You were red and you liked me 'cause I was blue
But you touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky
~ Colors- Halsey
Hi again everyone. It took me a long while to get this started. I rewrote the first chapter three times. I'm not 100% happy with it, but I really like the plot idea for this story, and I really want it to work. It was originally inspired by the song 'ceilings' by Lizzy Mcalpine. If you wanna listen to that and you listen to the lyrics you'll hear it's kinda about imagining these romantic scenarios with someone that's not really there. Not that Goh doesn't exist, but y'know, he's not there with Ash.
I hope you all enjoy. <3
Nobody remembers much from when they were seven, but I think I remember more than most. There are whole, vivid memories amongst the fractured, mismatched pieces from random days out of chronological order. There are people, some that I still know, and some that I don't, so clear I can picture them standing in front of me, years later. But, if I wanted to remember everything, all I'd have to do is look back on the letters from Red.
I first met Red about five months after my seventh birthday. I was an outgoing kid, always full of energy and never able to sit still. I had a lot of friends- if you asked me for a list at the time, I'd probably name every single kid in my class. Talking to new people was one of my favourite things, and I'd constantly bombard them with questions, full of so much curiosity I could barely contain it. So, at the end of the first month of school, when the teacher told us they were starting a new 'pen pal' program, I was pretty stoked.
The idea was simple: They partnered us up with a random kid at another school somewhere in the country, and we would write back and forth to one another. The kids at the other school had written first. Once they'd all arrived, the teacher greeted us in the morning holding a pile of them, a big grin on her face. Dawn was buzzing beside me, practically bouncing in her chair, eager to read what her pen pal had written to her. Even at seven, she described the whole idea as 'very romantic'. I didn't understand what she meant.
Dawn's my best friend, even now. We met when we were three years old, just before nursery school. My mom and her mom met first, in a parent's meeting they attended before they sent us there. They decided to set up a playdate for us, so we'd know each other on the first day, and not be in a room full of strangers. According to my mom, we sat in a sand pit outside while they sat drinking tea in the kitchen, watching us through the french doors. They thought we were getting along, until I started pulling Dawn's hair, and she cried so loud the neighbour popped her head over the garden fence to see what was going on.
Despite the rocky start, we did gravitate towards each other at school. By the age of six, we were pretty inseparable, even if we did argue more than we had regular conversations. When my mom asked about her, putting on the baby voice she'd never stopped using, I'd tell her I didn't like Dawn, but she'd just smile, like she knew I was lying.
The teacher circled our desks, placing letters in front of us, in little white envelopes. The front of Dawn's read 'pen pal' in strangely neat writing for a seven-year-old. She stared at it in awe, holding it up with both hands. I rolled my eyes at her, and looked down at mine. The handwriting on mine was also a lot neater than mine was, but instead of 'pen pal', mine said 'stranger'.
I opened it, blinking down at the lines, eyes darting across them so quick I had to read it twice to actually take in any of the words.
Dear stranger,
Hello. I didn't know how to start this letter so my teacher told me to put hello. I'm seven. Are you seven? I think this is a dumb idea because I don't know who you are. I don't need any more friends but I'll give you a chance, if you answer these questions right:
What is your favourite colour
Choclate or cake
What is the best cartoon
My mom says I shouldn't tell strangers too much about me so I think we should agree not to swap names or genders. I read about that in a book once and it sounds fun. I'll call you stranger for now.
By the time I had finished reading, I knew I had a big scowl on my face. Who is this kid? Why are they writing like they're so smart? I thought. I considered crumpling the letter up, but the teacher would have seen, so I didn't. Beside me, Dawn was gaping at her letter. I wanted to read hers, too, but I didn't want to be too nosey.
"What's yours like?" She asked me, looking up from the paper. I shrugged, unsure what to say about someone I didn't know at all. "Mine seems pretty cool," she added, and went back to reading. The teacher came back around with letter paper, and instructed us to write our responses, so she could send them back to the kids that had written to us. I stared down at the blank paper, blinking. I had a lot of friends at school, from the moment I started, and I never had trouble thinking of something to say, but at that moment, I was a little lost for words for the first time.
Dawn was already scribbling away beside me, chewing on her tongue loudly. I wanted to keep up, so I finally started writing in my big, messy attempt at cursive:
Hello,
I'm not very good at writing yet. I don't like sitting down and writing. I'd rather go outside and play. Why do I need to have a certain favourite colour to be your friend? Mine is blue. I like all foods so I can't pick. I like Spongebob best.
If we don't know each others name, what should I call you? I like making new friends. I have a lot of friends.
