Beautiful Demon

A voice woke me up. It wasn’t my own. I looked around and saw that my little doll had fallen to the floor. There was no one else in the room. I placed her back on the nightstand and walked to the bathroom. More voices chimed in and I couldn’t tell what they were saying, or if they were saying anything at all. The echoes of the bathroom seemed to enhance the echoes in my head. I turned on the faucet and the soothing sound of the sprinkling water hushed all other noise. I pulled the strings and my sweatpants dropped to the floor. I stepped out and when I reached to put them in the basket, noticed the note Lance gave me had fallen out of the pocket. I forgot all about it. I pick it up and unfold the little piece of paper. Inside a simple little heart was drawn. One winter I snuck out to a little store in Metropolis. Past all the glass department towers and market gazebos to this cozy little den hidden between two office buildings. I was so excited. I told Lance Lotta and I were going to see the new broadway opening in Metropolis. All the dancers and actors were projected on a wall. The wall looked like it would go on forever if you stuck your hand through, and all the people looked incredibly real. It was said you could even smell their perfumes. No, I went to get Lance the art kit he kept talking about. He already has so many, that he ran out of paper and started drawing on the walls of his room. I knocked on his door and since no one answered, came inside anyway, as most people do. It was like his room had numbers of different worlds in there. The skies on his walls blended from crimson to teal to magenta. He was adding the stars. So I had told him I was at the broadway with Lotta and giggled as I searched through the different art kits in the shelves. This little den had all kinds, because it’s the little businesses that actually have all the good stuff. I grabbed the box hidden back against the wall. Someone was probably saving that one for when they had enough money to purchase it but had forgot to come back for it. That’s how beautiful things turn dusty. That one was special because the pastels drew three dimensional. I flipped the box around to check the price and a sample of a Siberian tiger jumped out at me. Those had long been extinct but it was right there in front of me. And that was the first thing he drew when he opened it that Christmas. He was waiting for me outside against his bike. I grab the helmet he’s holding out for me, kiss his cheek and lift my leg to sit on the back edge of the seat. The corner of his mouth perks up. “Guess we’re not racing today.” He mounts on and my bike gets left in our dust.