31
The Sunset has a Flavor
THE SUNSET WAS GLORIOUS: orange and purple and red. But Blake’s mind reeled. Standing in the sunlight, battling his glass skin, he tried to find the positive. The rays felt so beautiful on his face; Blake thought he could taste the colors. The red was his fear, the orange was hope, and the purple—the purple tasted of tomorrow. He just wasn’t sure he knew what tomorrow would bring anymore.
Stupid piano. He wished he’d never gone back inside Livia’s house. But maybe it was better he knew how she really felt. He slid the mask back on even though there was little sunshine left now. His mind refused to stop blaring the worst parts of what he’d heard over and over again. “Dad, Blake and I have only known each other for a few weeks. It’s a brand new thing. It might not even last.”
Blake wondered why Livia hadn’t told him she studied psychology at her school in the city. But deep down, he knew. A glass-skinned, cardboard piano-lover had to be an amazing case study. A sure-fire way to make a name for yourself—or at the very least a professional challenge too tempting to resist. Had she been taking notes all along? While I was counting smiles, was she proving her thesis?
Blake knew he needed to calm down. He needed to think. Over his shoulder he noticed a small car following him too slowly. He hopped a fence and let his inner tramp take over. He picked through backyards and driveways with about as much concern for human boundaries as a squirrel would have.
Blake bit his tongue. Of course she’s not perfect. Of course she has ulterior motives. God, she was good at pretending. The soulful gray eyes. The tender heart drawn on his back. He had to admit he would never have guessed. Stupid, trusting, loyal Blake.
Hasn’t life taught me well enough? Love is not mine to find. I’m a fool. Damn it to hell.
As his thoughts raced, Blake picked up his pace. Without realizing where he’d been going, Blake soon stood at the top of the stairs to the train platform. He shook his head at his stubborn, still-believing feet. While his brain was numb with pain, they’d brought him back to where it all began, as if that could somehow make things better.
Psychology. How could she not tell me?
The only reason he could fathom was deception. It was such a small piece of information, until it remained unspoken. Then it became everything.
“It probably won’t even last…He scared me once…”
Blake trotted down the steps and pulled off his mask. He’d have to return it to Mouse. He’d done fine without it before her. He just needed to go back to being what he was.
He stood in his shady spot, which was ironically the brightest place on the platform once the lights came on at night. Against his better judgment, he considered his possibilities. I could be her guinea pig—let her try her best on me. She could strap me to a board in the sunlight in the center of town. At least maybe I could still kiss her. Maybe I could still touch the soft skin inside her elbow.
Blake knew Livia had given him more than pain, more than a mask. She’d given him worth—such soaring worth, he’d been wealthy with it. Even now he still had a little to draw from. He had enough not to make himself an experiment for her.
He dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out his heart-shaped stone. When he’d found it after she kissed him that first time, he’d taken it as a sign. Even his woods knew he was in love and had given him a present. He’d used a knife at Beckett’s place to scratch the B+L on its face.
Beckett had eyed him with suspicion as he worked. “A chick got you by the balls? Or is it a dude? You know I’m not a hater, baby.”
Blake had told Beckett all about her and the kiss.
“Good for fucking you,” Beckett said, pounding him on the back. “If I told you once, I told you a million times: you’re a handsome motherfucker. I’m almost gay for you.” Beckett pulled out a wad of cash. “Now, you go spoil that pussy.”
Blake waved his hands, rejecting the money. “No, Beckett, I’m telling you, I really think she might like me. Just me—the way I am.”
Blake rubbed his finger over the stone. Now it was testament to a broken dream. It was just a rock in the right shape, not a message from the universe. She did want him just the way he was: a diseased brain she could try to fix.
He set the rock down in his spot. He needed to give her something to tell her he knew. He knew it was over. Livia would find the rock when she came to the train station. She would know he’d been there, and that he was gone.
Maybe she’ll be proud I could walk away. Maybe she’ll know that’s a good thing.
He turned from the spot as the train pulled loudly into the station. Distracted by his thoughts and the roar of the train, Blake barely noticed the dazzling brightness that appeared for a moment in the sky. A second and third flash and accompanying rumble got Blake moving. Rain must be on the way. He trotted up the steps. There was one more thing he had to do. It would cleanse him. He had a new purpose now.
A short jog later, he peeled back the fence to the woods past Firefly Park. A little ways down his familiar trail, he stopped at the tree with the hole in its trunk and dug out a coffee can that kept a few things safe for him. By the time he got to the clearing, the moon was high enough so he could see. This is good. I can say goodbye.
Livia had ruined this clearing for him. He could never again be here without picturing her hair fanned out around her. He’d never find peace here now. He’d always picture the love he’d seen in her eyes when she’d taken off his mask.
Thought, he corrected himself. Thought I’d seen in her eyes. Blake felt the lump of wool in his pocket. This very mask.
He would start with that. Blake pulled it out and clicked open the lighter he kept in the coffee can. The yarn took a while to catch and was mostly disappointing in its smoky smoldering.
He pulled out his piano. No. It’s all I have, his mind screamed. But she’s in here. All the songs I wrote, all the hope I had. It’s all in here, he argued back.
He tried to make his heart hard as he smoothed it out on his knee. He held the very top corner and clicked the lighter on the bottom. The cardboard went much faster than the wool. An angry red line preceded the flame, as if warning his beloved cardboard of its eminent death. Blake pictured Livia’s smile as the cardboard blackened and curled.
He tried to remember the feel of her hand when she’d shaken his. “I’m Livia McHugh. It’s nice to meet you.”
Smoke poured from the cardboard as he remembered his response. “Blake Hartt. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He’d said his name, but what he’d been thinking was: She touched me. I am someone. I count.
Blake held the piano until the flames licked his fingers. Then he dropped the tiny, glowing piece, and it landed on top of the smoky pile of mask.
He felt no relief. He felt no closure. He knew then he would have to leave Poughkeepsie. He’d go very far away so he wouldn’t be tempted to come back. He looked down at the ash that had been his piano and missed it. He missed it already.
His sadness slowly solidified into anger as he scraped piles of leaves together with his feet and lit them with the lighter. He kept going until the center of his clearing had a floor of flames.
He watched the yellow and gold with tears forming in his eyes. The flames had a taste. They tasted like Livia never really loving him at all.