Becoming Indigo

by Tara Taylor

  “I bet your bedrooms are bigger than ours,” said Paige, a striking brunette who was all muscle. I wondered if she was an athlete.

  Kristen, a tiny little Asian girl with the cutest face, looked at me. “Are you the one who reads cards?”

  I shoved my hands in my back pockets. “Yeah. I try.”

  “Try? You’re awesome,” said Lacey.

  Paige laughed. “She told us what you said about her going out with a musician. And it almost came true!”

  I stared wide-eyed at Lacey. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Well, it’s not true yet, but I really like him. I wanted you to meet him this weekend, but now he’s gone,” she moaned. “He was going to do the open mic, but he had to go home because of some family function. He’s from Kitchener. He plays guitar and sings country music.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “Next time.” I turned to Natalie. “Natalie is doing the open mic, too.” I smiled proudly at her.

  “That’s brave,” said Paige with a horrified look on her face. “I could never do that.”

  “Or just stupid.” Natalie laughed, and I could tell it was a nervous laugh.

  “Predrink in my room,” said Lacey. She looked at her watch. “Let’s say 8:30.”

  By ten that night, with no food in my stomach, I knew I had to slow down or I wouldn’t make it past midnight. Natalie was pacing herself because of her big night tomorrow. Lacey was full throttle ahead, as were her friends. University living.

  We sat on her bed, and I enjoyed hearing the stories of different professors and how they were good or bad and all the chatter about the school football team and the games and the fun they were having on campus. Natalie lapped up every word.

  We hit the campus pub around 11, and you could hear the loud music before entering. The few drinks I’d had in Lacey’s dorm room had buzzed me, and now I felt as if I were walking a foot off the ground.

  I met so many people in one evening that by the time we walked back to Lacey’s dorm, my head was swimming. We arrived just after one and ordered pizzas, which we took to Paige and Kristen’s room because it was bigger.

  I sat cross-legged on Paige’s bed and waved my cards in the air. “Who wants a reading?”

  “I do! I do!” Paige sat down across from me on the bed.

  “Someone give Indie another beer,” yelled Lacey.

  “Shh,” said Kristen. “We’re not supposed to have beer, and we’re past curfew. If we get caught, we’re in deep trouble.”

  “I know the resident supervisor,” slurred Lacey. “We’ll be okay.”

  I accepted the beer and took a big swig before I said, “Knock three times.”

  Paige knocked, shuffled, then picked her three cards. I tried to remember what the cards were about, but I couldn’t, so I just went with the visions that kept flipping through my brain like flash cards. One after the other. And voices, too, speaking on top of one another. I spoke quickly, trying to say everything, and I could hear them all laughing around me.

  “Indie, slow down,” said Lacey. She held her stomach she was laughing so hard.

  “I’m trying,” I said. “But there’s so much coming at me.”

  “This is sooo freaky,” said Kristen.

  I saw a man, very good-looking and a business man. I told Paige she was going to meet a guy and get married when she was 28. Then I heard the words Texas and Dallas and I saw a swimming pool, so I told her she was going to live in Texas and … the words just kept spilling out of my mouth. She would have two children, a boy and a girl; she would get a master’s degree; her life would be successful; and she would live in a nice house. Then I heard the word drowning, and it kept hammering my brain like a skipping CD. I put my hands to my ears and stopped talking.

  “What’s wrong?” Paige asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Everything is going to be great for you.” I forced a smile. “I just have a crazy ringing in my ear. They are talking so fast.”

  “Who is talking fast?” Paige asked.

  “Angels.”

  They’re not angels. Isaiah said. They’re lower spirits.

  “I’m next,” said Kristen.

  Good for you. You’re having fun.

  “I’m shaking,” said Paige holding out her hands. Then she hopped off the bed. “I have to write it all down.” She grabbed a lined notebook off her desk and began writing.

  “My boss tapes her readings and gives the tapes to her clients,” I said.

