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Chapter One
Point of View: Nick


The first time I met her, she was dancing with an umbrella in bright red galoshes in the middle of the street at two o’clock in the morning, singing a song I’d never heard before in the most ridiculous tone-deaf, off-key manner, splaying out her fingers and spinning, spinning, spinning around and around, as the rain fell down and made her little braids stick to her neck.

She was wearing nothing but underwear, those galoshes, and a necklace – which was a bunch of colorful plastic beads strung together on birthday present ribbon of the most brilliant sapphire blue.

I thought she was insane.

”I’m haaaappy in the rain, like a washed up clam, relaxin’ in the sand – so happy singing and dancing in the rain, the world is bring and I feel alright – so happy, just feeling the rain on my skin… it fixes everything…”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I demanded of her, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The rain pattered against my head. I’d been listening to her tuneless wailing for the past hour – the same song, over and over and over again – but it was too hot to close the window. I ventured into the night rain to confront the mysterious musical woman on the cement out front.

“Dance with me!” she cried in a lunatic voice.

“What nut house did you escape from?” I asked her, watching as she pirouetted through puddles and kicked the water up like little fireworks.

She grabbed my hands as response, and I felt her palms were sticky and slimy. Paint - like actual acrylic paint- oozed from between our hands and she laughed and her eyes scrunched up tight and she spun me around with her in circles, gripping my fingers tightly in her own. When she finally stopped, we stumbled in opposite directions, each clutching our stomachs. She laughed as she retched into the bushes that lined my front lawn.

Now I knew she was insane. Completely, motha-fucking looney.

Once she’d finished puking out her guts, she looked at me, all unfocused and wobbly, and announced, “I’m really sleepy, Mister.”

“Well it is two in the fucking morning,” I answered, “Go to bed.”

“And waste all this beautiful rain?” she asked, spreading out her arms to indicate the waterfall around us, which was growing heavier by the moment. Her bra, I could not help but notice, was very pale yellow, very wet and very, very see-through.

Really, I was trying not to look but… well, they were nice, so in a way I was trying to not not-to look, too. Paint was running down her arms and I looked at my hands and realized she’d smeared it all up my arms, too, and all over my shirt. I felt like a rainbow barfed on me.

“Look, I’m going inside, just please go sing somewhere else, okay? I have a early morning and I can’t sleep with you out here sounding like a bagpipe with an airleak, okay?”

She looked at me. “You’re Nick, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m Krystal,” she introduced herself. She pointed at the house across the street. “I’m painting it purple with yellow doors and blue shutters. Is that okay with you?”

I blinked at her. “Dude,” I said quietly, “What the fuck are you on right now?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Perhaps I’ll paint a giant daisy across the front of the house and use the little window over the door as its center bud…” she smiled, “Wouldn’t that be most fantastic?”

“Good night,” I said, turning toward my house. I had enough drugged-up people in my life right now… I didn’t need another one. I was so fucking sick of hearing about drugs and alcohol and rehab and all that bullshit these days that it was incredible…

Krystal reached for my hand. “I don’t like being alone,” she said.

“So call your friends.” I tried to pull my hand back, but she’d grabbed my weak one and I winced. The bones in there still hurt, they hadn’t quite finished healing just yet…

“I don’t have any,” she replied. “Not even one.”

Her eyes were sincere.

“Did you keep all the old ones up til 2am singing?” I asked. “’Cause call me crazy, but I think that might scare them away.”

Krystal smiled sadly, but she let go of my hand meekly.

“Good night,” I said, my voice carrying the tone of finality.

Krystal stood on the yellow solid line between sides of the street and watched as I walked away, up the path to my house, which I locked for once.

Inside, I headed straight up to my bedroom and glanced out the window as I ripped off my shirt. Krystal had sat down on the yellow line, her red umbrella like a mushroom hanging over her head.

I shook my head, “Jesus, she’s fucked up…” I muttered, snatching the covers off my bed and crawling in the pouch. I tucked myself in and closed my eyes.

I’d been laying there maybe a minute and a half when the singing started once more.