P.S. You spelled chocolate wrong.
Dawn tried to read it, so I blocked it with my arm and scowled at her. I wasn't exactly happy with it, but I also didn't care that much, so I folded it up and shoved it in the envelope, writing 'stranger' on the front, just like they had. When the teacher came to collect it, I handed it to her and didn't think anything more of it. I wasn't even convinced we'd get another letter, and if we did, I didn't think they'd make us write again, unless we wanted to.
As a kid, I spent a lot of time outside with Misty, Dawn, Gary and Brock. Brock was nine, and led our little group around in the park, teaching us the rules to games we didn't know how to play already. At that age, being nine seemed so much older than being seven, so we followed his command. I was a loud kid- so full of energy it was hard to get me to sit still. I felt like I was pretty adventurous. I liked climbing things I shouldn't and exploring new places. We lived by the beach, and whenever it was warm out I would run around to all of their houses, gathering them up so we could run down onto the sand and jump into the sea.
Being preoccupied with being a kid, I didn't think about the pen pal thing again until a week later, when the teacher had another pile in her hand as we entered the classroom one day. This time, when she placed my letter in front of me, it was labelled 'Blue'- the first use of the simple nickname that would stick with me for the rest of my life.
Dear Blue,
I'll call you Blue since blue is your favourite colour. I think you should pick a shade of blue though. There are lots of different shades of blue.
My favourite is red. Crimson red, to be exact. Phineas & Ferb is better than Spongebob. My best friend is called Chloe. I have a cat called Cinder, and she's very cute. Do you have a pet?
For the rest of the letter, my penpal ranted about different things they liked or had done, the way kids do, and added at the end: P.S I know how to spell. The teacher told us we didn't need to write back, only if we wanted to. Quite a few people, including Dawn, decided not to. When I asked her why, she clearly bristled, and wouldn't tell me. I guessed the other person had offended her, somehow.
I wanted to write back. Something about the whole idea had intrigued me now, and I was picturing what they might look like. I visualised a hundred different types of people they might be, wondering what they looked like, what they sounded like, what they dressed like. Despite myself, I wanted them to like me. It started to seem a bit like a game to me, too. I had no idea how important this small piece of my life would become. I was clueless, an innocent kid that thought this was just one more friend, in the sea of countless others.
So I asked for another piece of letter paper, and started writing my response, the words coming a little easier than the first time, scribbling 'Dear Red,' on the first line. I told them about Dawn. I told them about Brock. I mentioned my own cat, Ketchup, and proudly stated that I named her myself. I asked a hundred questions about their life, but never anything too personal. I asked my teacher for a chart of the shades of blue, stared at them for a long time, until I picked azure blue as my favourite. I ended up filling both sides of the letter paper.
A week later, Red's response came. They too had filled both sides of the paper, and even had to write below the final line to squeeze in the last parts. They answered all my questions, and asked a ton more. Even though we'd only written twice, I already knew their friends' names, their favourite colour, their cat's name, their mom's name. I knew their favourite type of restaurant, their favourite game to play at the park, their favourite season of the year, and that they practised figure skating. The whole time I was reading, a stupid grin was plastered on my face.
Still, I didn't spend a lot of time outside the classroom thinking about Red. It wasn't that deep to me yet, though I did worry a little that they'd decide not to reply to me. In the end, I did find the whole mystery of it appealing. It was funny how, even at that age, we could connect with each other without a face, or even a name. And, despite not thinking about it much, I found myself relieved each time the teacher passed me another white envelope, the already familiar writing scrawled across the front.
A few months passed writing letters back and forth, once a week. I knew which day the teacher would hand them out on, and that was my favourite day of the week. Nothing changed about the letters- mostly we would just explain what we'd been up to, and shoot each other questions as we came up with them. This time, though, in the early weeks of the new year, as I was reading Red's letter, I noticed something.
Dear Blue,
My mom and dad took me to visit a haunted castle the other day. I wasn't scared of course, but things were moving on their own. Have you ever seen a ghost? My dad says they're not real but I think one might have followed me home. I was in bed last night and something started knocking on my door. If you don't get my next letter, I've been kidnapped by it.
I laughed, imagining them lying in bed, covers pulled up to their chest, staring wide-eyed at their door, and the knocks they were probably just imagining. For the first time I realised, when I thought about it, that I was picturing Red as a girl. We'd agreed not to swap genders, but at that age, it was so easy to latch onto the smallest thing and make assumptions, even though I shouldn't have. To seven year old me, Red seemed more like a girl, and so that was what I thought of her as.
