A Different Blue

by Amy Harmon

“Maybe that’s what you are . . . a little blackbird a long way from home.”

That night, hope died, as did my sense of self. I didn’t sacrifice who I was, not exactly. It was ripped from me. Jimmy’s little blackbird died a slow and painful death. In her place I built a gaudy, colorful, blue bird. A loud, obnoxious peacock with bright feathers, who dressed to call attention to her beauty at every moment, and craved affection. But it was all just a bright disguise.

I wanted to hate him because he was beautiful in a way I would never be.

I leaned my heavy head against my knees, letting the strings Wilson played untie the knots in my soul and release me, even for a moment, from the burdens I dragged along like clanking cans and filthy chains.

What if there was a way to let them go forever? What if I could be different? What if life could be different? What if I could be somebody? I had little hope. But there was something in the music that whispered of possibility and breathed life into a very private dream.

My life was not a testament to being saved from anything. It was not a testament to love—not anybody’s love.

My head firmly rejected the idea. Grace wouldn’t save me. But in the tiny, neglected corner of my heart, freshly awakened by the music, I suddenly believed it might. I believed it could.

“God? I’m ugly inside. And it’s not my fault. You know it’s not. I’ll take responsibility for some of it, but you’ve gotta own up to your part, too. Nobody saved me. Nobody gave a shit. Nobody came to my rescue.” I gulped, feeling the sorrow in my throat, making it hurt to swallow, but it was pain I’d been swallowing for a long time, and I forced it down. “So I’m asking you now. Can you take it away? Can you take away the ugliness?”

“God? If you love me . . . take it away. Please. I’m asking you to take it away. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” I wrapped my head in my arms, and let the torrent consume me. I had never let myself cry like this. I had feared that if I opened the floodgates I would drown. But as the waves crashed over me, I was not consumed, I was swept up, washed, my soul blanketed with blessed relief. Hope rose within me like a buoy. And with the hope, came peace. And the peace calmed the waters and quieted the storm, until I sat, spent, bled out, done.

pulled his hand back, waiting for me to continue. “That night . . . something happened to me. Something I’ve never felt before. I was heartbroken and sick inside. And I prayed. I cried out for love, not even knowing that love was what I asked for. I needed to feel loved, and it was just . . . just poured down on me. No strings, no ultimatums, no promises required. Just freely given. All I had to do was ask. And I was . . . changed by it. In that moment, I felt . . . healed.” I

You’re wrong about one thing, though. Girls like me notice guys like you. We just don’t think we deserve them.”

“I keep wishing you had had a better life . . . a different life. But a different life would have made you a different Blue.” He looked at me then. “And that would be the biggest tragedy of all.”

“I was afraid, Blue,” he repeated, insistent. “You’ve been through so much. And I am half mad over you. I don’t think you are ready for the way I feel.”

I was scarred, but I was not broken. Beneath my wounds I was still whole. Beneath my insecurities, beneath my pain, beneath my struggle, beneath it all, I was still whole.

“Sometimes I feel like I have a huge, gaping hole from my chin to my waist, a wide-open negative space that life has just carved away. But it’s not beautiful, Wilson. Sometimes it feels empty and dark . . . and . . . and no amount of sanding or polish will make it into something it isn’t. I’m afraid if I let you love me, your love will be swallowed up in that hole, and in turn you will be swallowed up by it.”

“I’ve never felt about anybody the way I feel about you,” I confessed in a rush. “I can’t imagine that what I’m feeling isn’t love. But ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel adequate to express it.” I plunged headlong into babbling. “I desperately want you to love me. I need you to love me—but I don’t want to need it, and I’m afraid that I need it too much.”

I was spent without compromise, sated without sacrifice, completely and totally head over heels in love. And it was delicious.