Technicolor Daze

I tell myself I'm going to be a star someday.

But I don't know exactly what that means.

I just know that I don't want to stand back all my life, waiting for someone to reserve a place for me.

I want to know what love is.

And I want to realize the power I know is lurking somewhere deep inside of me.

Why is that so hard to grasp?

—Jayna Cortez

"Colors" - Halsey

You were red and you liked me 'cause I was blue

But you touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky

And you decided purple just wasn't for you

Liam Scott was not the kind of man you could capture with just a kiss. Jayna had known that ever since she had fallen hard for him after a late-night performance at the Blue Diamond. She hadn't been the performer—no matter what her ambitions as a twee thing had once been—but she felt the heart of a groupie begin to beat in her chest the first moment she glimpsed Liam up close with the microphone, his forehead beading with sweat as he sang about sex and cigarettes and the high heat of summer.

At eighteen, Jayna had only a few notions about such things, but hearing Liam? She wanted to touch that world which felt like a realm rimmed with the gleam of some elusive magic.

After Liam and his band finished their opening act, it had been mere chance that she had gone out into the brisk April night and seen Liam sneaking a cigarette after the set. His dark eyes caught hers, and he didn't look even a bit shy as he smirked around the lit cigarette.

"Great show," Jayna said, following her instincts and resisting the urge to look like a total dork by giving him two thumbs-up.

At first he said nothing, and she thought she was being silently dismissed, until he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and let out a plume of smoke.

"Want one?" he asked, holding out a half-full pack to her. But she shook her head and couldn't fight a small smile.

"You'll ruin your voice like that," she said. She made it seem like such a sad thing. His voice was one that could change worlds; she had realized that as soon as he opened his mouth while on that stage. Such power—she couldn't ever imagine having that kind of gift.

To her surprise, instead of shunning her, he laughed and tucked away the pack in his jacket. "Smart girl," he said.

Smart girl—if she had been, then she probably should have walked away right then. Musicians weren't known for carving out happily-ever-afters in suburbia.

But she didn't go back inside and find her friends. She didn't listen to the other band she had really come to see. She stayed outside and shared small talk with a man who would never be caught.

Getting acquainted with his mouth, though—that seemed like something worth pursuing.

"Pink in the Night" - Mitski

I could stare at your back all day

And I know I've kissed you before, but

I didn't do it right

Can I try again, try again, try again

The first time Jayna slept with Liam, she didn't tell him she was a virgin. It was mortifying enough that she had to listen to songs he was writing about veiled allusions to blow jobs he had received from girlfriends past in the backs of parked cars.

She didn't tell him she was writing her own songs that she hoped he might one day sing. Six months she had known him, and she had never told him once that she kept a notebook of poems she might want to turn into things they might sing together.

There he was, touring small nightclubs and bars in the city, and she was just taking creative writing courses at her local community college. He didn't even know her dad had taught her to play the guitar before he died young from a heart attack.

But touching Liam's world—she could forget her mother struggling to pay the bills and keeping the family house, she could tell herself she just hadn't found her one great life's passion, and she could lose herself in Liam's arms and pretend it was okay to go so fast that her head spun.

Even that first night, as he kissed down her chest and to the apex of her thighs, she thought about putting the brakes on before she got into a wreck. But she loved him—didn't she? And didn't she want him to be with her rather than the other girls he wrote about in songs?

It's okay, she told herself when the condom went on and he kissed her long and deep. It's okay. You want this.

But the warning sign should have been that, even as she gasped from the pressure, Liam never said the words I love you.

It was a small thing, perhaps, but it bothered her deep in the back of her mind...

"Favourite Color" - Carly Rae Jepsen

Please don't go, look real close

Eyes that show kaleidoscopes

Even if Liam didn't love her the way she wanted, Jayna felt enough for the both of them. Her creative writing classmates told her that her prose had seemed to blossom overnight. Suddenly, there was texture, depth, and so much meaning to dissect.

If falling in love was the key to unlocking something new and wild in her writing, then she never wanted to fall out of it.