We weren't allowed to use our classroom time to write out replies anymore, since most of the class had decided to finish their conversations with their pen pals. They were allowed to, because the teacher's initial intentions were to show us how fun it could be writing to someone, and I think she was secretly disappointed that it mostly failed. I, on the other hand, asked for some letter paper to take home, along with some envelopes. She smiled warmly at me as she handed me them, and I stored them safely in my backpack.
My mom had come into my room as I wrote out my reply, hunched over my desk, trying my hardest to make my handwriting neat but failing. When she asked what I was writing, I told her I was writing to my friend. Friend. It seemed stupid the second I said it. Red probably didn't consider us friends.
We carried on writing to each other. It would still take about a week to receive a response. I figured it was because she was far away, but I'd later find out that it was just because it took a while for the secretaries to go through the mail and hand my letter to my teacher.
Dear Red,
I can't believe you don't like the beach. What's not to like about it? I like the waves and the sand and running into the sea. Maybe it's cause you don't live near one. My friends were asking about you. It would be funny if you could meet them. Misty is pretty scary though. Dawn can be really annoying. Brock is really funny. Gary is just... Gary. Is Chloe your only friend?
Blue
Dear Blue,
The sand gets everywhere and makes me feel gross. I live in the city and I like it. There's lots of shops and parks to go to when I want to. Tell Misty I like her name. And no, I have one other friend. His name is Tokio. We both like fantasy books and dragons. Do you like dragons?
Maybe we will meet one day.
Red
My eyes had lingered on that final line, rereading it a few times. Maybe we will meet one day. The whole thing, despite being so dumb, was almost exhilarating to me. I grinned, putting the letter in the drawer with the rest of them at home, tucked away safely.
— — — —
On my eighth birthday, I wrote Red another letter. I told her that Gary had shoved his slice of cake in my face and smeared it all around. I wrote that while my friends sang happy birthday, my friend Ritchie had started choking and almost threw up all over the carpet. I wrote of the balloons, and the piñata, and at the end, added that I would have invited her, if we knew each other in real life.
I'd made more friends in the seven months since we started writing to each other. After about five, I'd asked the teacher if we could give each other our home addresses, so we could send the letters directly to one another, and receive the other's quicker. After the first couple of months, Red somehow seemed like someone I'd known my whole life. There was something about writing that was so unlike having a conversation. It made me more open, even at that age, and I was unafraid to say things I normally wouldn't say in person. I felt like, since were writing all these things about each other, she probably already knew me better than Dawn.
The teacher had told me that if we were still writing to each other when we turned nine, she'd ask my mom and Red's mom if that was okay. A year seemed like such a long time back then, and I'd grumbled, but agreed anyway, and carried on handing my letters to her, hoping she wasn't reading them herself.
Nobody really acknowledged Red, except me, when I occasionally mentioned something she'd written. That was, until the school hosted a disco for my year group. For some reason, everyone had been going around asking each other if they'd be their date to the disco. I didn't understand why you'd want a date to a disco. It's not like it was prom (which was a new concept to me, explained by Dawn, who had already fantasised about it). So I didn't ask anyone.
Dawn was there with her 'boyfriend'. He was a nerdy kid named Kenny that was shorter than her. None of us really liked each other back then. We just liked the exciting label. Most of us thought that having a boyfriend or a girlfriend made us cooler. We'd sit beside them in class and hold their hand in the schoolyard, and get confused when the other kids would mock us about kissing.
"Where's your date, Ash?" Kenny had asked, sipping from an apple juice carton.
"I didn't want one," I replied stubbornly.
"He's mad he couldn't invite Red," Dawn mocked, sticking her tongue out at me. That was the first time anyone had suggested there might be something going on between us. I had gone still, contemplating, because that thought had never crossed my mind at all. Even though I was sure she was a girl, I just hadn't thought about it that way. To me, that was pretty gross. Girls were gross, really.
"Who's Red?" Kenny asked, still sucking loudly on that juice box. I shook my head in warning at Dawn, and she smiled, dragging Kenny away to dance to an annoying Pitbull song. The thought hadn't stuck around after that night, and didn't come back for a long, long while.
— — — —
Dear Blue,
My class is taking a trip to a theme park but I'm secretly scared of rollercoasters. I'm worried they're all gonna laugh at me when I won't get on. I just want to go to the arcade and eat candy. I think Chloe's scared of them too but she won't tell me. Do you like rollercoasters? I bet you do. I bet you're not scared of anything.
