A Different Blue(73)

“No. It didn't,” I whispered. And that was it. Redemption hadn't saved me from consequence.

And I felt betrayed. I felt like the love that had been poured over me had been withdrawn before

I'd had a chance to prove I was worthy of it.

“So what now?”

“That's why I'm here, Wilson. I don't know what now.”

[page]“And I can't advise you since you won't tell me what the problem is,” Wilson plied

gently.

When I didn't respond he sighed, and we sat, looking out over the street at nothing, our

thoughts filled with things we could say, but saying nothing at all.

“Sometimes there is no rescue,” I concluded, facing what was before me. I still didn't know

what I was going to do. But I would manage. Somehow.

Wilson propped his chin in his hands and eyed me thoughtfully. “When my dad died, I was lost.

There was so much that I regretted about our relationship, and it was too late to fix it. I

joined the Peace Corp – mostly because my dad told me I wouldn't last a day – and spent two

years in Africa working my arse off, living in pretty primitive conditions. Many days I wanted

to be rescued from Africa. I wanted to go home and live at my mum's and be taken care of. But in

the end, Africa saved me. I learned a lot about myself. I grew up – found out what I wanted to

do with my life. Sometimes the things we want to be rescued from can save us.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to be all right, Blue?”

I looked at him and tried to smile. He was so serious. I wondered if he had been less so when

his dad was alive. Somehow I doubted it. He was what Beverly called a mensch. An old soul.

“Thank you for talking to me. Cheryl's not great with heavy conversation.”

“Did you try Mason or Colby? They seem well-suited to solving the world's problems.”

I giggled, the laughter easing the tightness in my chest.

“I've made her laugh! Brilliant! I am good.”

“Yeah, Wilson, you're good. A little too good for the likes of Blue Echohawk. But we both knew

that.”

Wilson agreed, acting as if my comment was in jest. Then he stood, pulling me to my feet after

him. He walked me to my truck, tucked me inside, and pinched my cheek like I was five and he was

one hundred and five.

“Six weeks, Echohawk, and the world is yours.”

I just shrugged and waved, the weight of that world heavy on my shoulders and farther from my

grasp than ever before.





Graduation was held on a late May morning out on the football field. It meant plenty of seats on

the hard bleachers for family and friends and relatively bearable temperatures. I say relative

because it was 90 degrees at ten am. I was extremely nauseous and the heat didn't help. I

considered ditching, but wanted my moment. I wanted to wear my cap and gown, receive my diploma,

and silently give the bird to all the haters that rolled their eyes when I walked by or thought

I would drop out before the end of sophomore year. But I had made it. Just barely, but I had.

Unfortunately, I ended up racing for the bathroom minutes before we were supposed to line up to

make our entrance. I threw up what little was in my stomach and tried to breathe through the

aftershocks, my stomach heaving and rolling like an angry sea.

I gathered myself together, rinsed my mouth, and dug in my purse for the crackers I had started