In a haze of endorphins and the joy of what it now meant to make love, she would lie close to Liam and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. In these hours after dusk, it was easy to forget there was a whole wide world out there to explore.

And that world, whether she liked it or not, called to Liam.

Maybe she should have been listening too, to the silence between the words and the kisses and even the sex.

Some things just couldn't last.

"Rose-Colored Boy" - Paramore

Rose-colored boy

I hear you making all that noise

About the world you want to see

And oh, I'm so annoyed

'Cause I just killed off what was left of

The optimist in me

"Do you ever show your boyfriend what you write?"

The question startled Jayna as a boy—was his name Jason or Max?—caught up with her in the hallway after class one day. He was a quiet one, easily looked over, and she had never really latched onto his writing which was too overloaded with description for her taste.

"Why?" she asked, suspicious and defensive. It didn't even occur to her to deny said boyfriend's existence.

The boy shrugged. "He might be flattered to find out that he's your muse."

Again, something roiled within her. Only later would she realize it was anger. What right did this boy—whatever his name was—have to judge her writing? Since when was he the thought police?

"I don't have a muse," she said, ready to outpace him and lose him down the crowding hallways of the campus.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," he said.

"Then what are you saying?"

His hazel eyes met hers for once, and she felt a bit of disquiet begin to creep into her chest. "I dunno, I guess I just would want to know. If I were him, I mean."

Jayna just stared at him, feeling like one of those fish ever with its mouth open, until the boy ducked his head.

"Anyway, see ya around. Good luck with the next assignment."

As he departed, she even felt a little bad. What was his name?

By the time she left campus, though, she had almost forgotten the strange, almost surreal, encounter aside from one thing: maybe she really should show Liam her writing.

Hadn't she kept the words secret long enough?

"Paint It Black" - Vanessa Carlton (cover)

I see a line of cars

And they're all painted black

With flowers and my love

Both never to come back

Jayna's musings died that weekend when she arrived at Liam's apartment to find a celebration under way.

"Los Angeles, here we come!" one of Liam's bandmates exclaimed as she let herself in through the door.

The words were the foreshadowing—but seeing Liam's face was the book closing suddenly, mid-story, when she hadn't even gotten to the climax of the story.

When he ushered her into his room and shut the door, she felt the pulse of a headache begin in her temple. "When are you leaving?"

"Jayna, look, I wanted to tell you—"

"When are you leaving?" she asked again, and this time anger crept into her voice.

For all his faults, at least Liam looked sorry. It was good to know he was a real living being with emotions after all. "Next week," he said.

Thoughts whirled through her head. She could go to school in L.A., couldn't she? Maybe get a job in retail to help pay the bills? And surely Liam wouldn't mind her moving in with him and the band if she contributed to the rent and utilities...

But even then, just from Liam's face, she knew there wasn't that offering on the table. Not now. Maybe someday it might have been, but not now.

So that's it. This is how love dies.

The pounding in her head made her squeeze her eyes shut.

"I'm happy for you," she managed. "This is what you've been working for."

Liam then drew her into a hug, but it was less comfort and more a prelude to goodbye.

"I'll miss you," he said. "We had a good thing going."

Did we? Or did I just imagine it?

The one good thing was that she didn't cry. She just felt numb.

Love always left, didn't it?

"Blue" - MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS

Gimme love, gimme dreams, gimme a good self esteem

Gimme good and pure, what you waiting for?

Gimme everything, all your heart can bring

Something good and true

I don't wanna feel blue anymore

Liam's kisses told her that he wouldn't forget her.

Lies.

Liam's touch told her that she would stay precious in his heart.

You told me we could have forever.

Liam's eyes told her that she was one in a million, never to be replaced.

You're going to be shagging another girl by the end of next week.

Liam's songs told her that she would live on in some form, even years from now.

I don't want to be a girl immortalized in lyrics. I want to be the girl you hold at night.

Liam's last embrace told her that this goodbye was the finale to a season that had passed far too quickly.

At least there's something we can agree on.

