Catch the Touch of Blue
Dreams & Desires, vol. 4

Excerpt

Isobel craved blue.

Out of all of the quotes from sacred literature, only one made an impression upon her: “Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it.” Isobel wanted to be swallowed in the ocean’s depths, to swim out to sea and never return. To witness the sky expanding out beyond the point she could perceive, overwhelmingly vast and infinitely grand. She desired to catch the touch of blue in someone’s eyes, to feel warm azure in the embrace of another, to view the cerulean sky reflected in the measureless waters. In her dreams, she saw someone else whom she could talk to about her experiences, her life...and her biggest secret. A best friend and soul mate. His face remained blurred in shadows, but in all her twenty-six years, she never stopped wishing for the impossible.

One potential customer after another passed by her table, so many muddled hues of the tourists on vacation, many of them with recognizable Boston accents but some of them from out of town. Isobel watched the sea of colors surrounding each individual walking by. Such beauty. The strange but beautiful colors revealed what people thought and felt. Sometimes, those hues showed illness, other times a frightful amount of emotion she didn’t recognize. She longed to touch the gorgeous hues of some of them, but held back for fear of shame and reprisal.

Isobel sighed. It wasn’t that she hadn’t attempted to meet people. At clubs, she had a few drinks, danced, and watched the rivers of pink, green, and orange as they swayed to the music. She reveled in the beauty of the reds as they danced, but took great care never to get too close to their flame. Later on, she would try bars—but the colors there drowned in misery and desperation, and she resolved never to return. The libraries held vast wonders of deep sea green and violet, but nowhere did she find the intensity of the cobalt blue she held firm in her mind’s eye.

A British couple paused to admire one of the paintings she took a huge amount of pride in: a sun setting over two lighthouses. The man shimmered with orange and red hues, the woman in violet, their colors brightening when they talked to her about the painting and their trip to the Cape. They like it, they like it! They bought a print much to her delight.

Brilliant blue hues as from a sapphire gem sparkled out of the corner of her eye. Isobel abruptly turned to see a newcomer—a man in perhaps his early thirties, clad in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. His clothing revealed a lean but well-sculpted body—not too muscular but not too lean, just right for her tastes—but his eyes caught her attention the most. Dark brown in color and with such intensity in them she could see deep oceans and vast skies.

Such beautiful eyes. She blinked, realizing that she stared. Hopefully he didn’t notice. He walked with ease, his hands in his pockets, clearly at peace with the summer day. The heat didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest; most of the people shone with sweat, but his skin was dry. His gaze darted around to the various wares on display with an eagerness that fascinated her.

When he approached her booth, Isobel discretely wiped her sweaty palms on her denim shorts—nervousness and not heat made her palms damp. She did her best to smile at him in the glare of the noonday sun and hoped he would linger at her table.