Generations I: Book of Enlightenment

by Mia Castile

  “I'm sure! Mitchell gave me enough allowance to last me the next six months with a raise.” Smiling, I raised my eyebrows.

  “Give me five minutes.” He stood and left the room.

  An hour later we were both pushing carts with under-the-bed totes, closet organizing tools, room decorating things, and a duvet cover. We rolled past the mega store's paint section. I looked at Alex forbiddingly.

  “You think we should? I've stared at white walls for three weeks. I feel like I need a stark white straight jacket to go with it.” He rolled his cart down the aisle full of the rainbow of color swatches. “I call navy,” he laughed and stood on the bottom bar of the cart as it continued to roll.

  “I obviously call pink.” I scrunched my nose in disgust like it smelled bad.

  “I'm thinking a silver grey. That color always suited you.” He was right. I also picked an accent of sage green. We checked out and went home. Before we unloaded everything from the old beaten down truck, I looked at the back door.

  “Do you think he's here?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

  “Working until 2 A.M. How a recovering alcoholic can tend bar I'll never figure out,” Alex said as he pushed his seat forward to grab the bags and totes from the extended cab section. “Whose room are we gonna paint first?” he asked, unlocking the back door.

  “You've been in hell longer, so yours first.” I grabbed the rest of the bags.

  “It really hasn't been that bad. We stay out of each other's way. He'll probably do the same with you.” We walked through the small stark white kitchen to the stairs and up to our rooms. Since Alex's was the most organized, we dumped the stuff in there and sorted our storage units. I took my things to my room and began helping him move furniture across the hall to the guest room. We decided he would sleep in the guest room as his room dried overnight. We took down the blinds, opened the windows, taped off the old wood trim, and began painting. Joking and laughing, we finished in a few hours. It was a total transformation.

  “Kinda feels like home,” Alex smirked as he picked up the pan and left the room.

  “Kinda feels like prison,” I whispered under my breath. He didn't hear me.

  We then went to my room, and he helped me unpack. We organized and loaded totes. I re-organized my drawers.

  “We could paint your room tonight, too.” Alex plopped on my bed after everything was organized and put away.

  “Where would I sleep? You've already got the guest room,” I sighed, really wanting to paint my room and take it away from Oliver, to make it mine.

  “You can have the guest room; I'll pull my mattress in the middle of my floor and sleep there,” he offered.

  “Alexander the Great, so noble.” I smiled.

  “My lady, I aim to please.” He mock bowed from where he sat. Like that, it was decided, so we did it. We did the same process like we were old pros who had been painting rooms for years. Three walls soon were gray, and the wall around the double windows we painted green.

  We went downstairs and ate a late dinner of delivery pizza. All felt right with the world, or as right as it could be. We watched the Reality TV channel. Alex turned down the volume and gave me his own commentary. We laughed. I had really missed laughing; I had really missed him. Our texting and phone conversations hadn't been enough for me. Finally, after the pizza was gone and the shows became more serious cop programs, we turned off the TV.

  I decided to drag my mattress into my room, too, and we went to bed. I didn't hear Oliver come in, but I did hear my bedroom door open and saw a light across my walls; then the door closed again. I heard Alex's door open and shut, and then I heard Oliver's bedroom door slam shut. I wasn't sure if he was angry because I was actually here or because we'd messed up three of his bedrooms. I didn't really care to find out right then. I put my earphones back in and went back to sleep. Eventually.