Colorful Love

Secrets of the Room

We walk down empty corridors, not running into anyone except for passing janitors and security guards, both of which either ignored us or nodded at us. The halls are eerily silent, but Rhidian seems to know where he's going. We turn left, and then right, and then we're faced with a closed door, guarded by a security guard.

"Hello, Mr. Moore," the guard says, tipping his hat to him.

"I need to get into the Recipe Room, Phil," Rhidian replies tersely.

"You're not allowed inside. Sorry, sir," Phil says gruffly. He scratches his eyebrow, looking confused.

"Your orders will officially come from me in less than a year. There's nothing worse than angering your future boss. And it's not like I'm doing any harm. I just want to show my favorite room to Kya," Rhidian says, straightening his posture at this test of authority.

"Yes, sir. Okay... I guess it won't hurt. Just please don't go near the ingredient. And don't tell your parents," Phil huffed. He swung open the door, and we walked in. 

The walls were all large white boards, scribbled with notes and random ingredients. Ovens lined the walls, unused at the moment, but pots and pans lay strewn on top of them. I can imagination what they look like when they're bubbling and being tested.

The far wall was filled with huge bookshelves, ranging from tattered and old books to brand new and seemingly never used. On the right wall, there was a small cabinet pushed up against the floor-to-ceiling whiteboard.

Rhidian walks over to the small cabinet, opening one of the mahogany, wooden doors. "I wasn't lying when I said that this is my favorite room. There's no windows or cameras in here. The walls are completely soundproof. My parents love this secret ingredient like a child. I don't even know what it is," Rhidian says in a sour tone, his face scrunched. He opens the cabinet drawer to reveal a small tin. "Hand me the bag."

I take a small Ziploc bag out of my pocket and hand it to him. He scoops out a small amount of the powder inside the run with a small scoop. "Let's go."

We exit the room, smiling at Phil the guard. I stay anxious that someone will catch us until we exit the large building.

"They should make it harder for someone to steal that ingredient," I state, marveling at our good fortune.

"It's a lot harder for those who aren't int the Moore family, trust me," Rhidian says. "The only reason I was allowed in there is because I'm going to inherit the company. In less than a year, when I turn eighteen, the company will be mine. I won't have any choice."

"You always have a choice," I reply immediately.

"Life isn't always that perfect," Rhidian says as he shakes his head.

"No. The choices may not be perfect, but there is always a choice," I repeat. No matter how dull your life looks, there's always a choice.

"I have to do this. I have to run this company. I guess there are worce things to be forced into. And I know what you're going to say. I do acknowledge that I have choices, but none of the other ones are actually choosable, if that's a word," he rants.

"Touché," I reply. I sigh, thinking that maybe not all choices are choosable, if that's a word. We walked in silence for a few minutes before it was broken by Rhidian.

"What do you want to do with your life?" Rhidian asked me quietly.

"I don't know. I think that every adult I've ever met might have asked me that question, and I still don't have an answer. Maybe photography?" I mused to myself. I had thought about it, but not really thought about it, if you know what I mean?

He sighs contentedly. "That sounds nice. I wish I could go into professional sports, as dumb as that sounds. I was really good in middle school, but I was diagnosed with Marfan syndrome. Not a terrible thing to have, but I can't play basketball. That was my one passion, and now it's gone."

I grabbed his hand, trying to show that I was here for him. No words were necessary, because in that moment, we understood each other perfectly.