Ubiquitous
One / One.
The girl with the blue hair ordered an iced cappuccino almost every day during the summer. On rare occasions, she would order a pastry with her beverage but it was unlikely. The pastries she ate were limited to scones and muffins, strictly no strawberries because she was allergic. Because the coffee shop was busy each time she visited, I would ask for her name to keep track of the customers. But the girl just smiled and told me to give her a nickname.
The first time she told me this, I thought about a nickname for a while. My eyes scanned her floral-print dress, scuffed combat boots, and of course, her blue hair. I instinctively wrote BLUE on the side of the cup with a marker. She never objected to her nickname and I began to call her that.
Blue didn’t know my name either, so I wasn’t surprised when she began to call me Red. The nickname she gave me was fitting because I was a redhead. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t bothered to ask Blue what her real hair colour was. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask; if it were possible, blue could’ve been her natural hair colour.
On the last day of summer, Blue didn’t drop by to order an iced cappuccino. It was such a shame because I’d been looking forward to talking to her. I mean really talking to her and not the short exchange of thanks when I gave her the cappuccino. I thought I had enough courage built up to ask her what her name was. However, that plan didn’t seem possible as the day dragged on and there was no sign of Blue.
Different scenarios coursed through my mind as I worked that day in a trance-like state. She left the country permanently. She’s in a car wreck. Her boyfriend beat her to death last night. She went on vacation. She hit her head on the sink and has amnesia. Some of the scenarios were practical while others veered into the “not likely to happen” category. But I was worried, and it showed.
The drinks I made were sloppy and some customers complained that I had messed up their order. Somehow, it didn’t matter to me. My only concern happened to be the whereabouts of a certain girl with blue hair. As I drove to my apartment later on that day, the sun was setting on the horizon. I was passing by the beach and the adjoining boardwalk when I saw a sliver of blue out of the corner of my eye.
I knew it was Blue, a gut feeling confirmed that, and I pulled into the parking lot instantly. The fragrant smell of summer was in the air as I made my way over to the boardwalk. Blue was leaning forward on the railing of the boardwalk overlooking the beach, a smile gracing her lips. There was a glimmer in her green eyes as she glanced at me. I knew she recognized me as her arms enveloped me in a hug.
“Hey, Red. What are you doing here?” Blue looked up at me, our bodies still in an embrace, “It’s the last day of summer. Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend or something?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said with a laugh, taking a small step back. “And why didn’t you go to the coffee shop today?”
“I had to buy more hair dye.” Blue gestured towards her hair and sighed. “I can’t believe it’s the last day of summer, Red.”
“I know. It seems like yesterday when you ordered that iced cappuccino and I called you Blue.” I blushed at the second part, which was blurted out accidentally.
She giggled. “Since it’s the last day of summer, I think we should call each other by our real names. How does that sound?”
“I can’t guarantee that I’ll call you anything other than Blue,” I responded honestly.
“I can’t promise that I’ll call you anything but Red,” she mocked teasingly.
“So, what’s your real name?” I questioned.
“My name is Kennedy. What’s yours?”
“Ethan.”
We both laughed after our introductions and became silent, both transfixed as the sun set slowly. We didn’t say a word until the sun was almost completely gone. Kennedy turned to me, clearing her throat. “Hey, Red, I’ve got one more thing to say to you.”
“Yeah?” My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“My hair is turquoise, you dolt.”
Despite the insult, I smiled back at her as we walked to my car, arms around the other’s shoulders. She’d always be Blue to me, and I’d always be Red to her. It all started with a girl with blue, excuse me, turquoise hair, an iced cappuccino, and a redheaded barista boy.
How’s that for a love story?
The first time she told me this, I thought about a nickname for a while. My eyes scanned her floral-print dress, scuffed combat boots, and of course, her blue hair. I instinctively wrote BLUE on the side of the cup with a marker. She never objected to her nickname and I began to call her that.
Blue didn’t know my name either, so I wasn’t surprised when she began to call me Red. The nickname she gave me was fitting because I was a redhead. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t bothered to ask Blue what her real hair colour was. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask; if it were possible, blue could’ve been her natural hair colour.
On the last day of summer, Blue didn’t drop by to order an iced cappuccino. It was such a shame because I’d been looking forward to talking to her. I mean really talking to her and not the short exchange of thanks when I gave her the cappuccino. I thought I had enough courage built up to ask her what her name was. However, that plan didn’t seem possible as the day dragged on and there was no sign of Blue.
Different scenarios coursed through my mind as I worked that day in a trance-like state. She left the country permanently. She’s in a car wreck. Her boyfriend beat her to death last night. She went on vacation. She hit her head on the sink and has amnesia. Some of the scenarios were practical while others veered into the “not likely to happen” category. But I was worried, and it showed.
The drinks I made were sloppy and some customers complained that I had messed up their order. Somehow, it didn’t matter to me. My only concern happened to be the whereabouts of a certain girl with blue hair. As I drove to my apartment later on that day, the sun was setting on the horizon. I was passing by the beach and the adjoining boardwalk when I saw a sliver of blue out of the corner of my eye.
I knew it was Blue, a gut feeling confirmed that, and I pulled into the parking lot instantly. The fragrant smell of summer was in the air as I made my way over to the boardwalk. Blue was leaning forward on the railing of the boardwalk overlooking the beach, a smile gracing her lips. There was a glimmer in her green eyes as she glanced at me. I knew she recognized me as her arms enveloped me in a hug.
“Hey, Red. What are you doing here?” Blue looked up at me, our bodies still in an embrace, “It’s the last day of summer. Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend or something?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said with a laugh, taking a small step back. “And why didn’t you go to the coffee shop today?”
“I had to buy more hair dye.” Blue gestured towards her hair and sighed. “I can’t believe it’s the last day of summer, Red.”
“I know. It seems like yesterday when you ordered that iced cappuccino and I called you Blue.” I blushed at the second part, which was blurted out accidentally.
She giggled. “Since it’s the last day of summer, I think we should call each other by our real names. How does that sound?”
“I can’t guarantee that I’ll call you anything other than Blue,” I responded honestly.
“I can’t promise that I’ll call you anything but Red,” she mocked teasingly.
“So, what’s your real name?” I questioned.
“My name is Kennedy. What’s yours?”
“Ethan.”
We both laughed after our introductions and became silent, both transfixed as the sun set slowly. We didn’t say a word until the sun was almost completely gone. Kennedy turned to me, clearing her throat. “Hey, Red, I’ve got one more thing to say to you.”
“Yeah?” My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“My hair is turquoise, you dolt.”
Despite the insult, I smiled back at her as we walked to my car, arms around the other’s shoulders. She’d always be Blue to me, and I’d always be Red to her. It all started with a girl with blue, excuse me, turquoise hair, an iced cappuccino, and a redheaded barista boy.
How’s that for a love story?