Baby Blues

I hate the color blue. I always have. Specifically that light, oceany, blue sky kinda blue. But it reminds me of the day I finally decided to muster up the courage to go to a peer tutoring club to help with my reading skills, and I see this woman with baby blue eyes and a heartwarming smile. But, that ain't helping the fact that I ain’t no reader, I’m a hunter. My father didn’t raise someone who sits around reading sissy novels that talk about bullshit happily ever afters. Mikavel Stryke is not the name of a poet. And I told her that.

“I hunt for a living, I don’t sit around reading this bullshit. My name’s Mikavel, not pussy boy,” I slam this stupid book with lines of letters bunched up together I can’t even understand on the wooden desk in front of me. This lady frowned at me, taking the book and flipping through the pages. She’s persistent, no wonder she's in this darn club.

She’s pretty, I’m not gonna lie at all. Her hair reaches to her chin and sorta flips out at the end, and her style is quite odd but in an interesting way. Definitely not simple or something you’d see on the street, it's eccentric. I run my calloused fingers through my messy brown locks of hair and sigh, looking at this woman with a tired expression, exhaustion tugging at the corners of my lips.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that was your name anyway, and you haven’t even read it yet,” she comments, “maybe you’ll eventually like this stuff you call bullshit.” Tch, who does she think she is? I’ll like whatever the hell I wanna like, lady. And this man likes roughing it out in the wild and sparring with his buddies, for a matter of fact. This was the same process every single day I even decided to show up at this damn club, didn't want it to seem like I really needed it. Who needs this dumb club anyway? The people who volunteer to help these poor souls just need laughing material. I think, and I hate to admit this, I’m only going to the club for her. Her. What was her name again? I kinda forgot, it started with an R.

“Rowena,” she spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts. Rowena. I’ve never heard a name like that before, I nod at her before looking down at the book I’ve finally made progress in. Hell, I’m almost halfway done with this crap! And I actually understand it. I understood every word I was once so uninterested in learning about, all thanks to her. Her captivating blue eyes really helped me focus, listening and watching her talk was like watching an addictive reality television show. Because this was reality, she was here for me and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Gosh darn it, I’m getting sappy. I can’t believe I’ve let my guard down around this girl who probably has no interest in me whatsoever. She’s 21, is Welsh, and her ex was on the university football team but apparently she broke up with him because of his coke problem. Geez, how much do I know about this girl? I didn't even realize how much interest I'd actually gained until she asked me out. Ain’t the man supposed to be doing all that? Either way, I looked her dead in the baby blue eyes and spoke.

“Ain’t right of me taken up all your time working on my punk ass, is Saturday okay?” The look on her face, it's a look I’ll never forget. She smiled, almost reaching both her pierced ears, which pinned her hair back from hiding her sharp facial features that drove me insane. Not to mention, our height difference was perfect, the crown of her head would be right under my stubbly chin if she ever got close enough. I’d want that a lot. I do want that a lot. Rowena took my hand in hers, her soft skin meeting the contrast of my calloused, roughly bruised knuckles. I sigh in embarrassment, my saddened look acting as an apology for my exterior, she’s so soft while I’m so roughened. 

“Saturday’s perfect,” Rowena purred at me, her words echoing through the labyrinth of my rugged brain. She was the soft voice in my head contrasting against my fixed mindset. The angel sent from whatever’s up there to purify myself again. 

