Les Couleurs

Mikey’s wife hated grey. She always said it wasn’t really a proper colour – neither black, nor white. She hated a lot of other things, too. You could see it in a way her eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips dropped lower than usually, you could hear it in her voice that suddenly became much more high pitched and louder, but in other way than when she was angry.

She hated when Mikey talked about his work. She hated when he talked about his free time. She hated when he talked about his dreams. In fact, she hated when he talked at all.

So he didn’t talk. He observed. He thought. He contemplated. All in silence, while she told him what to do, where to go and how to live.

Mikey, on the other hand, liked grey. He never thought it was boring like his wife did, nor did he think it was monotonous and lifeless. He liked all the shades of this simple colour that were surrounding him. The buildings were grey, the roads and streets were grey, even the air was touched by the dull colour.

Mikey himself was grey.

He liked it that way. He liked to wear grey clothes and blend with the surroundings. Like the chameleon, he could be almost invisible, when he wanted. And he wanted.

He was standing at the bus stop, patiently waiting, and observing. People were passing him, not really noticing the lanky person in dark-grey coat leaning on the glassy wall of the sheltered bus stop.

“Bonjour, brother.”

Mikey snapped his head upwards. He had been studying the dirt under his shoes when he heard the deep voice. At first he was sure that the stranger must have been talking to someone else (and Mikey didn’t even have a brother), but when he looked up, he knew the man spoke to him.

He let out choked “Excuse me?” as he stared at the stranger.

The man wasn’t ordinary. In fact, he was far from it (the furthest from ordinary that Mikey had ever seen in his whole life). He was clad in black, from the top hat firmly slammed on his white bleached hair, to the tips of his shinny shoes. The only other colour in his appearance was blood red scarf, carefully tucked into the front pocket of his dinner jacket. His slacks were tighter than they should have been. He was grinning at Mikey, baring the teeth that were too small for grown man as he slowly repeated himself.

“I said, Bonjour brother.” Mikey stared at the almost-grotesque figure standing before him and fluently switching between French and English in pure amazement. The man grinned even more and then extended his hand. “I’m Gerard.”

Mikey blinked few times, staring at the extended hand as if he saw the gesture for the first time. His mind was racing sixty miles per hour and his head was on the verge of exploding and flooding the street with questions.

Who was this guy? Why was he talking to Mikey? Why was he calling him brother and speaking French? And why the fuck was he wearing that hilarious top hat on Thursday morning?

But all of the seemed to get stuck somewhere in the middle of their road to his mouth and all Mikey could get out of himself was “Eeeh, do I know you?”

Gerard’s face twisted in almost hurt expression as he let his hand drop down. He recovered quickly, though and soon he was grinning again, talking in the same excited way.

“Do you not remember me? But that is really discourteous, to forget your own brother. No, don’t interrupt me!” Gerard exclaimed, throwing his hands up, as he noticed Mikey was just about to say something. “I always knew you were slow with things, but not noticing that you have a brother, that is a bit too much.” The smirk plastered on his face grew even bigger as he watched Mikey open and close his mouth, looking very much like a carp thrown out of the lake.

“It’s okay, though. You’re forgiven,” Gerard stated casually and then winked at Mikey.

They both stayed silent for few minutes, Mikey because he wasn’t sure what was really happening and even if he was, he had no idea what to say anyway; Gerard because he was thinking. He was staring intensely at the teenage couple kissing heatedly (or, in fact, making out in the front of sex shop across the street), his tongue flicking out few times to wet his pink lips. Then suddenly he turned to Mikey.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Mikey almost jumped out of his skin. He really started to hope that Gerard forgot he was there; that he blended with the grey background in a way he always did. But obviously, it didn’t work with this Gerard character.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have favourite colour. Everybody has one. You just got to have favourite colour.”

“I-I… I like…” Mikey stuttered a bit unsure of how this conversation was developing.

“Yes?” Gerard encouraged him with the ear-to-ear grin, watching him closely and absorbing every sound Mikey let out. It made him nervous, he was not used to this kind of attention. His wife never cared if he had something to say and if he said it, she did things her way anyway.

Mikey glanced across the street, noticing the couple was now half hidden behind the big “Eleventh commandment: Thou shall always wear a condom.” advertisement and obviously finding a very good use for one condom themselves. Mikey closed his eyes painfully, remembering how long he himself didn’t have sex – a side effect of being married to a frigid bitch. He shook his head and glanced back to Gerard. The man was still smiling widely.

“I like grey,” he finally half-whispered.

Gerard gasped exaggeratedly. “How can you like grey?! It’s so dull. So impassible.”

“Impossible?” Mikey repeated slowly, scrunching his nose like a little child. He didn’t really get how grey can be impossible.

Gerard laughed. “That means emotionless. There is a word like that in English, too. However, my favourite colour is jaune.” He said the last word quickly in what Mikey assumed to be French again since he didn’t catch the meaning of it at all.

“You like what?” he asked half curiously. It wasn’t difficult to be curious with this man.

Gerard smirked smugly, as if this was exactly the reaction he wanted (and it really was) and replied “Jaune.”, literally enjoying that Mikey didn’t understand.

“That means ‘yellow’ in English. I like the French word much better. It sounds better, too. A lot better.” He paused or a moment, then asked another question.

“Why do you like grey?”

“Because…“ Mikey wasn’t really sure why he should be spilling his thoughts to a crazy stranger on the street, but it felt so good to have someone actually listen to him. He missed that. Oh, screw it all, he thought bitterly.

“I like grey because it makes me disappear. Because… I don’t know. I blend with everything. I’m… grey,” he said slowly, feeling stupid for what he said and even for the way he said it. It sounded so clumsy, none like Gerard’s great French words.

