Red and Blue

A fuzzy red warmth emerges in my stomach whenever I hear that scraping. The Nutella is always a little hard after taking it from the fridge, so extra muscle is required to spread it uniformly on the toast. The harsh scraping that ensues, chimes like Pavlov’s dinner bell and triggers something internally. The next few minutes with my toast will bring me some joy.

***

Except for that scraping, the flat is quieter than I had hoped. I had plans with Claudia, but earlier decisions today have impacted my agenda for this evening. Today is Valentine’s Day and Claudia had been talking about it all week. She planned a tea for us in Valeria’s Bistro at 5 pm. She would have arrived at 5:10 pm, as always, but I wouldn’t have minded. Valeria’s Bistro is situated on the corner of Wellesley Road and the traffic passing by is rich in colour and sound. I tally up red and blue cars over greens, blacks, silvers, and whites. There are other colours but those are always the most common. The experience is further enriched when people honk their horns but these moments can be spectrally different. When distant, the honks are blue, but when close, they are a deep red. There is a sweet harmony when a car honking close by is also painted red.

This morning, I was folding clothing and putting it onto the bed before distributing it into my drawers and wardrobes. I had picked a suitable shirt and a pair of jeans for tea this evening, which I know Claudia is fond of. I have worn this ensemble previously and I notice she smiles and tells me how handsome I look in red and blue. It makes me happy when she smiles like that, and I thought about this while I boiled two eggs for my lunch.

 Claudia has blonde hair, but she recently had dashes of red put in when I told her it was my favorite color. Her eyes are blue and when she smiles, they sparkle as if momentarily coated by a reflective glaze. Her face becomes picturesque, almost hypnotic, and I find myself distracted as I attempt to formulate sentences in front of her.

As my eggs boiled, I received a call from a colleague at university, informing me that he and several others were going to the football. My colleague, Darren, is very different from myself. I watch him walk the laboratory, talking and laughing with the other students and sometimes, even the lecturers. He is very busy every lesson with his joking around, and I sometimes don’t know how he completes his work. He talks to me more than anyone else, but I think this is maybe only because his bench is adjacent to mine. Mostly, Darren asks me how I am and if I am okay with my experiment, but he also enquires about what I do on weekends and if I like life in Manchester. This latter question is always puzzling to me as I grew up in Manchester. Darren is from Norwich, and many of the other students are from out of town, but Manchester is where my parents live, and I know every street. I have no reason to dislike Manchester.

My eggs had been boiling for four and a half minutes, so I turned off the hob and took them to the sink. Darren told me of an extra ticket he had for the football. It would be the two of us and three others. I took a moment to assess this; the football begins at 3 pm and generally, you don’t leave the stadium until two hours later. Factoring in travel time, my tea with Claudia at 5 pm would have been near impossible, even if she did arrive her usual ten minutes late. As Claudia is only one person and Darren plus three others is a total of four people, I elected to go to the football and delay my meeting with Claudia one hour.

“Yes, Darren, I would like to come to the football,” I said, once satisfied with my modified agenda.

“Great,” Darren replied. “I’ll meet you at turnstile 32 at 2:45 pm.”

“Ok, thank you, goodbye.”

After the call, I sat down to eat. I had my boiled eggs with toasted soldiers cut from two slices of buttered toast. Following this, I sent Claudia a text message to say that I would prefer to meet her at 6 pm and got ready to go out. Before I left for the football, I still hadn’t received a reply, but I saw from the two blue ticks by my message that indicated she had seen it, so I thought all was ok.

The atmosphere in the football stadium was thick and loud, like waves of thunder. A team in red was playing against a team in blue, and our section was populated by fans cheering for the red team. As each team progressed up the field, the volume rose around me, as the fans shouted and sang. The noise painted the stadium and its contents a reddish hue, and I felt the happiness and excitement cocoon me. After forty minutes of the first half, the red team scored a goal. The roar shook our seats and, in the red fog that filled the stadium, I jumped with everyone else. Darren hugged me and the others and high-fived the people one row ahead. For the next hour, I pondered this energy, the bliss of thousands of people in one place. I looked forward to describing it to Claudia.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” Darren asked.

“I have a tea planned with my girlfriend,” I replied.

“You have a girlfriend? That’s awesome.”

“Yes, I was going to meet her at 5 pm, but delayed by one hour, when you called me about the football.”

“Aww man, if I knew you had plans…”

“…She has replied to my text,” I said, after feeling by phone buzz.

I read the reply from Claudia. Don’t worry about it. I will speak to you tomorrow.

“What did she say?” Darren asked.

"I don't understand. She wants to meet tomorrow but we have plans for tonight." I showed Darren the message.

“Aww buddy, I know what that’s like. She sounds upset. You should have told me you had plans for Valentine’s Day.”

I studied the message again while the stadium hummed in the background.

***

It’s quiet again in the flat tonight now that I have finished my Nutella. The energy of the game didn’t follow me from the stadium when I came home. While walking, I listened as the passing cars honked their horns in celebration, but the colors were dim.

I wonder what Claudia is doing. Darren gave me some advice and, even though she wouldn’t answer my calls, I sent her an apology. I told her she is worth more than four other people on any day, not just Valentine’s Day. I told her I was excited to see the red bits in her hair and her sparkling blue eyes, but she didn’t reply.

I hear a knock. I put down my plate, walk over to the door and open it. In the hall, Claudia is standing in a blue sweater with a red rose between her teeth. The proximity to the flower makes her eyes sparkle, and I ask her if she wants a piece of toast.