  Act normal. Act normal. No one could know about the bizarre words mobbing my brain.

  “That’s a great idea,” said Paige, without looking up. She kept scribbling in her book.

  The same thing happened when I read for Kristen. My mind became like this huge computer downloading information that I just spewed out. One thing after another. I told her she would be a dentist and go to India and treat little children. I could see them playing and talking another language, and I could see her studying and working, but then I saw her insides. And I saw a bunch of eggs bopping up and down, but they were empty. There was no yolk. Suddenly, they flattened and started floating like light paper.

  “Am I going to have children, too?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted kids. I’ve always wanted a big family.”

  I swigged back some beer. “You are surrounded by children,” I said.

  She clapped her hands. “I always tell my mother that I want four kids, just like she had.”

  I wanted to tell her that wasn’t what I meant, but I couldn’t, because I didn’t really understand what I was seeing. The eggs were flat. Empty. Did that mean what I thought it meant?

  Was she not going to have any children of her own?

  Fortunately, Lacey was listening to the reading and piped up, “No more talk of kids. We’re only in first year! Who wants another drink?”

  We crawled into bed at three, and my body almost felt as if it were levitating off the thin foam mattress. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop the palpitations or the droning that was inside me, flowing through my veins. I had never taken drugs in my life, but I wondered if this was what people felt like who did. Who shot up and sent crap into their veins? It made no sense to me. I wanted this buzzing to go away.

  Lacey and Natalie fell asleep right away, but I just lay there sizzling.

  Finally, I got up and slipped on my shoes and tiptoed outside for a cigarette. The night air circled me, and the inferno inside me cooled a little anyway. I had no idea what was wrong with me or why I felt so jittery. I leaned against the wall, lit my cigarette, and inhaled. As the smoke sank into my lungs, I closed my eyes. The first time I’d ever really talked to John, we had smoked a cigarette together.

  I opened my eyes and looked at the glimmering stars and the round, full globe of the moon, and sucked on my cigarette. The smoke seemed to calm me down a little.

  For the longest time, I remained outside, in the cool and the quiet. A few students walked by me, and a few said hello. I smoked another cigarette. And another. The air brushed my skin but didn’t make me drowsy.

  Because I wasn’t tired.

  Not in the least.

  The next day I woke up after two hours of sleep, feeling buzzed again. Last week I had been so exhausted that I must have slept enough for the weekend. When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I saw that my eyes were wide and bright, and my pupils were dilated. I didn’t have bags under my eyes. I certainly didn’t look exhausted.

  We spent the rest of the morning wandering around campus, with Lacey showing us which buildings she had to go to for her classes. I loved the old stone buildings and wondered if any of them were haunted. I wished I were smart enough to go to university. I thought about Paul. I thought about John. My mind just seemed to be all over the map. My energy seemed to be working on high gear. It went from thought to thought with no order and no reason, and I couldn’t seem to stop it from going up and down like a yo-yo and back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball.

  After the campus tour, we
went into historic Kingston for lunch at a funky little restaurant inside an old redbrick building down by the pier. I ate a bit of salad, but I was too hyped to eat much. Perhaps I was nervous for Natalie?

  Or maybe I was taking on her energy.

  Natalie and I split the lunch bill, and we all headed back outside to walk along the pier. The waterway in Kingston was where the St. Lawrence River flowed into Lake Ontario. Here, closer to the water, the air was a bit chillier, and I wrapped my sweater around my shoulders. Sailboats docked in stalls swayed in the slight breeze, and the sky shone blue and clear. Kingston was a city full of life and energy and history. It also had that real university feel to it.

  As we strolled, Natalie hummed her tunes, and I knew she was going to be a huge success. So why was I feeling so weird and buzzed?

  That night we got ready to go in Lacey’s small room, and by the time we were dressed, her room was a total disaster, with piles of clothes everywhere.

  “You look great, Natalie,” said Lacey. “Like a musician.”

