Tinted Scars

2. Pretty Vulture

“A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.” – Ian McEwan.

•••

After failing multiple times, to tie the laces of his brown suede Brogues shoe, in a snug, presentable knot—Eri gave up and simply tucked them into the shoe, under his feet, hoping it wouldn’t come apart when he stepped outside.

Tying shoe laces had always been a daunting, insufferable task for him and he found it a conundrum that most people naturally obtained the grace and skill of how to tie laces, when they came about shoe wearing age. Or was there some sort of classified tutelage class, that took place in the shadows, and he never for once got invited because he defied social norms? He’d never know for sure.

Stepping back to the edge of the terrace, so his full image would appear on the window before him—Eri checked out himself, pleased with what he was seeing. He donned a long sleeved poly cotton black button-down shirt, with a brown Don Loper vintage tie dressed in a Windsor knot firmly in place on his collar. His black khakis had their helms folded, so his ankle region was bare. Clasped on his left wrist was a black, Gazer tan leather wristwatch and on his right was a Sterling stainless steel bracelet. His sleeves were partially folded, to put his hands accessories on full display. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think the type of comment Eniola would make if he saw him. He’d of course laud his delectable, refined taste but would make a derogatory comment on his choice of dark colors.

He knew he could indeed be faulted, for wearing dark colors virtually all the time but it was the color that he found most evocative of his emotional state. Contrary to what people thought, Black wasn’t his favorite color. Maroon was. There was something so sophisticated and chic about the deep shade of red that was appealing, yet not loud or gaudy. Plus, it wasn’t a common color, unlike Black which was more than a color and clinched the heights of a cultural phenomenon. The fact however, remained that he found Black more vicarious than any other color in existence, hence his substance abuse for it.

When Eri stepped back into the room—more than satisfied with his reflection in the room’s window in the corridor—an alarm was going off. It wasn’t his, since his phone was in his pocket and his own alarm had woken him up two hours ago. It was Bilal’s phone, blaring with some song in Japanese, which he guessed was a theme song in an Anime series. His roommate apparently belonged to the demographic that worshipped those shows, if he went as far as downloading the songs that were inherently incomprehensible to him—because Bilal didn’t strike him as the sort of person that knew Japanese—to use them for his alarm.

Alarm ringtones were actually bigger deals, than people made them out to be. As the series of melodies and sounds that would be the first thing to grace a person’s ears in the morning and be responsible for their awakening, there had to be some intimate connection. If the song was revolting, it would be as disenchanting as a person—who they disliked—waking them up, with a kiss to the lips. Eri thought the ones who didn’t bother changing their alarm tones to something more personal—diabolical. How in the hell were they comfortable with the normal, thrumming sound of an alarm? He could bet half of most people wouldn’t be infuriated, if they had songs they liked, waking them up.

The alarm was quite loud and Eri was astonished that Bilal hadn’t so much as budged in the bed, and still remained immobile, sleeping with his head placed on clasped palms. Shaking his head, deducing that his roommate was a deep-sleeper—he picked up his black vintage buckle backpack and hooked it on his back, ready to go. Before he let himself out the door, he took the ringing phone from the side of his bed, and stuffed it under Bilal’s groin region, positioning the speaker upwards, before hurriedly scampering out. As he walked down the block, he could hear a disgruntled groan, followed by a stream of expletives. Eri couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. If Bilal didn’t want to be woken up in such exasperating manner, then he ought to get up when the alarm rang.