Excerpt: The Shadow of a Colour (working title)

~Abraxas~

"I'll come along to your car," I said, gently loosening Emilie from my arm and rising.
I was closer to the door than Jazz and waited for him to push himself past the kitchen table. On his way out, he stopped by Barb's chair and laid a hand on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Don't let it get to you, okay? You'll be fine."

Barb looked mildly surprised but she responded with a lopsided smile. "I will," she said. "Thanks, Jazz."

Jazz gave her shoulder a light squeeze, said goodnight to Emilie and waved at my mom as he pushed past me through the beaded curtain. We slipped into our jackets and put on our shoes. The November night embraced us with tinkling coolness.

I stretched my arms and yawned extravagantly as we made our way to his car, an old red Ford. I had lots of memories of that car - uncounted weekend camping trips and concerts and parties.

"So," I said matter-of-factly as he fumbled with the car keys, scratching the back of my neck. "What was that with you and Barb? You hitting on my sister?" I laughed and punched his shoulder to let him know I wasn't being serious, and he joined in, but not without taking me into a headlock that left me gasping for mercy. When we finally detached from one another again and stood leaning against the car, wheezing with laughter, I was feeling light-headed and airy. That soon subsided, however, when I noticed that Jazz had gone very quiet.

"Hey." I nudged his side. "I was only joking, you know. No need to get so serious."

Jazz shook his head with a sigh. "I feel sorry for her," he said quietly. "She's such a nice girl. It's awkward to see her so down, you know."

I blew out my breath in a cloud of silvery mist and sighed, letting my head fall forward for a moment. I had forgotten that beneath all his jovial behaviour and ebullient ways, Jazz was actually quite gentlemanly when it came to girls. I could understand that it must be pretty strange to see his best friend's sister and one-time babysitter in such a way suddenly.

...

I didn’t linger long in the bathroom; it was essential but not terribly interesting. Instead I felt myself drawn towards the next door down the hallway and let my feet follow the silent call of my greatest project.

The door gave a low creak as I opened it, like the sigh of a welcome. The room inside lay silent as if it had been waiting for me.

The walls were painted in a blue so light and delicate that it was hardly recognizable as such; its pallor made it appear almost white. This room was the biggest of all.

It smelled of dust and stale air, but nothing that could not be fixed by opening the windows for a bit. There was a row of big windows in the opposite wall, so much as to almost give the illusion that there was actually no boundary between inside and outside, that any breeze stirring outside was going to chill me in here. In the middle, there was a double-winged door, glass panels framed with wood lacquered white, that led outside onto a tiny balcony.

I went over silently, my feet hardly making any sound on the floor, and stood before the door. It took me a moment’s thinking to wrap my head around the old-fashioned closure, but not long enough as to frustrate me. I had to pull back a latch, then slide up a lever to unlock the middle. There was more to fuss about at floor level, but a minute later I carefully pulled the left of the doors open, bracing myself mentally for the cold wind.

There was indeed a stiff breeze that whipped into my face, ruffling my hair and howling in the opening between the two doors. A single rain drop was carried through the air and landed right on my cheek, cold and wet. I wiped it off with my sleeve, then carefully closed the door again. Pressing my forehead against the door, I decided to rather look outside this way; less cold. A small patch of the window pane clouded where my breath came on it, and the glove of my left hand made a small squeaking sound on the glass.

When I turned around, what I saw was not an empty room. I saw pictures in vivid colours on the walls; tables with mugs of full of pens and brushes on them; shelves stacked to the last centimetre with photo albums, magazines, folders full of references for landscapes, people, colour schemes; and in the middle of the room, my easel, next to a low table with the paints on it… I saw the beautiful future I was going to share with this room.

...

~Barbara~

A voice brought me back to reality quickly enough and l looked up to see Jazz coming over to me from where he must have been somewhere near the stage located at the other end of the hall.

“Hi,” I greeted with a smile. “You busy?”

He gave a dramatical groan that seemed only half fake as he turned away from me, putting a hand to his forehead. “Am I busy, she says,” he muttered loudly in woeful distress, and I laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The smile on my face had turned into a right out grin. I couldn’t help myself. Tonight was going to be fun.

He turned back to me and his face relaxed into his trademark smile, just self-ironic enough to make it look good without slipping into being comical. “Well, we’re all pretty busy worrying our asses off,” he explained with a shrug. “I mean, this is it.”

“Bas told me already you’ve turned into a bit of a worry wart since you know that you’re playing tonight.”

“Has he?” Jazz shrugged. “Well, I dare him to go up there and play for a crowd at the Shroom. He’s got an hour to come here and get ready.” He gave a sudden sigh and reached up to run a hand through his disarrayed, vaguely reddish curls. “Gosh, I really do. If they sent him up there people would at least expect to get a horrible show.”

“Stop worrying so much,” I said simply. “The Shroom will have had a reason to hire you.” He looked a little better when I said that and I decided to change the topic to something less distressing. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked casually.

He looked down his body. He was wearing just normal black jeans, but around the upper half merely a sleeveless shirt with a print on it that was hardly identifiable, but seemed to contain some year numbers of sorts. It did look decidedly good, but it was November after all.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Must be the running around so much. Besides, once there are people here it’ll get warm and it’s always warmer under the lights anyway.” I nodded, seeing what he meant as I had stood in spotlights often enough during the last year. “Question reversed, aren’t you warm yourself?”

I noticed that I was still wearing my thick coat and it was actually getting a bit warm indeed, even without anyone around yet. “Actually, yes,” I laughed and shrugged my bag off my shoulder. Unsure for a moment where to put it, I stood there still until Jazz heaved a sigh of something undefinable that sounded suspiciously like “women” and took the bag from my hands. I merely laughed and began unbuttoning my coat and peeling myself out of its depths. I slung it over my arm and reached over to take my bag back, but Jazz snatched it away and held it up high enough that even tall me had no chance getting at it. I rolled my eyes.

“You’re not so much different from when you were fifteen, you know,” I said with a mocking, sad shake of my head and he pulled a painful grimace.

“Ouch.” He lowered my bag again and handed it back to me amiably. He let his eyes travel down my clothes for a moment. “You look nice,” he added sheepishly.

That took me aback a bit, but I smiled in reply. “Thanks,” I said. Sometimes I wondered if the reason I tended to smile a lot was because I was at a loss of words to say.