So, it's Saturday. I’m sweating away that expensive cologne I sprayed about five times to make sure I stripped off any scent of boyhood that might scare her away, and I’ve parted my hair about fifty times. I think it’s safe to say I’m ready as I’ll ever be, but a few more mints and swishes of mouthwash won’t hurt the soul now will it? I spent all my time transforming myself into this pretty boy with combed locks who actually reads books, she better not take all this for granted. I spend so much time thinking about her, I shoot a fawn in the woods and I feel a heart string split in half, it's so bizarre. I love her hair and the way it flips out at the end, I love her scattered freckles that pepper along her pale skin, and I love her smile. I saw that smile when I pulled up in front of her abode, small but loved. I killed the engine and Rowena came out looking all dolled up for me, I couldn’t believe I managed to pull a lady friend like that. She’s about to be more than my lady friend if this date kicks off, and I’ve planned it perfectly. A hunt in the woods, a cookout on the beach, and if I’m real lucky I’ll get a kiss on the ol’ cheek. Maybe a little lipstick on it will complete the whole pretty boy look. Rowena leaned against the hood, her blue bathing suit strap peeking out from her shirt. She knows exactly what I like, because I’ve told her…obviously. The few times I’ve actually used my cellphone were spent looking through social media, specifically her profile and such. The blue swimsuit she was wearing under her outfit, she had posted in it the last time she went to the beach. I ended up hearting the post and mentioning how it brought out her eyes the next day I saw her. I figured that’s why she chose to wear that one. That’s what sorta gets us distracted from the book in peer tutoring and just start talking about ourselves, like an old married couple reminiscing about their ol’ college years. I wish to grow old with her, she’d age beautifully. I’m thinking this is the woman I’ll bring home to meet the family—the boys, actually. There’s no women in our family, ma’ was gone yet it doesn’t really affect me anymore. If I were to ever bring home Rowena or any woman for that matter, I’m sure the guys would ask her stupid questions and talk about something embarrassing I did when I was younger. I’m snapped back into the moment when she presents sweet tea and a miniature knitted frog in her hands, her cheeks pink in flusteredness. Now, I told her her I liked frogs, but I guess I was supposed to mention I only liked ‘em when they’re seasoned and just legs. She spent her time on it, however, and that’s all that matters to me. As I collected my gifts, Ro took a gander at my truck—a lifted Ford. Hell, she needed a damn ladder just to get into the passenger seat.

“Here, step on my boot and I’ll help you up,” I spoke, trotting over to the passenger side and swinging the door open before she even had the chance to think of doing it herself. Rowena let out one of her soft giggles before gettin’ close to me, my hand nestling in the small of her back and her own boot markin’ up mine. With one swift movement, I hoisted her up into the passenger seat, with a gentle, “there ya’ go.” It was more for me than it was for her. I circled back around the truck to the drivers side, exhaling deeply as if it would calm my nerves from running wild. Hunting with her was an experience not too foreign yet something so new. She jumped a little once the rifle fired, yet was still so cheerful and curious. I liked it. Loved it. Rowena kissed my cheek on the way to the beach, her cherry lipgloss staining my complexion. Exactly what I wanted. I wore it with pride, what kind of man would be afraid he’s being loved on by a pretty lady? The sun was just barely visible over the horizon when we arrived, the sliver of golden hue shined upon both our eyes, squinting as if seeing a mythical unicorn or somethin’. I was never into “make believin’” or imagination, because I never had the chance. With Ro I feel like anything’s possible, as childish as it sounds. I didn’t bother wiping off the lipgloss while cooking up the catch above a bonfire while Roro froliced in the shallow waters, glistening by the slow arising moon. I couldn’t just watch her, it was like her body was hypnotizing me. No…not in that way. The shirt was peeled off and the trunks were pulled on, Rowena watching me eagerly trot towards her. Unfortunately, the lipgloss washed away after multiple splashes of salt water, but it was worth it. I held onto Ro’s hips to try and stop the excessive splashing, and ended up falling into the water with her. When we sat up, our gazes locked. Those eyes, those baby blue eyes I once hated. That’s the moment I realized I adore the color blue, and the way they looked at me. Those eyes saw me at my lowest, when I couldn’t even read properly. And when I had that dumb haircut. Looking at her forms pretty words that just wanna spill out from my mouth, even when her hair’s a mess and her mascara is trickling down her cheek, she’s fucking gorgeous. My thumb gently brushed her cheek, smearing her makeup. Her face was illuminated by the moonlight, but my eyes, the space between us, it all closed. I love the color blue. I always have. Specifically that light, oceany, blue sky kinda blue. It reminds me of her.

— Adrina Esparas-Hope