A Sky Full of Blue

Chapter 2: Peanut is the Color of Our New Home

"Your home should tell the story of who you are, and be a collection of what you love."
~ Nate Berkus

I've been clinging to sleep these past few hours, listening to the rain fall steadily against the Jeep's window. Songs play on the radio softly, and I can hear the hum of Toby's voice and the tap of his finger on the steering wheel.

My hand is cold and damp in his, but I don't want to let go. He doesn't mind the touch and neither do I.

My eyes have been closed, and all I've been hearing are the things all around me; the rain, the constant tapping, and the shift of Toby and I in the seats. I can feel his gaze on me, looking at my somewhat sleepy form.

I pop one eye open to stare at him lazily. His smile is something that will never get old, that marigold smile. I want to keep this closeness with me before I'm ripped away from him. Ripped away by school, by college, and the constant throng of girls that busy themselves with him.

I've never known Toby to be someone who messes around, but he does acquire the attention of many. I know for a fact that my brother has only dated a handful of times, each relationship ending after the girls meet me.

Toby is very caring, and makes me one of his top priorities. No matter how much I try to get him to step away and leave me alone, he keeps coming back, staying with me through thick and thin. I'm the thing that is keeping him from having a stable relationship.

It's the same way for my parents, who spend all their time trying not to upset me in any way. They treat me as an object instead of a human being. A very fragile, ceramic object.

Toby snaps me out my daze by swiping the side of my cheek.

"You were drooling in your sleep," he chuckles.

Toby knows of my habits, even the embarrassing ones. Especially the drooling. I have a tendency to leave my mouth open, prone to snoring and drooling.

I sit up, running at the soreness in my neck. The seatbelt left a mark, coloring my skin a light rouge.

I stretch in my seat, cracking tired bones and sockets.

"We're here," Toby says with a grunt. He smiles lopsidedly at me while he parks, giving me the evil eye. His eyes, shaded by the tree he's parked under, make him seem brooding and pensive. His smile stretches across his face, almost like that of the Joker. His cheekbones are more prominent in this shade, and I shiver from this strange rendition of my brother's face.

I unclip the seatbelt and open the door to the rain. It smells musty and damp, old. The house looms ahead, casting more shadows around us. Dad waves from the porch.

I grab my box of colors, staring down at the supplies with unease. A new home, a new place to create memories. I sigh heavily and shut the door to the Jeep, cringing when I hear the scream of the metal as the hinges strain.

I jog up to the house, keeping my feet light on the ground. The mud is the color of dark chocolate, which digs into my shoes and tries to cake itself in splatters upon my clothing. 

Peanut is the color of our new home. The food that elephants are so fond of, the thing that so many people are allergic to.

Dad stands tall on the steps, holding an onyx umbrella in his large hands. He seems so small on the porch, so insignificant. His megawatt, charmer smile comes into view. That smile, so much like Toby's marigold smile.

Dad reminds me of the color magenta. Bright, mixed, and spontaneous. He's the father that knows too much about my personality and moods. The one who can tell what's wrong at the drop of a hat.