My apartment was on the seventh floor, chosen by my mother because she liked being able to see over most of the buildings. On a good night you could sit out on the fire escape and get a good look of an orange skyline and if you sat high enough, you could see bits and pieces of countryside. But it was far from twilight hour on the day I had helped Octavia and her brother, Chase, hide from their father in the laundry room. Our mother invited them to come up to the seventh floor for lunch with us, where she had made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. Before we stepped inside, Chase and Octavia both slipped off their shoes and picked them up.
"Why do you do that?" I asked Octavia.
"I don't know," she muttered to me. I didn't really like the answer I got, but then again I didn't really care. My shoes thumped the floor when I kicked them off in no particular direction. The two looked around our apartment, possibly comparing it to theirs, and I just stood there with an awkward mix of pride and irritation.
"Kitchen is this way," Mom said, gesturing broadly with her hand. She stood about a head over Chase, who wasn't very tall to begin with. The apartment was decorated in my mother's odd style. The furniture in our living room was different shades of a pale orange color, and the walls a deeper orange. All the rooms were like that, with the furniture being lighter shades than the wall. The kitchen was my favorite room, because Mom didn't let her talent go to waste. Instead of tiles on the walls, there were broken glass plates partially reassembled all around and glued to a navy blue paint. The table was small and round, each chair of a different style and color. I made a beeline for my favorite aquamarine chair, while Octavia took the brown one between my mother and Chase. Our fridge was maroon, covered in photos of Mom and me, my art, her art. She made sure that every picture of mine went on the front, where everyone could see, and hung hers onto the sides even though I said I liked hers better. The counter was originally just granite, but once Mom got a hold of it it was covered in splatters of the rainbow.
I could see Octavia and Chase gazing about, Chase wonder struck at the décor, Octavia looking very confused.
"You never seen a kitchen before?" I asked her as Mom placed a plate of sandwich in front of me.
"Vinyl, être poli," Mom scolded, telling me to be polite. I slinked down in my chair.
"Je suis désolé, Mama." Chase began to gulp down his sandwich as though he had never eaten before, and Octavia even had an appetite. They ate with clear hunger, while Mom and I took our bites slowly.
"So what floor are you from?" Mom asked, sipping her water.
"Sixth," Chase said between bites. "Not too high, not too low." Mom smiled and nodded.
"Just under us, huh?" she asked. He nodded.
"Guess so," he agreed.
"Is it any different from the other floors?" I asked. To this, Chase chuckled.
"Afraid not," he replied. I nodded widely. He and his sister had mostly finished their food, Octavia stared blankly at her plate.
"Do you want more?" I asked her. She shook her head slowly. I crammed the last bit of sandwich in my mouth and chewed quickly in a viscous imitation of Chase
"Slow down, Vinyl. You'll get hiccups," Mom warned. I nodded and slowed my chompers.
"What grade are you in?" Mom asked.
"I'm in seventh grade," he replied," Octavia hasn't started school yet."
"Huh, neither has Vinyl. She starts next year."
"So does Octavia," Chase remarked.
"Maybe we'll be in the same class," I said excitedly. Mom smiled at me.
"Why don't you show Octavia your room, Vinyl?" she said. I pondered the quiet girl, but shrugged.
"Do you want to see my room?" I turned to her. To my surprise, her raven head rocked into a slow nod.
"Okay let's go, it's this way," I said, hopping from my chair. She slid off and followed me. I took off running, expecting her to follow, but stopped a few feet away when she didn't run. Outside, I waited patiently but I wanted nothing more than for her to hurry up. We had a lot of ground to cover! When she caught up with me I took her hand again and tugged on it to get her moving faster. When we finally got to my room I watched as her head rose and her violet eyes widened.
Like the rest of the house, my room was composed of shades corresponding to the wall. The color, of course, was blue. My walls were a deep electric blue, my curtains plaid navy blue and white, my bed frame royal blue and the blankets turquoise. The floor was white, but littered with my stuffed animals and my play keyboard. I couldn't play very well, but I could play chopsticks like nobody's business.
