My fingers tingle, my hands ball into fists. I’m transported back to the hospital room when I told Devon he would need to draw for me. The sparks in my fingertips that burned underneath my casts with my want and need to draw as it had been taken away from me due to my injury, is the same feeling I get now. I haven’t drawn in days and I haven’t attempted to sketch my beloved characters and comic book ideas in years.
I see my gingerbread blueprint and pick it up, turning to walk away but I hesitate. I backpedal and take a seat at my desk, hands trembling with both fear and excitement. I open the top drawer of my desk. From under a blanket of scrap paper I remove a wad of drawings, drawings I haven’t looked at in three years – to be exact.
One night at the annual Springhollow summer fair Hope and Jess had had a few too many glasses of wine and were arguing over which Marvel superhero was superior. I had remained silent. However, once home and with my brain infused with a healthy dose of pink gin, I had stumbled into my spare room and started drawing. Somewhere around four a.m. I had succumbed to the land of nod and abandoned my comic strip. When sober and clear-headed the next day, I hadn’t been able to finish it.
Now though as I flick through the pages of colour and fine lines, I find myself grinning from ear to ear. I find my Faber-Castell pencil tin and immediately pick up where I left off. The magic, the other realms, the heroes, and villains, they all fly from my brain and straight to the page. My brows are drawn, my tongue sticks out with every swish of my wrist and stroke of my pencil. Though I’m still wary of Devon being back, I can’t help the inspiration it has unleashed inside me.
*
‘Scarlett, Scarlett.’ My hand stiffens and freezes above the page. I swear I can hear my name. ‘Scarlett, are you ready?’ I automatically look down at my attire – the vintage tee and shorts from this morning. Where the hell did the time go? My heart starts hammering when I realise I’m not on Planet Naelea but in my spare room. ‘Scarlett, are you OK?’
‘Shoot,’ I mutter to myself. My hand flies to the switch on the wall. I turn off my fairy lights and run to the door. Whipping the door closed behind me, I turn and smack straight into Hope on my small landing.
‘Why aren’t you dressed? What were you doing in there?’ she says looking me up and down, noticing my rapid breathing.
‘Whooo,’ I breathe out, making a dramatic show of bending over, placing my hands on knees, the tell-tale sign of an unfit person having just exerted themselves. ‘I was just moving around some boxes, cleaning and dusting. It was due a tidy, all those stacked boxes just collecting dust,’ I say, moving my hands from my knees to Hope’s elbows and guiding her and her puzzled expression to my bedroom door, to distract her with my apparent need to change.
‘You’ve been cleaning for five hours?’ Hope asks taking a seat on my bed. Had it been that long? Holy moly. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and spent that long drawing, let alone the last time I spent that long doing something I truly enjoyed. Oh sugar, I left the gingerbread in the fridge and all the ingredients out. I silently count to three, not wanting to panic Hope. I might now be behind schedule for my Christmas project, but I will finish it. I have to.
‘I had a lot of stuff to sort through. You know what it’s like, you come across pictures, old childhood stuff and get distracted. Boxes get heavy, it takes time moving them around.’ I’m rambling as I rifle through my cupboard for something to wear. ‘Where are we going?’ I add, trying to gauge what outfit I require. These days I don’t often pick my own ensembles. Between work, dinners with my parents and spending time at home, I’m usually in whatever outfits my mum has picked out for me or my favourite baggy tees and PJ’s.
‘Oh yeah, you stumble upon any photos of you and Devon?’ Hope asks, a smirk playing at her baby-pink lips. ‘Speaking of Devon, we’re going out remember? He invited us out this morning. I texted to tell you I accepted. Jess is meeting us at the pub. He needed longer to get ready. He’d already changed three times before I left – he’s kind of freaking out over meeting him,’ Hope tells me through a chuckle, amusement behind her eyes.
I stop rooting through my clothes to look at Hope. ‘I wasn’t looking nor did I find any pictures of me and Devon,’ I say firmly. ‘And, oh gosh, tell Jess to relax – it’s just Devon.’
‘To you maybe but not to the rest of us. I mean, of course I’m not going to go all fangirl on him or anything. I’m cool.’ As if to demonstrate her coolness, she flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘I know how emotional this is for you and I know I said I’ll be here for you but pretty please for one second can you let me have this moment and try to understand how freaking awesome this is for us comic book nerds? Your friend Devon is part of the superhero franchise and your two best friends happen to love superheroes. Whether you want to admit to liking them or not, this is a fantasy come to life for me and Jess. I know deep down you know that.’ She sort of squeals at the end of her sentence as my stomach explodes with a swarm of tiny ant men.
‘Fine.’ I huff, turning my attention back to my wardrobe. I will point out that in the ten years that I have known Hope and Jess, I never actually said I disliked comic books. I just always happened to fall busy when they wanted to watch the movies, or I remained quiet whenever they had one of their deep discussions on where they would rather live: Asgard or Wakanda? So, really, I’ve not totally been lying to them all these years.
And sure, I thought it was ridiculously cool that Devon was a superhero. I just couldn’t quite believe it, share my emotions or be outwardly giddy over it just yet. His reintroduction into my life hasn’t exactly been subtle, he’d Doctor Strange’d it out of nowhere; I am going to need more than twenty-four hours to digest it all.
I stop my search when my hands land on my olive-green maxi button-up dress and pull it off the hanger. A small smile curves at my lips as I throw the dress on to my bed and watch the fabric crinkle slightly. It seems like an age since I wore something that felt like me, besides my lounge wear. But with my mum and dad being on holiday, it’s not like I’ll see them at the pub and be given a once-over or disapproving stare from my mother. My stomach flips with a tiny jolt of excitement. I feel a little dangerous defying her – not that I’d ever want to hurt her feelings but to be free of ruffles and pink for an evening will be incredibly liberating. I wander back out into the hall and into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Hope continues talking to me through the open doors as I make quick work of putting shampoo and conditioner through my hair. As I move in and out of the water, I hear her muffles.
‘So, what was Devon like as a child? What did you guys do together, besides take baths?’ I don’t even have to glance at the bathroom doorway to know that Hope is wearing a coy grin; I can hear it in her voice.
‘We did the same as every other kid who lives in a small town, rode our skateboards round the square, played at the park, nothing out of the ordinary,’ I say casually turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around me.
Hope flings a pair of underwear at me – my lacy set of matching bra and knickers from my date drawer. ‘And played Superman and Lois Lane?’ She winks.