Colors: Orange

“Chocolate Chip Cookies warm from the oven.  With a tall glass of milk.”
“I fail to see why we’re talking about desserts.”
“But you can’t see.”
“Why are we talking about desserts?”
“Work with me here.”  Crystal’s smile came through her words as clear as sunlight on my skin.  “Chocolate Chip Cookies warm from the oven with a tall glass of milk.”  She repeated.  “Your turn.”
“I don’t know.  I’m not really a dessert person.”
“How can you not be a dessert person?  That’s like, a crime.”
“It’s not a crime.”
“Okay, work with me.”  I could hear the frustration in her voice as she leaned closer to me from across the table.
We were out for food, at some small hole in the wall kind of place I hadn’t been to before.  Which makes perfect sense, since I hadn’t been told of this place before from the people I certainly hang out with.  It smelled sharply of sesame seed oil and something that had been burnt a long time ago.  But, it smelled perfect at the same time.  Like, it was familiar and happy at the same time.
Crystal’s legs kept on knocking into mine underneath the rickety table that we sat at.  I could hear several other people in this place and not the staff.  They felt close, the heat of the place was stifling.  I felt only a little claustrophobic.  It was hard to get my bearings in a new place, after all, when there was so much movement in such a tiny place.
“Name for me a favorite food then, something that reminds me of home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, of your childhood or something like that.”
I thought about that for a moment, to the childhood which I would rather not think about.  Not that my childhood was bad, it wasn’t to any degree.  It was, in fact, not like any other child’s.  No friends to speak of, lot’s of time spent listening to the radio or reading in the dead of night.  Absent parents: they were only around really for social obligations like birthdays or the like.  I had spent a lot of my time being nannied and taught by him.
“Cigarette smoke, with the aftertaste of whiskey and a voice that reminds me of a … spice grater.”  I said finally.
That was what reminded me of the mentor I had made who helped me become independent.  He smoked indoors, despite everyone’s protests.  He had drunk whiskey regularly, so when he leaned in to whisper in my ear I could smell it on his breath and skin.  His song was harsh and painful to the ears.  But it was tantalizing enough to keep me coming back to it.
“Interesting.  Is that what you think of home?”
“Close enough?”  I shrugged.  “What is the point?”
“I”m talking about orange.”
“So orange is home then?”
“Orange is like that.  It’s familiar and warm and home and family.”  I could just picture her gesturing around her as she spoke, a blur of yellow.  “Think of this place splattered all about with orange.”
“I see.”
“No, you… no, not going to fall for that again.”
I smiled.  “Is that why you chose here?”
“Yeah.  I would’ve chosen something closer to your place and not halfway across town, but this is the homiest place in town right now.”
“So I take it you’ve been here before?”
“Almost every week like it’s a religion.  It reminds me of some time I spent on the mainland.  I used to go to a shop like this with my friends at two in the morning.  This place has the same vibe to it.”
“I see.”
“Y’all know what ya want?”  It was a loud song, drawling and slow and precise.  It felt… familiar and warm.  I tried to envision orange coming from the speaker, who was walking up to us.  “This is for paying customers only.  Ya - Crystal!  I almost didn’t recognize you with that straw mop of yours.”
“H-hey.  Sorry, was just explaining something to my friend before we ordered.”
“That’s fine, hun.  Ya get to take as long as ya need.  Haven’t seen ya around for a hot minute.  Everything good?”
“Fine, just been busy.”  I could hear something in Crystal’s voice.  It was… fear?  Anger?  What was setting her off like that?
“How’s your boy been?  I haven’t seen ya two around for a —”
The woman’s voice was cut off as Crystal stormed up in a rush.  Her pounding feet and the creases in her leather were clearly heard as she ran out of the place.  There was a rush of fresh sea air as the door opened and closed so harshly that it hurt my ears.
The whole place was silent for a few moments.  The woman spoke again, her voice barely more than a whisper.  “What happened to her, hun?”
I shook my head.  “I’m not too sure myself.”  I stood up slowly and held my cane out to guide my way.  “But I’m going to find out.”
“Best of luck there, hun.  Here, let me help ya out.”
I followed the woman as she gently guided me to the door.  At times like this, I was glad I had someone lead me and I didn’t have to concentrate as hard.  Something was wrong with my friend.  Something was utterly wrong with her, and I didn’t know what that was.
She had been helping me out for so long, in her own strange and mysterious way.  It was my turn to do the same, right?