complex - part one
Author's note: One of my favorite pieces I've written thus far.
feeling blueT h e next morning, it was back to the bus and into the main city. In all of the local newspapers, and one national tabloid magazine, three photos of the 'Denim Blue Blur' were placed variously on the covers somewhere. Witnesses in and outside the bus told surprisingly accurate accounts of what happened. They'd given brief descriptions of me to police and reporters; thank goodness I looked like the generic public. Anyone that was wearing a blue denim jacket, was in their teens, and looked kind of raggedy were immediately pointed out as the Denim Blue Blur. This was L.A. so there was a lot of that.
In a coffee shop, someone shouted "It's the Denim Blue Blur!"
It was some twenty-something-looking guy with a beanie on, dorkishly thick glasses, and a five o'clock shadow at nine in the morning. He was pointing at me. Everyone glanced at him, then followed his pointing to me. I rolled my eyes at him, then at everyone else. I wasn't denying anything, see?
"Shut up! You said that three times already," hissed the girl sitting next to him. I wasn't thoroughly convinced they were together, only friends.
Ignoring them—and admittedly slightly shaken—I went to the counter and asked for their special. I felt eyes on me, and I glanced as slightly as possible to see Twenty-Something still watching me, whispering to the girl next to him. I turned back to the counter and listened closely.
"He looks just like the sketch, Kim," he whispered on. Sketch? "You saw it, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but, come on. Like the Denim Blue Blur would stop at a coffee shop in L.A.? Isn't he just a kid?"
"Exactly! That's gotta be him."
"Then go ask him."
"Ask him what?"
"Ask him if he's the Denim Blue Blur."
"He's just a kid, Sam. Go ask." There was some scrambling, so I assumed either he stumbled out of his seat or she shoved him. I was still waiting for my order as I felt the Sam move closer. His hesitation was obvious, and I guessed he glanced back at Kim.
He tapped my shoulder; I turned. "Are you the Denim Blue Blur the news and papers were talking about?" he asked quickly, his voice quivering. Kim was watching us, but when I glanced at her she hastily looked away.
My order was ready, and I dumped the rest of my money—no bills—onto the counter. "Thanks," I told the girl. "Am I the Denim Blue Blur?" I asked Sam incredulously.
Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah, dude. You look just like the sketch."
"The one that came on the news. Didn't you see it?"
"So… you're not the Denim Blue Blur?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You look exactly like it."
I laughed. "Maybe you need some stronger glasses, Sam." See, I denied nothing.
I smiled at Kim—subtly pretty—as I walked out the door. The L.A. traffic greeted me, as usual, and I sipped my drink all the way to the lights. As I crossed the street, I realized how dumb I'd been.
What would Sam think about me knowing his name, when we clearly hadn't met, and I shouldn't have been able to hear Kim say his name from where I'd been standing?
What was more crap was that I had to go over to Rob's precinct and ask what was what… and if he could spare me a couple of more bucks.
A lot of crap so early in the morning wasn't fun.