A Sky Full of Blue

Chapter 13: Bayside is the Color of the Notebook

"Learn to drown before you learn to swim." ~ Boy

Bayside is the color of the notebook. I flip it open.

I touch the blank page in front of me, pencil poised above. My name sits as the title, but there's nothing else. No color, no sketch of who I am.

I can tell that Toby looked further; there are cookie crumbs. He probably thought that I wouldn't see it.

It's easy to see another person, how they look, what their habits are. Toby is my brother, which makes him an easy target to focus upon. He probably doesn't even know that I have multiple colors for him, including marigold.

When I look at different expressions and mannerisms I like to pin a color to those too. Toby used to let me sketch his face when he made different expressions, just so I would get the hang of emotions. He has never known that those expressions are what I learn from today, what I look back at when I'm confused.

I flip to the page marked, HAPPY.

Toby has a smile on his face, and his eyes are scrunched and small. They shine with a light that I have never been able to mimic, and his cheekbones are clearly showing. His teeth are on full display, and are perfectly straight because of dentistry earlier in life.

I remember when people used to call him brace-face, although he never got too upset about it. Being picked on and picking on people was something Toby had a deep understanding of. He used to do it to me.

I flip back to the blank page and look at Toby's features. I look up pictures of female and male anatomy and determine which features are more feminine and masculine.

I look into a mirror, seeing myself as a piece of artwork rather than a broken girl. One of her eyes is the same blue as Toby's and her nose is the same too. The other, due to heterochromia, is amber. Her nose is slim and little, pointing up just the slightest bit. Her hands are small and filled with scars; her face too.

She is little and weak while Toby is tall and muscular. She is quiet and reserved, while Toby is more extroverted, putting himself out into the world to make himself known.

I look away from the subject and begin to sketch. My head comes out too large and my eyes are too close together. My hands and arms are like a caveman's, stretched and cartoony, filled with imperfections. I erase the page and move away. There is no point in getting emotional over a little drawing, a drawing that defines me, my personality.

I push my chair back, rubbing at my temple. I rub at the back of my neck, testing out what Toby does to relax.

One time I went online and searched the areas to be relaxed. One area was the back of the neck. It can also reduce the pressure at the base of your skull, relaxing your head if you are tense. Another place is behind the ears, and in between the fingers.

I tap one or two on the tabletop before deciding that I need to go to Toby's room. I need his opinion on my dress. I need his opinion for almost anything anymore. He has so much style, and he's never annoyed when I ask for help.

I'm not the most fashionably coordinated.

I push open his door to find him laying in his bed, feet propped up against the wall. He has his phone in one hand, placed against his ear, his other hand swirling in midair. The items in his room are in disarray, so I decide to ask him about my dress when he's done on the phone.

I tune out his voice as I pick up dirty socks and shirts. I hum to myself tunelessly as I straighten the contents of his backpack. I pause to listen when he says, "It's a date."