  Natalie was dressed in jeans and a yellow, red, and green gauzy shirt, and she wore the funkiest jewelry. Drawn to her necklace, I reached out and touched it. I didn’t think I’d ever seen it before. It was a thick silver Celtic cross on a black leather rope. “This is beautiful.”

  “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me before I left. I was saving it to wear on a special occasion. She got it in Ireland. One day I’m going to Ireland to learn about Celtic music history.”

  Like a flash, I saw the two of us walking down a road, and we were surrounded by green hills. The picture left as soon as it appeared. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting the Scottish ruins,” I said.

  “Maybe we can go there together,” said Natalie.

  A waft of flowers hit my nostrils. “In the spring,” I blurted.

  “Oh, wow. That would be so fun.” She smiled at me with a glint in her eyes. “I’d go to Scotland with you if you’d go to Ireland with me. We could visit England as well.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’d love to do England first.”

  Natalie hugged me hard, and my body vibrated. It was happening. We were going to Europe.

  She pulled back, squared her shoulders, picked up her guitar, and exhaled. “Shall we go?” she said. “If I don’t get to that coffee shop soon, I won’t go at all.”

  I glanced at her fiddle sitting in the corner. “Take that too.”

  “Why? I’m only up for one song.”

  I smiled. “I’ll carry it.”

  The coffee shop, Grinds, was packed when we got there, and we had to take a table at the back. I couldn’t believe how busy it was. Natalie placed her guitar in between her legs and held on to it as if it were her baby.

  “Good crowd,” said Lacey.

  “Really good,” said Natalie, glancing around. She leaned into me and whispered, “Too good.”

  I touched her arm. “You’re going to be amazing.”

  She put her hand on her stomach. “I think I might throw up.”

  “You’re going to be great.”

  “When they call my name, I could just stay seated. Or run to the bathroom and hide.”

  “When you get on stage, just try to forget about everyone and sing to your grandmother. You wore the necklace she gave you, and she deserves to hear you sing.”

  “You think she’ll hear me all the way in Newfoundland?” She held on to her necklace.

  “I know she will,” I whispered.

  A young guy with a wild, dark afro, dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt with some logo I couldn’t read, went over to the stand-up microphone onstage and tapped it. The noise screeched through the small room, and everyone groaned and covered their ears.

  “It’s on,” someone yelled.

  “I guess it’s on,” he joked, his voice projecting through the microphone and off the walls.

  “Turn it down!” another person yelled. Then the crowd laughed.

  Natalie leaned in to me and whispered. “Are they going to heckle me, too?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Welcome to open mic! And my name is Mike.”

  The crowd booed.

  He held up his hand. “Okay, I get it. Enough of the bad jokes. Our first performer tonight is all the way from Toronto. Please welcome him to the stage.”

  A rocker guy with hair down to his waist and an electric guitar got onstage and walked to the microphone, adjusting it to fit his height. “Hi, my name’s Mike.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “No, seriously. My name is Mike.” He plugged in his guitar, and it screeched louder than the microphone had.

  “Too much static, dude!”

  Horrified, Natalie’s eyes grew wide, and she glanced back at the person who had made the comment. “They should kick him out,” she said. “That’s so disrespectful.”

  The guy onstage started playing and singing, and once he got going, he was okay. I actually liked his rock music and thought he had a decent voice, but I wondered if he shouldn’t have tried a different venue. Coffee clubs were for music like Jewel and … Natalie.

  When he was done, the crowd cheered and clapped; a few heckled, but not many.

  “See?” I said to Natalie. “They liked him.”

  Lacey leaned across the table. “When are you on?”

  Natalie lifted her hand and put up four fingers. Lacey nodded, sat back, and picked up a menu. “Let’s get lattes and some sandwiches. They have yummy food here.”

  When the lattes arrived, I sipped mine, even though I knew caffeine was the last thing I needed. My body was still pulsing, almost like a throbbing heartbeat, and I couldn’t figure it out.

  Keep calm for Natalie. This is her night.

