Tangled.

The nail polish was called hot sauce. Sassy red. Fresh on her toenails. She was just about to slip into her size sevens. Lookin’ cute in her open toes. She would often put her shoes on first, before getting dressed, because she liked to walk around naked in her heels for a bit. For some reason she felt empowered that way. Free and sexy. So desirable.

She wiggled her way into her size three dress. The halter one. With the ruffle down the deep V. Ruffles say I want to play.

She bent over, flipping her hair in front so she could tie the bow just so at the nape of her neck. She grabbed the lotion. It was cold on her supple skin. She liked it. Crushed cherries and almonds enveloping her freshly washed up body.

It had been just barely six months since she’d flopped belly up on shore. She got lost in her head one day and found herself floating on a boat. In the ocean. Aimlessly.

We’ll all float on okay.

Her boat beached. Body washed up. The girl that found her there, celestial, took her home.

A budding friendship, sparked by a tortured soul. Out of darkness bloom roses of white.

Celestial was Bee. Tortured was Olive.

Bee had been out of college for a couple years now. Buzzing around this whimsical life, she had a bubble about her, not an all-inclusive mind on me bubble, but one that swallowed all those who came near. Her positive attitude contagious. Smiles beaming always. Her voice had a lilt. Honey on her lips. Her giggle, her giggle would catapult you out of depression and into meadows teeming with break-dancing fairies and ribbon-dancing unicorns.

She had magic in her touch.

Olive had been pickled in the juices of a horribly fucked up family. Her mind raped. Her body trespassed. She lost her will to live somewhere back in a dark bedroom, shivering under a dirty sheet. Her face void of expression. Heart locked up in a brittle cage. Frozen.

Her eyes were holes in the earth.

The party was for Olive’s twenty-fifth birthday. It was a mid-summer night and the air was like warm cotton candy. Sticky, but somehow soft with its caress.

Bee had gone too far for this party. A bit overboard. Olive hadn’t a clue at the magnitude of this extravaganza. All she knew was the attire. A black and white affair.

Olive’s dress was black. Bee’s white. Two parts of a whole. Both darkness and light.

The party was a tornado of torrential happiness. Swirling the two into a tunnel and then up, out, into the air, where they floated for awhile. Buoyantly thriving on a friendship the two of them never knew existed.

It was extravagant. The party. Comparable to a wedding. The union of two individuals in perfect fratrimony. Guests were dressed in black and white but the decorations were all vibrant colors of the rainbow. Glassy eyes reflecting shades of light.

It seemed Olive’s gloopy juices of darkness would swallow Bee’s warmth, her positive energy. But alas, darkness only serves to amplify light.

The party was full of Bee’s friends and family, and even some strangers. Olive thought it quite strange to invite strangers, but Bee, Bee couldn’t have cared less about it all. People need people. And so she invited all of those that bumped into her bubble.

Bee was a bumbler, but not in the sense of being so clumsy, she was a bumbler in a manner of humming. No matter where she flitted, a hum would fly. People noticed her. Flocked to her. Her hum flew out like a net, alighting on those nearby. Strangers unknowingly fell privy to her joyful contagion.

And so she invited. And so strangers were innocuously infected. Light and energy intravenously injected through her electrical touch. Her hum like a current, her selflessness shocking.

Olive tried to remain social at the party. Tried to come outside of her box. Shove herself into the circles of others. It still felt strange. To talk to people. To smile. To laugh even. Those last days before the boat, were black. Black like her dress. Memories dissolved beneath the curves of her hips.

She remembered drinking. Tequila. A lot of it. To Kill a Mockingbird. Her favorite book. Tequila Mockingbird. Her own concocted cocktail. Lots of tequila. With Mountain Dew. The Code Red kind. So delightful. Kill this mockingbird.

Code Red. Code Red. Code fucking Red. It always sent her to the floor. This time it sent her to a boat. The boat floated.

But not to her demise.

We’ll all float on okay.

Bee bumbled along on the beach that day. Olive awoke to her humming. The humming brought hope and with it the will to live. The sun shining on her skin brought warmth and with it a whisper, a subtle slight of God to be strong, to be brave. To let go.

As each day goes by, the light strips away the darkness. Layers of an onion. Tears are shed at the intensity. Tears fall. Skin sloughs. Tender is the night. Faithful is the morning.

Bee will never know the immensity of her smile. She unknowingly emits a beam. Walking about life living for others. And like sponges they soak it up.

The party ended. The night came to a close, but not before Bee rallied the crowd for a deep bellied bout of the birthday song. All eyes on Olive. And Olive, never once the center of attention, nearly crumbled beneath the weight of their light eyes. And like a sponge, she soaked it up. Letting her heart fully thaw beneath the warmth of so many smiles.

Then Bee asked Olive to dance. The crowd began to hum. To hum in perfect unison as they doted on the most beautiful image before them. Two parts of a whole. United as one. Dancing in perfect harmony.

Because without one, there cannot be the other.