Lost Things: bk 1:Lost colors:chapter 1

I

When Sienna moved to the new neighborhood when she was twelve, she barely needed adjusting. It was an instant connection; the vast yellowy grasslands and the isolation of the houses, the streets that stretched out to one house to the other in long, dismal channels and the sky that sung of sadness and pale gray and golden hues. Friends were not her need, for she had her pets, but she called it the new-kid-syndrome, how the neighborhood children came and asked to play.

She didn’t care about popularity and anything else, just music, books, skating and art, but in the neighborhood she knew almost everyone but only to a certain level, decided not to go deeper and not too shallow.

When she turned seventeen, the neighborhood barely changed; the grass was still yellow and blew in the same direction when the wind visited them, bringing news of rain and summer and spring and winter. Sienna grew a handful of inches but stayed the same, some pets come and gone. One certain day she came rolling home (as rolling on skates was the fastest means of transport to the houses that were set far apart by long gray streets) with two of the smallest kittens she’d ever seen. She put them at once in an empty CD basket and they stared at her, yowling shrilly. Sienna’s mother heard the noise and came into the living room and she asked, “Darling, where did you get them?”
“In the city, with the mother and seven other small kittens,” Sienna replied.
“What happened to the other eight cats?”
“They’re dead, Mama. There was a truck parked over them, probably didn’t see where it was going.”
Mama wrinkled her nose. “I understand the rush. The King just died.”
Sienna looked tenderly at her kittens; in her mind she had already named them. “Yeah? Why?”
“I don’t know.” Mama went back to the kitchen. Sienna gave the brown kitten a scratch on the chin.
“You will be Mudpie.” Sienna said. She wondered why Mama sounded so glum when she said ‘I don’t know’. Was there something wrong?
One of the kittens clawed at the brim of the basket, climbed up and tumbled outside, shrieking as it landed on its back.
“You’ll be Johnnie.” Sienna said and she put Johnnie back in the basket to be carried out to the veranda where she kept her pets.

*                                        *                                        *

“Why the hell did you call it Mudpie?”
“Because it looked white then got itself stuck in mud.”
“You could’ve just called it Mud.”
“I liked Mudpie.”
“Had you been hungry for mudpie?”
“Maybe.”
There was a pause on the other line.
“God, I think I’m hungry for some mudpie.” Sheldon said.
“I’m hungry for something….I don’t know.” Sienna said. Sheldon was a new acquaintance; a tall boy they called one-eyed Sheldon because he kept one eye hidden under his hair. He was always hungry; for food, for talking, for everything new. It was a type of hunger that introduced you to new things and taught you everything. Sienna met him at a late night gig in the wet, neon-lighted outskirts of the capital, and took a particular liking to him because he had the wide-eyed curiosity of a small cat. Or rather, of every small pet she brings home for the first time. She admired him because he knew how to play every instrument on the set and sang and swayed to the vintage tunes of the Deftones, and he could sing to everything else. But everybody liked him because of this and one-eyed Sheldon knew everyone in the late night scene.
“What are you hungry for if you don’t know?” one eyed Sheldon asked.
“For something. A craving for something I haven’t fully identified yet.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“Yes and an after-snack,” Sheldon laughed, “Now I’d like some mudpie.”
“I’m hungry for some cabbage.”
“Cabbage?”
“Yes. Cooked with butter and soy sauce and garlic and chicken.”
“You’re making me hungry.”
“You always are.”
In the living room, the evening news grew louder.
“Did you hear; the king just died.”
“Yeah. The main road’s blocked. People are running to the palace.”
“Why?”
“I dunno; maybe they couldn’t believe it?” Sheldon said, “I mean, he’s led one helluva long life; he’s been king for as far as I can remember.”
Sienna twirled the telephone cord around her finger and nibbled on it lightly.
“Or maybe they’re sad because they loved him so much.”
Sheldon laughed. “Uh, sure.”
“For how long has he been king?”
“Dunno.” Sheldon paused, “When my Mom was born, he was just getting married to his then queen. Then again, he had two queens before that.”
“How old is he?”
“A hundred maybe,” Sheldon laughed.
From the living room, Sienna heard Mama utter low, comforting words.
“How’d he die?”
“Dunno.”
“Dropped dead?”
“Now that’s a theory.” Sheldon chuckled, “But maybe he did. He’s too old.”
“He had to make room for other people to be born.”
Sheldon laughed. “Hey, gotta go. I don’t have any more coins.”
“You used a phone booth?”
“Yeah. It was getting lonely, standing alone for all eternity in the bus stop.”
“That’s cute, Sheldon,” Sienna laughed, “g’bye.”
“Yeah, goodbye—”
Sienna crept off her bed after hanging up and crawled to the door. She pulled it open just wide enough to accommodate limited sight into the living room. She could see the tops of her parents’ heads behind the sofa, watching the news. Mama was whispering gently and Sienna thought she heard Papa sob. But the news was on quite loud and everybody in it were sobbing. The reporter and the people in the background, of the sad, sad news of the king’s death. They sobbed to the screen and on each other’s shoulders, and then it began to rain of mourning. Everybody got so wet but remained in front of the palace gates, pushing and shoving and turning to each other and patting their backs.
“You should be sad; everybody else is,” Sienna told her pets after dinner. Three small and multicolored chicks stood chirping stupidly into each other’s faces while a chicken looked over them. Beyond their pen was the basket where Mudpie and Johnnie lay snoring. Next to that was the nest of eight fat field mice. Next to Sienna sat the fat puppy named Larry. Larry seemed so intelligent, how he looked at people as if he could understand what they said and could respond with wisdom.
Sadness is for the loss of greatness. Larry licked his nose.
Sienna leaned on the wall and stared out into the night. The stars stayed twinkling as they were, unmoved by the death of one of the greatest kings to rule the neo-monarchial form of governments.
But then, the stars don’t care. Larry laid his head on his front paws.
“They’re just balls of gas and fire.” Sienna said.
And they die.
Sienna patted Larry’s head. “Last night I did this difficult riff. My fingers actually hurt and one of them bled. But the music sounded so good I couldn’t stop.”
Sacrifice is the sister of success.
“And Sheldon wanted to teach me how to slap. But I don’t have a bass guitar. Yet. You think I should get a bass guitar, Sheldon?”
The biggest of the field mice pricked up its ears and wiggled its nose before returning to its previous curled up form. From where Sienna was, the mice, when curled up into several little balls, looked like one big lump of brown fluff. The silence and simplicity of bored perception pierced through night and reached the stars, which seemed to understand it best.