Kaleidoscope by Erika

Frances was a sweetheart. Everyone said so.

She didn’t look anything llke the picture above, which was a new character in a Marvel film (Dick Diamond, Oracle 54; you’ve certainly read about it..?) Fuxia was Frances’s favorite.

Frances lived in Bandon. With Brandon. And was abandoned.

That’s the rhyme which played in her head, as she drummed her pen on her teakwood desk and looked out the window of the cafè, where you could see the streaming rain. Or was it the screaming rain? Because that’s what she felt like doing, primal therapy was it called? A gut wrenching yell would certainly clear her system.

Coquille Cafè was the name of her place of work, and since today was so terrifically rainy, even though it was August. She could barely see the Lighthouse across the River in the fog. It flashed day and night, and Fran found it comforting somehow. It was something to rely on, when it was so difficult to find, really.

She was doing the bills, and so she was doing them up by hand, feeling very 1950s and old-fashioned here with her round hemmed apron with her name embroidered on it and the selection of homemade pies under the front counter. But she wanted to be with Brandon, and there was only Mr. Fogherty in the corner, with his three strands of withered hair and his sad-sack eyes. A sweetheart. But a profoundly depressing companion on an already depressing day.

Frances, agian, was doing up the accounts and finding that the Cafè was a bit short of cash yet again. And her tips didn’t make up enough even for cat food, even though her cat (and her husband) seemed to be continually absent.

Suddenly she heard a trembling sound like leaves pulling off a tree, and with a woosh all the dirty cups on their tiny saucers clattered on top like a ghostly band, even though there was no wind which could enter the place. Frances saw a flash of violet light whisk through the place in a moment, and she jumped to her feet. Even Mr. Fogherty seemed to have awoken from his semi-daze.

“Oh! What the…” He craned his neck to look back at Frances with a quizzical expression, but she had scampered toward the window, where she was looking once again toward the lighthouse, where she could swear she could see a fuchsia coloured creature scrambling up the structure with leaps and bounds. It couldn’t be true, but it was, and if Frances could trust her wits which were usually reliable she could see a pair of bright pink heels on the being which seemed to work just fine on the slippery surface of the lighthouse, the Coquille River Lighthouse to be exact….

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Brandon, oh, they all said to me. The women in the bars in the evening in Tillamook. Getting the cheese are you, Brandie, to bring back to wifey down south?

For some reason no one thinks I should be married, but why not? I’m a good provider, and I love Frances, and who’s to say being married is so terrible? She makes a mean peach cobbler, and she even knits me scarves and she tends to the house and when I do come home, I feel like a prince, you know what I mean.

Up here in Tillamook I have taken a house, and I admit I have a bit of a stray girlfriend here and there, but mostly there is just one. Tammy, is her name, and she happens to be one of Fran’s best friends, but I guess that sounds terrible. It all started last year, when City Hall put on a local talent show and Tammy decided to show up and put the rest of the contestants to shame with her long legs and her rizz, which is what people call charisma these days.

I’m telling you, she was incredible, and to be honest I don’t think I could have concealed my admiration for the girl if I had tried. To top it off, she singled me out in the crowd and ended up sitting in my lap with her short sequined skirt pulled up her thighs and pulled that incredible, smooth, movie star face next to mine and whispered something in my ear. Let’s just say Fran wasn’t too pleased about it, even though I was (and I had to cross my legs for the rest of the night because, well, she had a pleasing effect on my virility, you might say).

We’ve never slept together, not yet, but I have to say I was happy to accept the job in tillamook when I found out Tammy lived here and worked in a pole dancing school downtown. Maybe she’s not the type of girl to settle down and marry, but I’m not dead yet, so I figure looking at another woman isn’t a crime. Even taking her out to buy her the occasional latte isn’t bad either, so…

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

Somehow Frances had found her way back to her three -room apartment, with the cute drapes she had made with green and white fabric which matched the checked rug in the living room in front of a real wood fireplace. She had fantasized about lying in front of it with Brandon before he had moved in with her. She imagined hugging him and snuggling into his firm chest and playing with his dark wavy hair and grey eyes, which reminded her of the Pacific Ocean. But it all been a sham. And now she was here, making herself a chai on the gas stove and searching for cinnamon sticks and listening to the surf smash against the shore.

Then, a terrible cry. Half woman, half electrical power surge. And a shockwave which threw Frances to the floor and filled the room with a purple -pink light.

The next morning, when Brandon came home, he found the apartment empty. There was, however, a strange purplish glow, like fog. He checked the lights until the fuse snapped, sending violet sparks which made him jump.

Where had she gone?