It was September when I first saw her. The day was chilly, and a bit windy, but the most memorable part were the clouds. They weren't just regular gray or white, they were seriously an evil-looking purple color. They covered the whole sky.
I was twelve years old. I was walking home from school, and I decided I was bored with Main Street, so I took the road less traveled by. You know, I think some famous guy said that, once. Road less traveled by... Anyways, it sounded good, and I did it, and that's that.
At three o'clock sharp, I turned onto Mulberry Lane, a surprisingly cheerful name for such a truly dreary place. The pavement is old and cracked, the gutters are filled with disgusting sludge and the occasional hobo. So maybe it wasn't the best detour, but hey. I'd never even heard of this place before, and certainly never of its main attraction, or I suppose repulsion: the trees. Grey-brown, dry, dead, and unimaginably tall, they looked like those cheesy tree of life images you see on hippie bags, except the fact was, they were not exactly trees of life. They were dead. So I suppose we would have to call them trees of death instead.
And I suppose I should mention that this is where she lives. Sepia: 542 Mulberry Lane. Grey. Trees. Dead...that's what I think of when I think of Sepia and her home.
But on that day, I didn't know her yet. I had to meet her still. I continued down the miserable street, wary of the hungry eyes watching me from the gutters, faces that were not saying a word and yet begging me for anything, anything I could give them. I knew I had a couple of dollars in my pocket, but I didn't give. I was way too scared to do anything, really.
Finally, I saw bright colorful houses, only a block away from where I stood. I breathed a quick sigh of relief, hurrying ahead. That's when I spotted her: up in one of those horrible trees of death near the end of the street, swaying slightly on a branch with her eyes closed. i caught my breath and paused for a moment in the middle of the dejected pavement. She was beautiful: brassy hair, small nose, relaxed face. Skinny.
But she was swaying, more and more, her hands going limp, her legs slipping from the dark bark. I took a run for it, dashing across the rough asphalt and leaping over the muddy guck. I barreled across the dry grass to get to the tree, which was sitting precariously close to a small, dull, yellowish-gray house. I remember that color the best: yellow-gray. I can hardly remember anything in that moment but the yellow-gray of it all.
She fell off the branch just as I reached her, trying desperately to stop myself in time. I did. I grunted when the full force of her body hit me from twenty feet above, sending us both tumbling to the yellow-gray grass below. She was not hurt, but she crashed awake as soon as she touched the ground. Yeah. That was how I met Sepia.
We picked ourselves up gingerly, brushing off bits of crackly grass and dirt, which was frankly much more like dust. There was no water to speak of in the ground in this place. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and she looked at me with a blank stare.
"Um, I'm Skyler. You can call me Sky. I-" I thought it probably wouldn't sound very nice if I said, "I just saved you from falling to your death from a dead tree. Nice to meet you!" so instead I settled for a lame answer just to end the awkward silence, "I hope you feel better."
She blinked. "I was sleeping. I'm not sick, I'm fine. And I'm Sepia."
"Wait...did you just say something about old style photographs, or was that just me?"
She looked annoyed, like she'd heard that far too many times before, but replied, "My name is Sepia. Thanks for your help." Rather abruptly, she turned and headed for the dull shack of a home behind her, not saying another word to me at all.
"Wait," I cried out. She turned back around, a slight frown visible on that lovely face. "Meet me tomorrow here...three fifteen?" I said. I wanted to see her again.
Sepia looked at me for a few more moments, inclined her head slightly, then proceeded walking back to the house, treading lightly over the tiny, yellow-gray plants barely surviving beneath our feat, the air the world...
Did I mention it was chilly?
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