Red
Dear Red,
I love rollercoasters! The bigger the better. I don't think you should care if people laugh at you. There's nothing wrong with being scared of something. I guess they are kinda scary. I'm scared of needles, I think. Nothing else, though. Dawn is scared of clowns. Every time she sees one she screams and gets mad at me when I laugh at her. I should probably stop laughing at her. She's probably worried about it like you are.
Blue
Dear Red,
Happy birthday! I sent you my favourite Pokémon card. I don't think it's rare or anything but I thought it would be a Pokémon you'd have if they were real, especially since it evolves into Cinderace (kinda like your cat right?). Sorry it's a lame gift.
Blue
Dear Blue,
Happy ninth birthday! I hope this gets to you before it's your birthday. I remembered it this year. Are you having another party? Your mom seems like she'd let you have a party every year. It's my ninth birthday in two months, then we can trade addresses. I drew you this photo of a ginger cat. I hope it looks like Ketchup. I wrote my address on the back of here cause my mom said it was okay.
Red
We finally swapped addresses, and the next letter showed up in the mailbox outside my house, instead. Pretty quickly I realised that it only took a day or so for my letter to reach her if I posted it in the morning, and it only took a day or so for hers to reach me, too. We could send two letters a week, instead. It also didn't take long for me to figure out when her reply would come, and I'd run out to check the mail before school on those mornings, tossing the rest of it on the kitchen counter for my mom.
We never ran out of things to say. Sometimes the letters were short, and sometimes they were long, when something exciting happened, or when one of us got lost on a tangent.
Kenny and Dawn broke up with each other soon after we turned nine. I wasn't surprised, and she wasn't upset. They'd barely been friends, never mind anything else. When I asked Dawn about it, she looked me in the eye and said: "I'd rather kiss Misty." I had blinked at her, thinking about her word choice, and would later on realise it was fully serious.
A little after my tenth birthday, I was asked out for the first time, by a shy girl in our class on the schoolyard one cold winter day. I hardly knew her, and she'd been so nervous when she approached me that it looked like she might bolt away at any second. I was dense, and didn't realise what she wanted until the words came out of her mouth, and even then I just stared at her, dumbfounded. When I finally remembered I needed to respond, I shook my head, and I saw her eyes cloud up with tears.
"I don't want a girlfriend. I'm sorry," I said, awkwardly. I didn't know how else to let her down. It was the truth, anyway. I still had zero interest in a girlfriend, even though Gary bullied me relentlessly for it.
Dawn had approached me after, hands stuck in the pocket of her jacket. "What was that about?" She asked, eyeing me suspiciously. Sometimes the other kids would assume Dawn was my girlfriend. I thought it was pretty stupid, honestly. We were both so grossed out by the idea that it was funny. Besides, we still spent a lot of time at each other's throats.
"Nothing," I grumbled, walking away from her. She followed me, smirking.
"Did you say no 'cause of Red?" She mocked. I tensed up, a rare burst of anger threatening to make me explode. I didn't like Dawn mocking Red. I didn't like anyone talking about her, really. It still didn't seem that way to me at all, but for Dawn to mock her, not knowing how much the letters actually meant to me, hurt my feelings.
So I stopped speaking about Red. I stopped mentioning her altogether, and when anyone asked, I'd give vague answers that didn't really confirm we were still talking. By the time we were eleven, nobody mentioned her anymore at all. I knew they all assumed we weren't talking anymore, and that's the way I wanted it. If they knew we still sent letters twice a week, if they knew how I watched her grow up, even through words; watched as her handwriting changed, became neater, more elegant, and her vocabulary changed, and her personality changed... They'd laugh at me for sure, I thought.
So I kept them in two separate worlds: My real friends, and Red. My circle of friends was so large that I was almost never in the house when I wasn't at school. I spent summers exploring new areas of my town, or the woods on the other side of it. I spent my time outdoors, while Red explained that when she wasn't practising her figure skating, she spent most of her summer inside, or sometimes at Chloe's. She preferred to read, watch TV, or draw. She preferred her own company over anyone else's, most of the time. Sometimes I couldn't help but wonder if it'd be the same with me, if we ever met. I wondered if she'd keep me at an arm's length, too.
I was too young to realise that my letters to Red were my escape- a place to vent, and a place to be completely myself. I was mostly myself around my real life friends, too, but I didn't realise how much of the softer side of myself I hid from them, in an attempt to keep up the image I knew they had of me. I was the brave friend- the one that was scared of nothing, that was always happy, that was always full of energy. Only Red got the other side, when it showed itself.
I know that, alongside a number of other things, is probably the reason why things turned out the way they did.