Scarlet

Before I met Natalie, I thought of weddings as selfish affairs. Only the married folks in attendance can really appreciate all of the expensive, colorful things on display. The rest of us just sort of sit and wait for the thin slice of enjoyable time between the ceremony and the part where everyone who sees in color takes over the dance floor. Then we watch them glide around in black and white. It's unbearably classy.

Traditionally, my survival method is to focus on the free meal, then slip away after the newlyweds execute their meticulous, over-rehearsed First Dance. Wedding venues are always magnificent, and their empty hallways and lush trappings offer more entertainment than the weight-bearing wall at the end of the dance hall. I was in the middle of that routine when we met.

Wary of attracting attention, I popped the last of the decorative table candy into my mouth and tried to put my jacket on without flourishing it. Made my way around the room in a half-samba; just enough to convince onlookers that I was having a great time even if my tiny bladder was not. I was so concerned with the charade that I very nearly tackled a pair of women rounding the corner.

"I'm telling you, he's here. I don't know how to describe it because you've never seen..."

And then I had a fistful of dress. It was that or knock the poor woman over.

"I'm so sorry! I don't know..."

I derailed. The dress had changed in my hands. Soft Grey had become a luxurious color I now know to call blue. And I looked up to see Natalie, who a year later would be my wife. Aside from the tired cliché of the moment, my only regret was seeing the color blue before the rich brown tone of her skin; the glowing hazel in her eyes.

It took a moment to calm Sarah down, of course. It's not often that your best friend meets her Soulmate, and even more rare that he nearly kills you at the same time. She spent most of the evening watching Nat and I from across the room, a mixture of confusion and disgust on her face. Jealous, most likely, of the new world we experienced together that night. Nat and I took in every color we could in those first wondrous hours, reveling in the fact that the rumors were true. Soulmates. Spectrums. All of it.

We never looked back. How could we?

Years later, I've almost forgotten what it's like to see the world in shades of grey. Which makes it hard to keep my job designing ad content for Singles who haven't yet experienced the color wheel. But with a little effort, I can shift the world back into monochrome. I work in that space, but I try not to linger. It's a cold world, empty without Nat. And I'm glad to have left it, even if it means sitting through boring meetings like the one I'm in now, daydreaming to survive.

I resurface to see that Mr. Paulson has once again seized the proverbial reigns of the meeting. I must've picked up some kind of brain fog from my memories, because the world hasn't snapped back into color yet. The slide changes, but the pie charts stay dreary. As do the walls. The table. The bits of sky I can see through the blinds.

Everything is grey.

I blink.

Again.

Harder.

Still grey.

I'm out the door before my boss finishes explaining why that's a bad idea, rifling through my bag in search of my phone. It takes forever to power back on, a bright flash of light that's even more painful because it only registers as white. Why did I even turn it off?

I open my Contacts and press on Natalie's face, which might as well be a stranger's because I've never seen it without color before. Her line rings all the way down the stairs, which I take three at a time. I leave my third voicemail as the car starts.

"Babe, the color's gone. The color's gone and I don't know what to do. Please. PLEASE call me back."

I throw the phone into the passenger seat, fearful that I won't need to pick it up again before I get to our house. Hating myself for assuming that I won't.

Driving angry is dangerous. Driving afraid is worse. Especially when you've forgotten which shade of grey means "stop." The law is irrelevant as I race home. My heart stops at the dull buzz of my phone. Swerving, I reach over to grab it. Unknown number.

The swell of fire in my chest is flushed out by cold despair. How do automated calls always come at the most stressful moment? Cold sweat covers me from head to toe and I drop the device with trembling disdain. It buzzes once more to tell me that the inconsiderate moron on the other end has gone so far as to leave a voicemail.

My heart hasn't slowed by the time my tires screech to a halt in the driveway. The door doesn't stand a chance, and it seems to know. It swings wide without hesitation, not even the deadbolt standing in my way.

"Honey! Are you okay?!" Natalie looks up at me, our newborn daughter in her arms.

I'm frozen.

"Steve. Steve, you're scaring me. Is everything alright? I wasn't expecting you home for hours."

The baby starts to cry. Resumes crying, actually. Natalie tells me that she's been cooing at our little one for the better part of an hour.

"You didn't hear the phone?" I ask.

"Not at all. Kendra drowned it out. Why? Did you call? What happened? Were you fired?"

"No," I hear myself say, "actually, I don't know. I left before they could tell me that I was."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's fine." My stomach, which had only just returned to its usual place, drops again as I remember the message I left her. "Where is your phone?"

"Charging on the nightstand? Why?"

Hours later, Natalie still won't speak to me. I won the footrace to her phone, but there was no way to clear the voicemails without arousing suspicion. My only option was to come clean; to confess to her grey face as grey tears flow over it.

I settle into the back seat of my car, the chill air even more bitter in black and white. With a blanket wrapped around me, it's hard to see much. That's how I want it. At least the black of the night looks the same.

Before I can escape into my dreams, I see the urgent flashing of my phone from beneath the console. That stupid voicemail.

Alone in the car, the thought of another person's voice is just tempting enough to move me. I slip the blankets off and shiver as I reach for the phone. My voicemail message reads back the time and date.

"Hello, Mr. Lawrence, this is Doctor Jack Monroe, from the County Hospital. You need to call us back, right away."

It's near midnight, but I can't wait through the night. I dial. The line rings twice.

"County Hospital, this is Kim. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Kim," I manage. "I missed a call from Dr. Monroe this afternoon. I was hoping to --"

"Oh, no. God, they told me this might happen."

"What?"

"Mr. Lawrence, I'm sorry you have to find out this way. Your friend Sarah was killed in an accident today."

"What?"

"You were her emergency contact. She made us promise to give you a message just before she lost conciousness..."

Papers rustled.

"Do you have any idea what Scarlet is?" asked the receptionist.

"What?" Colors rushed through me, but I still saw only grey.

"She said to tell you that you look very handsome in Scarlet. Whatever that means."

Scarlet does nothing for my blue eyes and dusty blond hair. The last time I wore it was the last night I chose my outfit colorblind.

"...thank you," I say to the night, my phone already disconnected on the floor.

A door slams in the distance. Natalie stands on the porch, eyes soft from tears but steadied by resolve. She drops her folded arms and glides toward the car.

We have a decision to make.

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This piece originally appeared on my old blog, inspired by a prompt from @writing.prompt.s on Instagram. Hit them up if you're ever stuck!