“Grey sucks. I like yellow exactly because it’s such an opposite of grey. It’s full of life, full of emotions.” Mikey immediately thought of happiness and joy, shuddering. The world around him was nothing like that. Gerard glanced at him, noticing the man’s uneasiness as he continued. “Yes, it is bright cheerful colour that is associated with happiness, in Western cultures. But did you know that it symbolizes royalty in many Asian countries? Or that in 19th century it was connected with mental illness, especially with insanity?” He grinned, his eyes shinning in a very insane way themselves. “And what makes it even more awesome colour, do you know what are ‘yellow movies’ in China?”

Mikey suddenly caught himself with his mouth hanging open. He shut it tightly, shaking his head negative. He didn’t have any idea what should that mean.

“’Yellow movies’ are porn,” Gerard stated quickly before snickering. Mikey felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. There was something funny about porn, whether you were horny teenager or full-grown man with family.

“Plus, it reminds me of you.”

Mikey’s eyebrow shot up. “Of me?” he choked out.

“Oh, yes, of course of you. Do you not remember your yellow rubber boots?”

Mikey’s whole face suddenly grew all shades of red, from violent purple of his ears to the slightly rosy colour of his cheeks. How could this… this someone know about his 4 year-old self’s rubber boots obsession? His face was burning with shame.

“Aw, brother. Don’t worry. I think it’s really cute that when you were four years old you despised any kind of shoes except for the yellow rubber boots. I remember how mum was so desperate to make you wear something else, but you threw yourself on the floor, screaming and kicking your pretty little feet in those smelly boots until she agreed to keep them on.”

“Stop, please,” he whispered, wanting nothing else but the earth to open and swallow him from the head to the toe. Of course, nothing like this happened, but at least Gerard stopped talking. Mikey still continued staring at his shoes, his dark grey shoes.

“Mikey…” Gerard suddenly said softly. Mikey didn’t look up, not until he felt Gerard’s elegant fingers on his chin. He felt his chin being pushed up. Gerard’s face was suddenly a lot closer than it was before and only now Mikey noticed Gerard’s eyes.

They were green, the bright colour making them shine and sparkle every time Gerard smiled. He was the kind of person who wore his emotions on the sleeve, not hiding anything. He didn’t really feel the urge to do so and Mikey liked that. For once, he liked that he could watch eyes that weren’t stone cold all the time. Mikey also noticed the tiny brown dots on the edge of the iris. Gerard’s eyes were rimmed with dark long lashes that almost looked feminine.

The strangest thing about his eyes, however, was that Mikey already saw them before. He had seen it from the moment he found out what mirrors are for. His own eyes looked very same, green with brown sparkle, dark lashes and eyebrows.

“Mikey…” Gerard repeated softly, “you are not grey.” Gerard’s face was too close now. It hurt Mikey’s eyes and he closed them, as if he couldn’t stand seeing Gerard’s eyes looking identical.

In the second he shut them, he felt Gerard’s breath on his cheek and then suddenly, the man’s soft lips were pressed against the skin. It was just a small peck on the cheek, lips brushing against the shaved skin, but Mikey wanted more. He turned his head and blindly, pressed his mouth against Gerard’s.

Gerard didn’t look surprised; he didn’t even flinch. He kissed back, his flesh moving gently against Mikey’s, appreciating sensations, welcoming the feelings as much as Mikey did. He didn’t do this in so long, but it was almost like riding a bike. You can’t forget how to kiss and when Gerard opened his mouth, inviting Mikey inside, he didn’t hesitate at all. Mikey put his hand to the back of Gerard’s neck, grabbing him by the hair and crushing their mouth together even more, his tongue entering Gerard’s mouth. They kissed passionately; furiously and lovingly at the same time.

It was Gerard who eventually broke the kiss, moving away and putting Mikey’s hand away from his neck. Mikey’s eyes remained closed.

“You are not grey, Mikey,” Gerard whispered once again.

Mikey didn’t move for a while, not wanting to break the spell, the good spell he felt upon him. His lips were alarmingly sensitive, almost bruised, but it was worth of it. And he knew he wanted more. His body was speaking clearly.

“Gerard, I-“ he opened his eyes to look at him, but stopped in the middle of sentence.

Gerard was nowhere to see. Mikey blinked few times, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But no, he was awake. And Gerard was gone.

There was no trace after the man. The only people on the bus stop were few businessmen in suits, holding their briefcases firmly, the couple from outside the sex shop (both of them grinning widely) and an old lady who was glaring at Mikey right now. He smiled guilty, shrugging his shoulders. For some strange reason he felt stupid.

“What are you staring at, young man! Do you want my money, don’t you! But I’m not giving it to you! I know those types! You ask for money and then buy beer! No, I’m not giving you anything, go away”

Mikey cringed at the old screeching voice, but the lady wasn’t yelling at him this time. She was facing some beggar, waving her staff around and completely not listening to the pauper. He gave up after a while, slowly shuffling to Mikey. He kept his head bend down, his whole body hidden under the dark blue coat.

“Give me change, sir. I’m hungry.”

Mikey frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t have any money.”

The beggar looked up. “Please, sir. I’m hungry,” he repeated.

Mikey was just about to send him away, to tell him to stop bothering him, but then he caught the beggar’s eyes.

Green eyes with brown dots.

Mikey’s mouth hung open as he stared. His head was spinning with the thoughts of Gerard and how he disappeared, how they kissed, how they talked, hell, if Gerard even existed. Now here was the beggar with his eyes… the beggar…

“I’m sorry that I bothered you, sir.”

And he was away before Mikey recovered enough to say anything.