Yellow (editing)

Magenta-Covered Wonders

When it was 1 o'clock sharp, Orenda tap tap tapped on my window, so I went and opened it. I immediately shushed her (even though she hadn't said anything) and closed the window, trying not to arouse suspicion from my parents.

            "Finn, I haven't even said anything." She accused as her loud boots thumped on my floor.

            "I'm sorry, my parents are home. They don't like visitors."

            "It's strange they haven't noticed my presence yet. Okay, let's go."

            Her spontaneous decision should've surprised me more than it did, but I had gotten to know Orenda over the period of several weeks – and I knew she would explode with excitement randomly. "Go where?" I finally asked.

            "Anywhere. We're going to paint some more today, even though it's a bit chilly out there. The rain has stopped, anyway." I listened carefully for the pitter patter but heard nothing.

            "Alright, let's g-"

            "Stevie Wonder!" Orenda interrupted, "love this guy, good taste in glasses too."

            "Not as good as mine, am I right?" I joked.

            She laughed, "Finn – worry not. Your eyes have got a better rim than his. Okay! Grab your cane!"

Everything after that was like usual; I scrambled out of the window quietly after Orenda slid through it like a trained ninja. Then, I used my white cane until the road started getting bumpy and Orenda was in a big fat hurry, then she grabbed my hand with hers and we walked to who knows where.    

I had some sort of miniscule hope that Orenda would drag me to Willow and we could climb her again. Despite the fact that it was absolutely tiring and a little bit crazy, I wanted to do it again. You know, feel the 'physical freedom' and dot the sidewalks a couple more times to try and brighten up the mental cage.

But when we took another left turn, I knew that we weren't going to Willow.

"Orenda, where are we going?"

"My... well, you know... chez moi."

"What." I deadpanned.

"My house, Finn! My crib, the nest, my place. In French – that's chez moi." She suddenly tugged me towards her and our shoulders collided, not very gently.

"Oh. Why?" I questioned, and we started sprinting. The familiar chattering around me suggested that we were walking down the main street road again, and I could hear cars honking, people shouting, and the crosswalk bird chirping. The crosswalk bird was also known as the chirping sound that happens when someone presses the cold, metal button on the streetlight – but my mom always told me to listen closely for the chirping bird, and that kind of got etched into my brain.

"I want to show you something. You know... my house is cool."

"Your house is... cool?"

"Probably cooler than yours," she giggled and we slowed down as the crosswalk bird quieted down. I figured we had crossed the street.

"Probably. I'm zero percent cool and 100 percent blind."

"Oh haha. I find you slightly cool, although I agree with your 100 percent blind analogy." Her flowery scent hit me all of a sudden, but that was because her short, silky hair batted my face. She guided me up a minuscule flight of stairs and by minuscule, I really mean minuscule. I took a tiny step and that was it, we were supposedly on her porch and her keys jingled roughly as she tried to open the door.