morning light filtering through the window, and even if I spoke in a whisper, I know he’d be able to hear me.
“What does the color red mean to you?” I ask. If Jamie is surprised, he doesn’t show it.
He hums, drawing a knee closer to his chest. “Love?”
“What else?”
He thinks about it. “I suppose it’s such a vibrant, deep color that I see it associated with strong emotions or things that are impactful. I guess in a way, it’s the color of your soul?”
I close my eyes, letting my thoughts push and pull.The color of your soul.The color of life. Of course it would come back first.
When I open my eyes, I notice the flickering of red around Jamie’s chest, and goose bumps run all over my body. I’m seeing inklings of his colors. The red is deep, like the color of blood hearts pump out. It then tapers off into another shade through his veins, and I think it’s orange. I think Jamie’s colors are an orange sunrise. Something hopeful and wonderful and magical.
“I agree,” I say, and he smiles. “You also looked pretty shocked when I nearly bumped into you. Wanna talk about it?”
