Your Voice Was The Soundtrack Of My Summer

"Do you like the Beatles?" she murmured slowly, her arms wrapped around my neck, her face emblazoned onto my chest.

"A little. Not that much,” I admitted, she nodded slowly and understandably.

"Not a lot of people our age do, but they have nice ballads. Sometimes I think it's sort of like the soundtrack to my life,” she confessed, still not attempting to make eye contact.

I took a deep breath as we twirled in time to the music. Was this the feel that everyone got when they performed on the ballroom stage? Was it only technique they expressed? Or passion? But we possessed none of those qualities. Just the thin flimsy sheet called love on the very verge of the cliff.

"Why do you say that?" I ask, in barely a whisper just so I wouldn't break the illusion I created in my mind of this world where Indigo was dancing with me because she loved me.

"Because, it's so slow and I think people grow up too fast. They don't actually take the time to see what the world has to give. You know? They don't enjoy life. They're just . . . living. They educate themselves, to go to college, get a job, then have a family, then have children that they have to support and the cycle starts over again until you're old and THEN you realize that life went by too fast and only then do you start to enjoy life when you're old and wrinkly,” she said with a bit of defiance.

I pensively thought over this and I realized that she inevitably right.
And slowly Indigo was making me enjoy this life that I once took for granted.

I saw the sky and saw an easel with watercolor blue splashed across the white washed paper. I saw the river and saw a shimmer-y blackish blue diamond that reminded me of black diamonds that turned violet in the sun. And through that musky window I saw the sun shining brilliantly, it's rays fueling the world with power obtruding with it's obnoxious yet fulfilling love.

And to think that the sky was just a sky. And that the river was just a polluted disgusting body of water. And that the sun was just something that was too bright to look at.

"The Beatles make you think all of that?" I looked at her ironically.

She laughed at my idiocy and looked discreetly at me.

"No, silly, it just keep the right pace. Think of it you and me running, and for some reason you never go faster than me or lag behind. Just right beside me,” She acknowledged. I nodded at this, as a new song came up that was even slower than before.

“What is love to you?” I asked her out of the blue, wondering if this question was the one to ask.

“Me? A rare interaction between a boy and girl. It’s nothing emotional or physical. It’s just there,” She shrugged.

Love for me?
Indigo.
It only took one word.

“And how did I make you believe in love?” I asked, my insides melting in me.

“You showed me that it’s possible,” She indifferently said with no given emotion.

“oh,”

That was all I dared muster. All I dared to say.

And it was enough. For now.

~

Indigo promised she wasn't the shopping type, and I believed her. And we didn't even go to the mall. It was an old historic downtown-esque place I never stepped foot in ever for reasons still unclear for me.

It was very antique and had a St. Augustine feel to it. Definitely old town feel.

The city was illuminated by the sun casting rays of topaz lights into this old town that was masked with antiquated beauty.
Vintage was the way to go according to Indigo.

"I think it's pretty. It's just really nice here and it makes you go back and think of what life must have been a long time,” she enthused, while she examined an old diamond collectible and bringing it up to the window to see the rainbow lights dance across the counter.

After the downtown trek I prodded her to go to a fast food eatery. She agreed partly because she hated restaurants begged for tips and had too nice people with bad food.

That was when the first clue emerged. And forever I wished that it didn't happen so I wouldn't be tortured with the fact of not knowing.

We ordered burgers and fries. Simple and plain as can be. I put on a song on the jukebox and put on Blackbird, which was Indigo's favorite Beatles song. She heartily laughed and insisted on paying for the food. The events that happened after this were a blur to me.

So fast that I wasn’t able to process the importance of this until later on.
As Indigo opened her purse, someone knocked into her, causing her to drop her purse spilling the contents all over the floor. Mirror shattered, a small brush, a pack of gum that was half empty, her cell phone and a capsule of pills scattered on the less than clean floor.

Drugs. Medicine.

I didn’t notice the drugs until my hand reached for them while helping Indigo. She looked at me quickly and brusquely looked down, quickly pushing the pills into the bottom of her purse and disposing the shattered mirror into the bin.

“Indigo? What is that?” I demanded.

She shook her head and bit her lip.

“Painkillers, that’s all Paul,” She persisted.

We got out of the restaurant quickly and I wouldn’t let go of the matter.

“Indigo! It’s not prescribed pills, it can’t be pain killers,” I told her. She shook her head and looked at me desperately.

“Paul, please, don’t think I do drugs, its necessary,” She whispered mutedly.

“Necessary? For what? What pills are they?” I asked, trying to mask the anger I was obviously showing.

“For me! Paul, don’t make this more than it looks,” She pleaded.

“Indigo, please?” I prodded, but she still wouldn’t give in.

“What do you think?” she said, her eyes pooling with tears, creating the illusion of stars in her eyes.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” I said, fuming with knowledge to know.
“Paul, it’s not what you think,” She whispered.
“What do I think?” I raged.

“Paul, please,” She begged, the tears were dripping out slowly on her face.

“Indigo, just tell me, what’s going on!” I demanded, fury taking over my usual quirky solstice mood.

“Paul, I can’t,” she shook her head and just like that she disappeared.

Running away in the direction to the sun.
Running away to a place where I don’t have to protrude with my questions and adamant self.
Running away from me.

The clouds began to turn gray slowly, and as I was walking slowly home the rain started to come. And by the time I was at my house, the rain was pouring buckets on the streets I came to love.