"Red Planet" - Little Mix

Blow me out of this world tonight,

Show me I'm your girl tonight,

Give me all your love tonight

The day after Liam left for Los Angeles, Jayna took a withdrawal slip down to student registration.

When it was her turn in line, though, the student employee who greeted her was the boy whose name she hadn't been able to remember just weeks ago.

But she knew his name now. Mason.

A slight smile dashed across his face. It was nothing like Liam's cocky smirk. "What brings you down here? Signing up for a late-start class?"

She dropped her gaze from his as she slid over the withdrawal request. "No. I'm just dropping out of Professor Garcia's class."

There was a moment of silence before Mason said, "What? You can't be serious."

Again, anger sparked in her. "What do you care what I do? I just want to drop the class. No big deal."

"It is a big deal. You're the best writer in the class. And I'm not saying that lightly since I think I'm pretty fantastic too."

You men and your egos. You're just like Liam.

But thinking of Liam was still like being punched in the chest.

When she opened her mouth to begin a tirade—even if she had to get his supervisor involved—he added, "Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but think of it logically. The class is half over anyway. Why not just stick it out?"

She met Mason's eyes then, and it bothered her that he seemed to see right through her.

He was overstepping his boundaries. He had no idea what she was going through. He should have minded his own business.

But her hand crumpled up the withdrawal paper. "Fine," she spat, like she had just lost something.

Mason just offered her that same lopsided smile. "Have a great day."

"Golden" - Harry Styles

You're so golden

You're so golden

I'm out of my head

And I know that you're scared

Because hearts get broken

Mason Guthrie was a loner by default. Unlike his other friends who had gotten into universities on the East and West Coasts, he was stuck in community college limbo because he, as his high school counselor had said, "lacked ambition."

He could have gotten a higher ACT score. He could have added more extracurriculars to make a winning college application. He could have won a prized scholarship if he had kept his GPA high enough rather than skipping class to sit below the bleachers while he wrote bad poetry and smoked too much weed.

Coulda-woulda-shoulda. Maybe he could have become the youngest poet laureate too, but that ship had sailed long ago.

And so community college it was.

Not that it mattered. He'd get a degree from anywhere so long as it meant securing some job that provided enough income so that he could pursue writing on the side. He knew he was no Hemingway or King or Gaiman, but having a career in writing wasn't even necessarily the goal either.

He just wanted to share the words that brimmed in the confines of his head. If he didn't let them loose, one day his head might explode.

The first day of his college creative writing class, he was ready to impress. If there was one thing he knew sang within him, it was the power of making an impression with words alone.

Not unexpectedly, the class was made up of mostly girls. One man, an outlier, looked to be in his fifties. Mason settled down in a seat next to him out of solidarity.

A girl rushed in, just a few spare minutes before the class would begin, and found an open seat around the loose circle of tables. Her eyes seemed to flit nervously from person to person, and Mason almost smiled to himself. How would she feel when she actually had to share some of her work out loud?

Introductions commenced. The nervous girl was named Jayna Cortez, and she said she liked writing poetry most of all. Mason nearly rolled his eyes. What did she write about? All her hopes and longings? She probably even rhymed with all her poetry in a sing-song way too.

But the next class period, when they each shared a creative nonfiction piece about something that had happened in their lives, he listened with rapt attention as Jayna described the sudden loss of her father three years ago. The detached call from the hospital, the sterile blankness of the hospital, the last sight of her father's face before they made the decision to have him cremated.

After, every week after, Mason became more and more fascinated with Jayna Cortez and the way she spun words as if they were weavings she could thread together at will.

A part of him envied her, but a greater part—well.

The greater part wanted to know the person beyond the veil of words.

"True Colors" - Zedd, Kesha

All my life, one page at a time

I'll show you my, my true colors

No, no, no, no, I won't apologize for the fire in my eyes

Let me show you my, my true colors, it ain't no rainbow

Jayna made it through the semester and another before she decided to try dating someone else other than Liam. While thinking of him still felt like poking a bruise, she at least didn't let the hurt stop her from pursuing her passions.

