White
by Anne Earney
She turned white--dead white. I’ve never seen anyone as white as Casey. I think William
was more surprised than I was. He was there when she went from pale, pale pink to burnt
orange. It was quite a process, he said, her true colors coming through, her depth and
richness growing day after day. He said she put down the fashion magazines and picked
up the revolutionary fliers like a pro. But I saw her, just the other day, gazing at the plain
people. She stared at them as they packed their bags full of plastic things and curled
their hair around their pinky fingers. One Monday, we sat outside the coffee shop--me,
painting my legs green, and Casey, braiding the hair on her arms and the thoughts in her
head. She asked me, “Do you ever consider going back?”
That's been the problem with Casey. She forgets all the time that everyone didn't start out
wishy-washy white. Jim, for instance, has always been blue, through and through.
Mikey, green from his thumbs to his toes. And Melissa is black on black, despite her
yellow eyes. It's just the cool cat in her. I went from a kind of yellow-belly to solid gold--
but I’ve never been white, of all things. Did I think about going back?
“Good golly no, sister,” I said, rolling my eyes so high they turned inside out.
Two days later, when William and his girl-boy, Jessica, saw her, white as can be and
headed for the mall, I wasn’t surprised. They said she was carrying a little plastic purse
with fish swimming around a gel sea on the sides. They said the reflection of light from
her skin almost blinded them to the truth. My heart broke when they told me. I didn’t talk
to anyone about it, not even William; but he knew. I added a spot of glitter to my left big
toe, a tribute to my burnt-orange friend, gone white. William added a new jewel to his
cheek.
I don’t think about her much, anymore; I only see her from a distance. The time I used to
spend with her, I've started spending with James, a man I bought sandwich meat for at the
grocery store. James got out of a mental institution. It's not easy for him to get his life
back on track, but he's trying to stay out of trouble. I told him I'd go downtown with him, so
he could apply for food stamps. I don't make enough money to keep him in lunchmeat.
We were sitting at the bus stop one day, sweating in the afternoon sun, when I found out
he knew Casey.
He said he sees a blond girl with a fish purse giving money to the homeless. She gives
coins to anyone who will take them. I asked James, "Is that normal?" James said, "You
never can tell. Sometimes the rich give a dime and the children give you their life
savings. Sometimes women help old men cross the street. Some people want their dry-
cleaners to find dirt on the cuffs of their pants."
That helped my heart a little, healed the breaking Casey caused, but my eyebrows are
always knitted up and I get a headache from the squinting. It’s like I can still see my burnt-
orange friend, yet I am blinded by the white.
* * *
Casey heard her on the way out of town, yelling down the street. "Once you've been
blue, you carry it with you always." BB was like that, so sure she knew which way to go
that she couldn't turn around to see who was sneaking up behind her. But if you've
always been down, Casey thought, maybe all you can see is down, down and around, like
a dog tied to a tree in a valley.
Casey didn't believe BB anyhow. She was going to give it away, spread it around, get it
off her chest and out of her hair. Set all those little fishies free. She had it all planned
out. Reach into her purse, pull one up, and without even looking at it, give it to the first
person who would take it. The recipients are blind, and do not know what they're getting.
But Casey knows what she's giving.
Her load gets lighter and lighter. So light she thinks her self is coming right up out of her
body, her body coming right up off the ground. And that's how you'd see her now, a pair
of white feet dangling down in front of your eyes. The toes wiggle, little white piggies
tickled by your breath.
Just when you've gotten used to that idea, a coin drops down from above and hits you on
the tip of your nose. You think it might leave a mark.
You bend down close to the earth to pick it up and while you're bent over digging in the
dirt, the feet float away.
Casey's body, attached to the feet, has a smile on its face, quite content without the self.
Nothing to think about--Casey's body is white noise.
The coin you picked up will be the heaviest in your pocket.