"This is my room," I announced, emphasis on my. "My mama decorated it after I was born because she wanted it to match me." I stooped over and picked up my prized teddy, Jimmy, who held a little plastic guitar in his hand.
"This is Jimmy, I've had him forever and he's my best friend," I explained, as though it were vital information that Octavia would need to know some day. She regarded him thoughtfully, and reached out to him. Quick as a flash, I pulled him away. She looked disappointed, and I pouted. No one, I repeat, no one, touches Jimmy. Even my other best friends didn't get to touch him. She seemed as though she had half expected that I would do that, but had really hoped I wouldn't. I felt as if by holding him away from her I was somehow hurting Octavia. Which was weird, because I had literally hurt kids before and felt no remorse. With a sigh, I held Jimmy out to her and watched with near anxiety as she took him delicately and gave him a nice once over.
"I like him," she said, handing him back. "He's very soft." I smiled when she returned him, happy that I got him back quickly. My pride for the toy didn't last long, and I tossed him onto the bed.
I showed Octavia the grand tour of my room, my toys, my closet and my radio. We then went on to see the rest of the apartment. Mom's room (shades of rose), the bathroom (shades of yellow) her studio (shades of everything) and the den (shades of green). In the kitchen I saw Mom and Chase still talking, as he wolfed down another sandwich, and I wondered how many he'd had since we left. When it was over, Octavia and I went back to my room were we sat on my bed. Normally, I squirm a lot, but today I was able to sit quietly and listen to what she said.
"I really like your house," she said, her voice barely a mumble as she colored with in my Fairly Oddponies coloring book. I looked up from my half colored Sleeping Filly picture.
"Thanks. Mama decorates it all. She's an artist, you know," I said. She nodded, then picked up a red crayon.
"So why are you so quiet all the time?" I asked. In my mind, this seemed like a very normal question, but now... I'd probably still see it as valid as well. To this, she just shrugged.
"I don't know. Just not much to talk about, I guess," she replied. I drew up my back and tried to be official, like my friend Steel did when he was about to say something important.
"Well I think you should talk more. Did you ever think of that?" She looked up, curiosity burning in her eyes.
"Why?" she asked. Now it was my turn to shrug.
"I just like the way you talk, you know? You pronounce everything," I explained. Her eyes widened briefly then she bent back down over the coloring book, but I could still see her smile. For a moment longer, I watched her, then turned back to my picture. I wasn't very good at it, my colors all went outside the lines, mixing into the other colors. Cautiously, I took a peak at her picture. Bland colors, all brown and gray and black, but neatly tucked into the black likes of the picture. I furrowed my brow, but didn't dwell on it long. I faced my picture and continued to color.
"Do your eyes ever bother you?" she said after a long time. I looked up, uncertain.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean your eyes are red," she noted. I rolled my eyes.
"Duh, what's so bad about it?" I asked.
"Don't people make fun of you?" she asked me. This question made me fidget uncomfortably in my spot. No one likes admitting that they get teased, so why was she asking?
"Sometimes. But I'm not supposed to listen to them," I replied.
"Why?"
"Because... because they don't know me, I think," I explained. "My mama always tells me that I shouldn't listen to the mean things people say because they don't know who I really am. If they don't know who I really am, how can they say anything about me?" Octavia tilted her head to the side just a little, but nodded.
"Does that work for everyone?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," she muttered, turning back to the book. I watched her, trying to make sense of her question. Could what work for everyone? Ignoring mean words? I suppose it could.
"I think it does," I said after a moment. She looked back up.
"What?"
"I think it works for everyone, otherwise everybody would be crying all the time," I told her. Her eyes glazed over as she processed this, then she smiled.
"I guess so," she said with a smile. I smiled back at her, feeling a spot in my chest go hard against my throat. For some reason, I felt awkward to look at her, so I bent my head and started coloring again.
"And Vinyl?" her tiny, literate voice asked. I looked up.
"Uhuh?"
"I like your eyes anyway," she said shyly. I nearly froze, unfamiliar with this form of compliment. What do you do when someone says this? I began to reply, stuttered, then started again.
"I... I really like your eyes too."