One night, meeting up with some high school friends who were in town, she spotted another familiar face in the crowded club.

"Mason!" She was glad that she had remembered his name. "What's going on with you?"

Jayna was also happy to see he recognized her—though she supposed it would have been karmic payback if he had just looked at her with questioning eyes.

"Oh, hey, Jayna," he said. "Nothing much going on. Just school and work. You?"

"Same with me," she said. "I've been trying to get some poems published in a lit mag, but nothing so far."

"At least you're submitting," he said.

"And are you finally working on that novel?"

His embarrassed smile told her before he had even answered. "Ah, yeah...not much inspiration right now."

They fell into a sudden silence, and Jayna almost could have kicked herself. Why was she bad at small talk at the worst possible times?

The music thrummed through the room, and Mason leaned in to say, "Wanna go outside? It's too loud in here."

Jayna tried not to think of how good he smelled even as he pulled away and she just nodded, her mouth dry.

Not again, she told herself. You’re not doing this again with another angsty artist.

But she followed Mason anyway as if she were being lured by a prize at the end of his string.

"White Light" - The Corrs

And all of the beauty

All of the pain

Everything borrowed

Won't happen again

And all that's left is love

Jayna would look back on that night and think of all the similarities to the night she met Liam.

A shared moment outside a club.

The haze of smoke from the cigarette crowd.

The chill of a sleepy season ready to burst with new purpose.

But the guy was different. Mason was not the spectrum of colors that Liam was. He was far more muted, like a sepia palette, and he easily dissolved into shadows. Liam—he had made every place a spotlight. And there had never been room there for her beside him.

“Are you cold?” Mason asked, and he looked ready to take off his jacket to give her.

“Oh no, I’m fine! Don’t worry about me.”

Mason actually scoffed. “I worry about everyone. That’s what happens when you’re a big brother.”

Jayna vaguely remembered Mason writing about his little sister and his parents for a long-ago assignment. She probably should have paid more attention during those writing workshops.

“I’m fine, really,” she muttered.

“You don’t exactly look fine,” he said. “What happened to your muse? He decide to sit out from a night on the town?”

Jayna shook her head, and a laugh bubbled out of her. “No. No muse for me. He—he’s a ghost more than anything else right now.”

“Huh.” Mason eyed her, and she suddenly felt shy under the scrutiny. “His loss, then.”

The words made something flutter in her chest.

No. Stop. You’re not doing this again.

But she caught Mason’s gaze on her again, and this time she didn’t look away uneasily.

“Maybe you don’t need a muse,” he said. “Maybe you need a collaborator.”

This time, her laugh was a sound of surprise. “What?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t you just look up at a muse? They seem like they’re on a pedestal. Untouchable. Unreachable. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense,” she said, her voice slow and soft.

“But a collaborator—that’s a partner. Someone you can trust, someone you can rely on. You know?”

Now it was Mason avoiding her gaze.

“I get it,” she said, “but what are you proposing?”

“The next guy should be someone who understands you,” he said, “and not someone you just feel close to when you’re writing about him.”

There. There it was. The unknown denominator.

Even when Liam had loved her and caressed her skin, he had felt worlds away. Like a god who was shedding his glory for one night to lie with a mere mortal.

Jayna looked down, her eyes burning. “Why do you have all the answers all the time?”

“I’m an observant person,” Mason said.

“And?”

“I’m a pretty great guy too,” he continued, “once you get past the whole awkward veneer.”

Her laugh felt warm and bright this time. “Is that a proposition?”

“If you want,” he said, but the off-handed way he said it didn’t fool her.

“Mason, I don’t think I’d mind going on a date with you.”

“Why wait for a date? We’ve got tonight right now, don’t we?”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Jayna found herself smiling brightly. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Not only was she seeing Mason for the first time—but she was allowing herself to be seen too.

And it felt incredible to be basking in a light all her own.

~~~

For the full playlist, click here. Spotify does not have "White Light" by The Corrs (or, if they do, it's only for premium members).

If you like narrative playlists like this, then you may enjoy these previous works of mine below.