The Red Jacket

            She was a spot of red that could be seen from miles away. Like a blood red cardinal flying above an ocean of grey. The sky, the sidewalks, the streets, even the cars. Laura stood out as she walked slowly, steadily from her house to her job at the paper store. The cold wind blew across her face like cold knives slicing across her skin. She pulled her jacket tighter against her body. Her short brown hair became a tornado on top of her head.

            People couldn't help but stare. Laura's face remained stagnant, but out of the corner of her eyes she could see men pressing their faces against the windshield of their cars to get a better look at her. She was a flash of color in the middle of all that colorless muck. She hadn't really planned on wearing that jacket that day, or the days that followed. It was the first thing she grabbed from her closet. Then again, everything in her closet had color. Sapphire. Amethyst. Moss. Fire. Sunflower. Crimson. Colors she loved more than life itself.  That was all she ever cared about…color. It was the only thing she ever wanted to talk about.

            “Why are they staring?” Laura wondered as she shook her head in confusion. “It's just a red jacket.”

* * * *

            Allen was in the kitchen, trying to stay awake so he could get to work alive and get the day over with. He couldn’t start the day without a cup of coffee. He muttered to himself as he moved around the kitchen. He glanced out the window and sighed. He thought about all the things that needed to get done at the office. He took a sip and made a face.

            “Ugh.” He pulled the cup away from his body like it was something that meant to do him harm.

            He brewed fresh coffee and poured a cup, spilling some on his hand. He pulled it away and tried to shake off the burning feeling.

            Stupid, friggin'...

            Allen looked up and stopped everything. Red. He couldn't help but stare. He couldn't turn and look the other way. His dark blue eyes stayed on her. He didn't understand why suddenly the blood that ran through his veins had suddenly caught fire.

            She’s a rose trying to bloom in the middle of a storm.

* * * *

            “Where’s she going?” he asked himself the following day. From then on, he made it his morning habit to stand in front of his kitchen window and watch “The Woman in Red” walk by as he drank his coffee. Allen didn’t want to call her “The Girl” or anything silly like that because she most certainly wasn’t a girl.

            Every morning, Allen waited for her to appear. She was always punctual. At eight-thirty without fail she would walk past his house. It was one of the few things in this world he could count on. Saturdays and Sundays were the only two days he didn't see her.

            One day, she didn’t appear. At first he thought that maybe she was late.

            Maybe… she's sick.

            He took a sip of his coffee and already it didn’t taste the same. For some reason seeing her made it a little easier to swallow the watery tar he called coffee in the mornings. Allen didn’t know why he persisted on making it.

            I should stop buying the dollar store brand.

            He poured it all down the sink and made up his mind to buy the more expensive brand the next time he went grocery shopping. He watched as the brown liquid swirled down the drain, until it was no more. He waited. Allen looked for her like a man lost at sea seeking a sandy shore. She had never been late before. Even on rainy days she was on time. Always.

            Why go crazy over a woman whose name I don't even know?

            He looked again and saw a woman who reminded him of her.

            It can't be her … she’s not wearing her red jacket.

            He took a closer look and saw that it was the same woman. Only she lacked the ghost of a smile that was always on her lips. Her skin was pale and her eyes were sunken.

            What happened? Where did the color go? Her fire?

            Her eyes were as black as coal.

Liz DeJesus © 2010

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