  I listened to the next couple of acts: a country singer and a young girl with an amazing voice who sang an Alanis Morissette song. Our sandwiches arrived on little wicker plates just before Natalie was up.

  When Natalie looked at the plate of food, her beautiful pale skin turned a shade of olive green. “Don’t look at it,” I said. “You’re next.”

  The emcee got up and told another lame joke, which some people laughed at and some booed. Natalie’s leg shook up and down. She tapped her fingers on the table. I could hear her breathing beside me.

  “And next on the stage we have a young woman from Ottawa. She is here to sing a song she wrote herself. Give it up for Natalie O’Reilly!”

  Natalie picked up her guitar and walked toward the stage, looking exotic with her lanky body, sculpted face, wide eyes, and smile that could melt the ice in a glass. Calmly, she pulled up a stool, sat down, and lowered the microphone. Her guitar rested on her lap and looked as if it were a part of her, an extension.

  “How yah gettin’ on?” she asked, smiling.

  “A fellow Newfie!” someone yelled from the audience.

  “That’s right! All the way from St. John’s.” Natalie peered into the crowd, shielding her eyes with her hand, trying to spot her fellow Newfoundlander. “Where yah from?” She sounded so casual. The stage was almost like her friend.

  “Goose Bay!” the guy yelled.

  “Lard Jesus. You’re barely a Newfie.”

  Everyone laughed. Natalie charmed the crowd with her smile as she gently strummed a few chords on her guitar, obviously warming up. When the audience had quieted, her smile vanished, and she leaned toward the microphone. “I wrote this song for my mother.” Her voice, although barely a whisper, projected to every person in the crowd. “It’s called ‘Red Eyes.’”

  The room went silent, and I held my breath. That is, until the first clear note came out of her mouth. Her haunting voice rang pure, and even though I had heard her sing many times, tonight she sounded so different. Melancholy. Sad.

  And unbelievably amazing.

  “They mean more than me,

  those red eyes.”

  Her voice hit every bone in my body. I glanced at the crowd, and they were as enthralled as I was.

  “
Did you ever try to love me more…

  than those red eyes?”

  As she sang, a deep sorrow enveloped me, and a few times I had to look down because I thought I might break into tears. Why was I so emotional? It was just a song, and I was this close to sobbing. One minute I was happy, one minute hyper, one minute sad.

  “Red eyes … red eyes.

  They greet the sunrise, and wave to the sunset…”

  The audience hung on her every note.

  “… but forget about me.

  Those red eyes.”

  When she finished, the room hushed for a second then burst out into the biggest applause of the night. I stood and clapped vigorously, and Paige, Kristen, and Lacey also stood, which got the rest of the crowd on their feet.

  Lacey pinched my arm. “That was phenomenal!” she shouted over the noise. “I can’t believe she wrote it, and her voice, it is just so … so magnificent.”

  Whistles sounded from the crowd. Natalie leaned forward and in a soft demure voice said, “Thank you.”

  The emcee came back on the stage. “Well, I think we have a star in the making. Ladies and gents, one day we will see Natalie O’Reilly’s name on a CD cover, and you can say you heard her here.” He turned to Natalie. “That was an incredible performance.”

  “Let’s hear another one from her,” yelled someone from the crowd.

  He held up his hand. “We have a long lineup waiting.”

  “Come on. Just one more from the Newfie for the Newfie.”

  The emcee looked at Natalie, and she looked over at me, horror written all over her face. I raised her fiddle in the air, and she grinned and nodded. Once she had her fiddle under her chin, she started tapping her foot and broke into a Celtic song that rocked the place. She had everyone clapping and dancing in their seats.

  We stayed and listened to the rest of the performers, and when there was one left, I suddenly felt my heart start to race again. The buzzing in my blood returned, and this time it was worse. Way worse. Too much caffeine. I needed water. I tapped my fingers on my thighs. I jiggled my leg. I bopped in my seat. I couldn’t stop my body from moving.