Kaleidoscope by Erika

She told herself it was just a mistake, meeting him. She told herself that, and she knew it was true as well, but she just wanted to believe it was false, because she knew she could never give him up.

Trixie had a pretty cool life, even with a silly name like that. It was short for Beatrix, “she who brings happiness.” And she did, because she really liked socializing, and she had a pleasant demeanor, said her Greek boss. (Such an old-fashioned way of putting in but also charming, she thought). Waiting tables was good for meeting people, and in Portland there were lots of cool people; musicians, artists, body workers, businessmen. Some homeless people too, of course. Because Portland was a kind and caring place they would end up getting free coffee and a chance to share their stories, sometimes even sing at open-mike night as her boss Dmitris was a caring guy.

She wanted to tell the story to her therapist of exactly how she discovered that Anthony was up to no good, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, because she knew she would start crying and then it would be clear that the brave strong Trixie was a sham. She had taken on her colorful nickname and her shiny clothes just to seem tough, but it wasn’t true. She wanted true love and she fell into every trap.

You know those days when it has just snowed and there’s sun and you would think that even your thoughts or feelings might break up that golden world of perfection all around? That winter wonderland which seems to cloak even your insides? There was a silence, a feeling of preciousness in the air. That was the day when she thought of Anthony for the first time, when she was alone after her shift and she had to clean the espresso machine and she looked out the window at the snow and suddenly she could see his face, and his upper lip which looked like he had gotten hurt as a child. It had a tiny little bump which she found to be the height of sensuality.

Funny how sometimes people seem so beautiful when they are really ugly. She thought of this afterwards, when it was all suddenly finished as if it had never begun. A blip in space time doomed to endless impossibility.

Used. That was how she felt later. Like the coffee grounds when all the flavor had been sucked out of them.

He used to come into the bar with his girlfriend, Susan. She had brown curly hair and looked very independent and opinionated and had a lot of bracelets with chakra symbols on them. She took control of ordering, looking deep into Trixie’s eyes to see if she wanted her boyfriend. Trixie recognized that look, as all coupled up men had women leading them around like prize bull steer. They couldn’t waver, couldn’t flirt, couldn’t even speak to the waitress, it seemed, without consequences.

The worst women were the ones who made friends with you, because then when you were on a first-name basis with them they would turn on you and become cold frosty bitches. All the worse for them, Trixie thought. (All very ironic that in the end, she became just like them, too).

Anthony had been in a rock band, but now he was into economy and was always chasing down the next investment on his iphone. He wore more preppy clothes now. That day that Trixie remembered, he was wearing a dark green sweater. Like his eyes, which were the frosty green of Ireland, always absent, as if lost in the fog. Had tousled dark hair which reminded her of Timothy Chalamet. Susan ordered an almond milk latte and Anthony a plain espresso in a glass, which he preferred. Susan sometimes got a cookie as well, but seemed angry if Anthony didn’t order one too. She seemed more like his mother than his girlfriend, Trixie thought.

When Anthony came to pay, Trixie noticed that he had little gold flecks in his eyes and long eyelashes. He caught her looking but didn’t smile. He seemed more distracted that anything else.

He handed her his visa, but the connection wasn’t working, and in the meantime Susan had come up behind his shoulders, glancing at Trixie with an evil stare. You could feel the tension in the air as she listened in to their conversation as if she was 007. She was pretty odd-looking, thought Trixie. Short legs, bad taste in clothes (an orange tube top with a green skirt, Austin Powers style).

Susan, on the other hand, thought of Trixie as an empty-headed lush. Yes, she was objectively pretty, but she always mixed up the orders and seemed to be constantly staring at Anthony. Who wouldn’t? Anthony was the little lost soul that women loved to take care of, serious and yet raw, something elusive about him.

The cash register clanged shut as the couple left and Trixie went back to her station. Coffee grounds, that was all she had to look forward to, she thought.

A few months later, Anthony came back into Dante’s (the bar where Trixie worked), this time alone. She tried to remain calm as she scoped him out, skinny and respectful and oh-so-handsome now (maybe he had been going to the gym, she hadn’t remembered him so built). This time, he was alone.

When he asked for the wi-fi password, he looked at Trixie as if for the first time. She had gotten skinnier, and was wearing a grey sweater which fit her badly. She had taken off her nose rings and had stopped wearing patchouli. She looked more beautiful than before, he thought, less dolled up, more simple. She had shadows under her eyes and her hair was a bit longer now, brushing against her shoulders in uneven clumps. No jewelry.

“Thanks so much! What do I owe you?” Anthony smiled for the first time, revealing a sweetness about him which was still relatively subdued. He obviously wasn’t the type to make overt declarations of any kind. His eyes, she thought, had a touch of hunger to them as well, as an underfed animal might have.

Trixie, or Beatrix as she was now called, was vaguely aware of a jolt of confusion every time she saw him. But she wanted it to go away. She knew what it meant.

They ended up going out, and he ended up dumping Susan. There were even a few awkward moments when his ex came into the bar while Anthony was there chatting up Beatrix, but after feigning interest in a cookbook and scowling in their direction, she left. Anthony and Beatrix had a great time together for exactly 21 days, until their relationship relapsed into the same condition as his previous one. Gone were the hurried kisses and the make-up sex and the fun evenings out dancing (she liked underground music, and he went just to humor her) or smoking weed (he was a fan, even though it didn’t work out so well when you had to crunch numbers for investors the following day). Gone in a flash and somehow, she felt as though she had become Susan, that stick-in-the-mud, basic bitch. That ball and chain. She could feel her own face morphing as her character began to transform as well.

She had that sense that he wasn’t really concentrated, that he wasn’t really interested anymore. When they went out to coffee, he would look up from his phone with a vaguely irritated expression, as if speaking to a servant. Of course, asking what he was looking at was counter-productive.

“What?” this was his question if she disturbed him. She would pause, searching for the right way to ask him how she had become that which she had most deeply feared, but certainly the question itself made no sense, so she kept silent. When the waitress showed up, a gentle girl right out of high school, with a black apron and sincere eyes, Beatrix knew that she was about to be passed over for the next best thing.

“Are you ready to order?” At these commonplace words Anthony looked up as if a fairy princess had spoken, his eyes wet with anticipation.

Beatrix felt futile rage mounting in her chest like bile, felt hideously ugly for just a moment, used up, broken. She had to almost physically control herself.

“Just a black coffee for me, thanks,” she spoke in a husky, bitter tone.

“No one is interested in fresh cinammon rolls are they?”

As she turned her face to Anthony, Beatrix could see the excitement in her eyes, the false ingenuity.

Looking out the window, she saw the first drops of spring rain settling on the pine trees, perfectly still and balanced on the tips of the needles. That was how it was, she thought. Life just pierced you, through and through. And you had to go on as if nothing happened.

“Yes, I’ll have one!” The waitress and Anthony seemed startled as she put in her dibs for a nice pastry. Sweets were always comforting, she thought.

Even in hell.