collections of mind

I

Purple. The low swinging jazz has me swaying from board to board, its yellow undertones sending pleasuring jolts through my bones. But I can't sway too far, or else a flaring red interrupts my serene colour scheme. Next to my uncle's oyster shack is La Cavernas, specializing in Mexican cuisine. Its doors are wide open, the music inside extending out to claim territory and draw away any potential seafood customers.  I sigh, leaning into a walk across the bridge, looking down at the two restaurants below me on the boardwalk. The people on the balcony seem so small, and I so much bigger and omnipotent.
As I walk along the length of the bridge, the music of both buildings fade and I feel a cold come upon me. The silence of the night brings goosebumps to my arms, each thin hair standing straight though I hold myself back from rolling down my sleeves. I let the rubber band on my wrist slide over my knuckles until they rest on my fingernails. My other hand swoops in, and soon my pinkie is plucking on the extended rubber band. The static blue becomes a warm indigo. I've kept bands on my wrists for years now; since entering high school, probably. The colours I feel everyday are indescribable. Every sound that meets my ears takes over my body with palettes. The numbness of silence is unbearable. And so I make my own sounds, lowly humming to myself as my strides turn to skips down stairs until I meet the more stable wood of the boardwalk.

Soon enough, I am greeted with my beautiful jazz again, adding a hop to my steps aligned with the beat and attracting the attention of my uncle Jasper.

"Esmé!" he exclaims, turning away from the surly customer on the patio. A pained smile crosses my face, and he quickly returns to taking the order. When finished, he joins me by the edge of the balcony and I lean onto the patio fence. "Where have you been all night?"
For a moment I don't answer, guilt leaking onto my face for a fraction of a second before a teenaged passive nature won over the control of my facial muscles. "Late night walk." I had no reason to lie. But I did.  My uncle wasn't having it, though I don't blame him. I suppose he had reasons for worrying. I didn't agree with them, but they were reasons nonetheless.
"You said you would talk to me if you were having trouble adjusting..." He lets out a frustrated grunt, a jarring noise from his soft, doughy exterior. "I know how things are for you, after your parents, but Jesus Christ, Esmé. When I tell you we're understaffed and need help, you don't just plug in your i-whatzit and disappear for God knows how long."

I want to listen and cooperate, but tuning him out and nodding my head to the beat of the foreground music is much easier. My eyes trail away to the ground, following the designs of small fish painted along the boardwalk's floor when I notice the cat. Sauntering by the edge of the dock is Taba, La Cavernas' hairless cat. If their music wasn't bad enough, their cat sure was. "I don't want to talk about my parents," I say dismissively, eyes on the cat.

"Esmé, this isn't healthy. Should I call in that social worker? Just tell me what you want, already. It would spare your aunt and I a lot of trouble."

To my astonishment, the fish beneath Taba's paws disappear as he creeps by replaced by slim painted bones.

I blink.

It's dark out, I can't be seeing it right, I think to myself. But beneath the cat's sway the fish unexplainably thin to a skeleton. I need to get closer and see, the urge kills me as my uncle goes on. His voice grates on my ears, a disgusted lime green taking over my mind.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Eyes shut tight, I throw out my arms and turn around to hide a blush from the customers peering over from the patio. My voice was louder than I intended, and I realize I probably seem like a brat. I just want to get away. "God! Leave me alone already!"

Before Jasper can even say anything, or hold me back, I shrug my jacket tightly around me and storm in the direction of La Caverna's. He wouldn't anyway. Jasper is like that—his own pride and embarrassment would keep him from causing a further scene. Such a fucking pushover, I think, as I notice my foot hit the first skeleton. They're real, alright, but hadn't been there a minute ago.