Kaleidoscope

nine

“You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.”  - Franz Kafka

“What about you? What are your dreams?” Kat asked, shaking her head as the wind whipped strands of her hair into her face. The gusts were stronger down by the river. It was uncomfortable, too, climbing down through the spiny maze of boulders that separated the path from the slender ribbon of pebbles and earth beside the water. But it was quiet. And the water was pretty. Jesse liked the way it shifted from blue to gray, like a fading bruise. The way it curled into pale frills where it met the land.

He didn’t like Kat’s question.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t know?” Kat laughed. “How can you not know?”

Jesse shrugged. “Not everyone does,” he said.

“I suppose I have an unfair advantage, then. I had a lot of time to think about all the things I’d like to do if I got better.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence.

“The water is so beautiful,” said Kat. “The colors, I mean.”

“You really like colorful things, don’t you?”

“How can you tell?”

Jesse motioned towards the flowers lying on the surface of the rock between them.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She laughed. “You’re right. I do like colors. I’ve always liked them.”

“You want to be an artist?”

“Maybe. It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I’ve always been good at drawing. Even in the hospital…” She gathered her hair into a ponytail, twisted it around her fingers.  “There was an art show once, in the pediatrics wing. It was like a contest - you know, anybody could enter their art, and the best piece was blown up and displayed in the hall. There was a cash prize, too.”

“And?”

“I won.”

“No. I don’t mean that. That's not important. I mean, what did you draw?”

Kat turned to him. Smiled. “God, Jesse.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just - well. You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

They sat and looked at the water. A boat passed under the bridge and chugged past them, sending little splashes of water onto Jesse’s shoes.

“I drew a terrace,” said Kat. “I drew someone’s front porch. The wall of the hallway - it was very long, and the porch always looked the same, just a wooden railing and a few chairs. But in the background, there were hills and mountains, oceans, forests… I even drew Paris. You could walk down the hall and see the whole world.”

Her voice was soft. If Jesse closed his eyes, he could see it in front of him. He could see himself sitting in the hallway, on one of those excruciatingly straight-backed hospital chairs, while in a room behind him, his mother’s heart broke over and over again. Wishing he were anywhere else but there.

Jesse wasn’t a dreamer. He never had been. Dreams were for people who loved the idea of the future more than the present, and Jesse’s future had never been anything more than a tangled nightmare. But in the hospital, listening to the endless rhythm of breathing machines and ringing beepers, waiting for the end, he would have given anything to look up and feel for just one moment as if he were somewhere far away.