Gray

By Rachel Dib

I stumbled, snotty and blurry-eyed, from the smoking building. I didn’t look heroic, but I had rescued the missing child. That’s what mattered. Especially since wailing firetrucks were only beginning to pierce the surrounding commotion.

Blinking back tears, I cradled the grime-covered toddler in my arms. Her small body convulsed in a coughing fit.

Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d stayed on the sidewalk.

I felt Blue’s presence in my mind as the alien bacteria collective agreed. “Yes. Now, hand her over and go home. The authorities can handle the rest.”

Before I could respond, concerned faces surrounded me, all talking over each other. One pair of arms took the child while another led me farther from the building.

“Go home,” Blue repeated.

And I meant to. I’d done my part. I deserved a shower and a nap. But then a news van arrived, and someone was proclaiming me a hero. Despite Blue’s protests, it didn’t seem right to leave abruptly—not when the woman in the fancy suit wished to talk to me.

So, I answered questions. I told her that I’d done what anyone would have. Though we both knew that was a lie. After all, out of an apartment full of people, I was the only one who’d rushed in to save the child—and it wasn’t even my building.

Blue kept urging me to end the interview, but I didn’t want to. It felt good to be seen—to be acknowledged and praised. I kept finding ways to prolong the conversation.

“That was amazing,” I said as I finally left the scene. When Blue didn’t reply, I added, “I actually made a difference. It felt good.”

“You always make a difference, Freya. Your motivations are what’s important.”

I tensed at Blue’s flat tone. “What’s wrong? Didn’t I do what you wanted? Your stipulation for keeping me Lupus-free was to be great. I did something great.”

“Yes. And then you basked in the glory.”

“So?”

Blue didn’t answer, but I felt their disapproval: a light pressure at the base of my skull. I ignored it. It wasn’t as if I ran into burning buildings every day. Most of my great deeds were small, like helping at the soup kitchen. Activities anyone could do. Why shouldn’t I reap the reward from this grander event?

Still, I felt deflated.

As I ascended the first step leading to my front door, a sudden pain shot through my knee. Gasping, I gripped the railing to steady myself.

“What was that?” I demanded, but again, Blue remained silent.

Blue’s strange absence continued over the next few days, but the aches the alien bacteria had kept at bay slowly returned. My knees were the worst. Every time I stood, burning flared behind my kneecaps, making me grit my teeth. Though I was still functional, fatigue weighed me down. By late afternoon, I wanted to take some medicine and go to sleep.

When my friend, Laura, called to ask if I’d visit the assisted living facility she worked for, I in no way felt up to it—until Blue reared their head.

“You should go. You’ve strayed from our bargain recently.”

“Because I’ve been feeling horrible!” I snapped.

Once again, Blue didn’t reply. I wanted to refuse Laura out of spite. But I knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault Blue was being unreasonable. So, I agreed to a morning timeslot.

When I rose from the couch, my knees were pain-free.

I arrived at Midland’s Assisted Living at nine and followed a nurse to Mrs. Shirley Marson’s room. She was a slim woman with a slight curl to her snowy hair.

Once the nurse left us alone, she met my gaze with clear blue eyes and a grim smile. “I suppose you’re the one assigned to listen to my woes this morning?”

Her pointed tone threw me a bit, but I passed her an encouraging grin. “I’m here to do whatever you feel up to.”

“I feel like pudding. Do you have any?”

I blinked. “Um, sorry. No. But I could ask the—”

“Don’t bother.” She waved a hand. “They’ll only try to give me that sugar-free trash. I want the real stuff.” Sighing, she glanced at a photograph perched on a low-hanging shelf.

“Is that your husband?”

She sighed again. “Woes it is, then. Yes. That was Gray.”

I nodded, but she didn’t notice, her gaze locked on the photo.

“He lived next-door to my cousin—that’s how we met. He was a very stoic young man. Not my usual type but…” A slow smile tugged at her lips. “That’s the way it goes sometimes. What you need isn’t always what you were expecting.” She crossed her arms. “Gray loved pudding. It was our thing.”

We chatted for about an hour—mostly about her and Gray’s love story. Blue didn’t speak during the conversation, but I felt their presence. They seemed content, and that contentment washed over me, satisfying me in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.

Laura met me in the hallway as I left Mrs. Marson’s room. “How did it go? Did she beg for pudding?”

I smiled. “It was good. We talked about Gray.”

Laura nodded. “Yes, Gray was all she had.” She licked her lips nervously. “It was nice of you to come. I wasn’t sure you would.”

I tilted my head. “Why?”

“You’ve been off lately. Not upset, exactly but…”

“Oh. I guess I’ve been a bit frustrated.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d be doing more since my Lupus went into remission.”

“More?” Laura lifted a brow.

“I don’t know. Just something that really matters.”

“Freya, you volunteer more than anyone I know. Believe me, you’re making a difference.” She patted my shoulder. “Anyway, good to see you a bit happier.”

“It all matters,” Blue said as Laura walked away. “Every little thing is important.”

I smiled slightly. “Like pudding.”

And for the first time ever, Blue laughed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her works of short fiction have been published by On the Premises Magazine, Havok Publishing, and Ye Olde Dragon Books. She has also had short stories published by Toasted Cheese Literary Journal under the name R.J. Snowberger.

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