2. Complementary

Bob sat in the salon chair with a pastel rainbow draped over his chest. The woman flipped the cloth swatches quickly below his chin, fanning his hair away from his forehead with the breeze of her intensity.

‘See,” She said, quickly going through the pastels, “Your face gets lost here. Where is your face? It goes away, it disappears, you are no longer here.”

The woman took out the panels of darker colors. Forest green, maroon, navy blue. She held the swatches underneath his chin and immediately started nodding. She quickly flipped through the colors once to give Bob an immediate impression of their effect on his hair color and skin tone. ‘See,’ She said, ‘This one is good, this is you come forward. I see your face and your nose. Did you notice that your nose is uneven?’

Bob hadn’t really noticed that before.

‘Does it ever feel funny breathing?’ The woman said with a stern face. ‘That nostril,’ She pointed at his left nostril, ‘That one there, that one collapses, I bet, when you try to breath through your nose.’

Tom looked at the color expert with hopeless eyes.

The woman nodded. ‘Yes, exactly, see, your nostril is too small, maybe its deviated or something. Instead, try this.’ The woman stood up straight and lifted her chin. She looked down over her nose at Bob and nodded at him. She took her right hand and placed it on her chest while she put her left back and down onto her tailbone. ‘When you breath,’ She said, standing strictly erect, ‘Don’t breath at the nose.’ Her eyes widened as she breathed in. ‘Breath in to your throat.’ She breathed in again, in a way that Bob just assumed was meant to mean the back of her throat.

She put her hands down and then pointed at Bob. You, you try it now.’

Tom breathed through his nose. The woman shook her head. ‘No, you are breathing at your nose. Breathethrough your nose, breathe to the back of your throat.’

Tom breathed in a made a funny sound, as if he was blowing over the top of the wide throat of a clay jar. The woman nodded. ‘Yes, yes,’ She said. ‘Good, you are almost there.’

She reached toward the counter of the salon and picked up the dark swatches that she had put down so she could teach Bob how to breath better. She nodded again, ‘Yes, yes,’ She murmured. So you are dark and mysterious, and pale.’ She told Bob.

Bob nodded. ‘Alright, thank you. Did we try everything then?’

The lady nodded, ‘You are definintely dark and wintery.’

‘Alright, thats ok, thanks. But did we try all of the colors? We should try everything just in case.’

The lady shook her head. ‘What is the point? We are done, it is very obvious what you are. You are very good looking, this isn’t very difficult. I will find you a pamphlet, it will explain everything.’

Bob pointed at another set of swatches high up on a shelf in the corner of the store. The corners of the fabric hung lazily off the edge of the white particle board. They seemed musty, fuzzy and difficult to discern one from the other. ‘What about those ones?’

The lady was over in her pile of pamphlets looking for winter. ‘What do you mean those ones, there is nothing there, Mr. Winter.’

‘Over there!’ said Bob, pointing. The winter colors slid off his chest as he held his arm up.

‘No, sorry, there is nothing there.’

‘But you aren’t even looking.’

‘Yes I did.’

‘Sure, but you are not!’

The colorist turned and looked at Bob silently. She still hadn’t found the winter pamphlet, and stood there with her arms at her side, staring.

Bob was struck by her sense of confrontation. ‘Look,’ He said, ‘Up there.’

The colorist slowly looked up towards the shelves in the corner of the salon. She stared for a beat and the turned back to Bob. ‘I don’t see anything.’ She said.

‘You don’t see those color swatches up there?’

She shook her head. ‘Those aren’t color swatches.’

‘What are they then?’

‘They are nothing for a winter.’

Bob stood up from the salon chair. He pointed a finger at his colorist. ‘Listen lady, I didn’t fly all the way over here in order for you to just blow me off and tell me something that I could have found googling on the internet. Come on! Let’s do this.’

The lady shook her head. ‘You flew all the over here for my expert advice. You should take it!’

Bob shook his head and walked over to the shelves.

‘What are you doing?!’ Asked the woman.

Bob didn’t say anything, and reached for the upper shelf.

‘You shouldn’t do this!’ Said the woman.

Bob couldn’t reach the upper shelf, so he grabbed a chair and dragged it over to stand on. He stood on the chair and picked the muddled swatches off of their shelf. Even though he was so close to them now, holding them in his hands, he still couldn’t say what colors they were exactly. Were they complementary? Are they yellow, or is that more red orange? Purple? Is that wine? The swatches seemed seemed incredibly old and undefined.

Bob stepped down from the chair and walked over to his own seat.

‘You put those down immediately!’ She said, again, stressing that he must do it right now. ‘Or else!’

Tom smirked. ‘Easy, its only colors. I don’t get why we can’t try them.’

‘You have to trust me!’

Tom turned and sat down in the seat. He pulled the white gown over his clothes again to present a clean pallet in the mirror. He looked over at the woman, smiled, then turned back to look in the mirror.

He held the mysterious swatches up to his chin and promptly disappeared from sight.

The woman screamed.

‘What the fuck?’ Shouted a disembodied voice in the room.

‘Put them down! Put them down!’ Shouted the woman.

There was a slap as the swatches fell from the mans fist and onto the tile floor. He was still invisible in the chair. Bob was still invisible.

‘Oh no,’ said the woman, dejectedly.

‘Oh no what!’ Shouted Bob. The salon chair creaked as he stood up. A white sheet apparated out of thin air as it fell to the ground. ‘Where am I? What happened?’

‘Oh boy, you did it. You really did it.’

‘What the hell were those?’

‘Those, Mr. Bossy, are colors that you don’t have names for. You don’t know those colors!’

‘What the hell do you mean, of course I know the colors.’

‘No you don’t! You don’t have names for them dummy, you don’t know them!’

‘So what! Why should that make me disappear?’

‘They knew you! They know your name! They are wearing you now, and they are not winters! You are truly washed out now.’

‘What?’

‘You are washed out, your features are disappeared. They went with the colors. You have faded away, Mr. Winter’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘You are invisible, but I make no sense. OK.’

‘You cant see me either, right?’

‘No, no, I can see you, and you really don’t flatter those colors. I told you.’

‘Wait, why can you see me but I cant?’

‘Because we have names for those colors! I know them!’

Bob screamed in frustration. ‘That doesn’t make any sense!’

The colorist shook her head. ‘You people. Everyone comes in here, thinking colors are nice, colors are cute, why don’t I get some colors that work better. I want to be beautiful, I will just take them.

‘No! No respect! Nothing with such power does not have a dark side. Colors must be respected, or they take their powers and use them on you. Clashing colors? Contrasting colors? Try angry colors-’

‘Alright Alright Alright’ Said Bob, ‘OK, I messed up! Messed up! I’m sorry! What do I do?’ Bob started to cough.

‘You are bleached, my friend, I am sorry. There is nothing I can do.’

Bob stumbled as he stepped toward the door, panic driving him out of the salon. He tried to save himself but fell flat onto the tiles. He tried to get up off of the floor, but could only manage to push himself to his knees and hands as the energy left his body. The colorist watching him quietly, regretfully, as she saw all of the colors slowly drain from Bob and abandon his body. He trembled, and then collapsed again to the floor. When he turned alabaster, Bob seemed to be made of stone for a brief moment before he darkened into an overripe black shadow and melted into the tiles beneath it.

The colorist picked the swatches up off of the floor and put them back on the shelf before she swept the floor of anything to do with Bob.

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