It's Everywhere. It's Yellow

“It’s everywhere… It’s yellow… I need you. I-”

"Damn it, Judith," I mutter. My voice scrapes against my throat. I try to breathe, but my hands are shaking. Hot tears slip off my chin, pooling on the edge of my phone. In the glow of the porch light, they look mockingly yellow. No matter how often I blink, Judith’s text doesn't change. The message is thirty minutes old and still doesn't make any sense.

My knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. I pry my fingers free, forcing myself to open the glove compartment. The rubber gloves sit inside, familiar and safe. I slide the gloves carefully over my fingers, feeling them snap into place. The rubber is tight. A protective barrier. Checking the weathered kitchen gloves twice, for any holes, I can’t help but think back to my old rubber ducky. The one I clung to as a kid. I was convinced a shark would swim up the bathtub drain. I’d press it to my chest, listen to its squeak, imagining it could protect me.

But it couldn’t protect me when Judith would shove my head underwater.

Back then, hell I guess even now, I believe a thin piece of rubber can keep me safe. But I couldn't protect myself from Judith in the water. How could I protect her now?

“I need you,” I can hear her saying it. Her fake valley girl voice swimming around me in the water. 

Her voice in my head jolts me back. The memory hit me hard. For a second, I swear the water is dripping down my head but it’s tears. I almost laugh, rubbing the gloves up and down my arms for comfort. No germs will get through. No one will touch me. My stomach settles.

“I’m ready to come save you.” It sounds stupid, like a kid in a pathetic costume.  Still, the gloves are kinda gold. My hoodie’s maroon. Might as well be wearing those damn house colors. I might as well be brave. But when I finally step out of my car, and hear the music thumping and people yelling, I remember... I’m just me.

“Grab Judith and get out. It’s simple Lori,” I say under my breath as I approach Jackson’s house. He lives in the part of town where there are trees instead of sidewalks and street lights. His porch light casts my shadow long across the yard, guiding me past drunken bodies sprawled across the grass. The door is wide open, pulsing with relentless EDM. The stench of sweat, beer, and old pizza stains the air. I long for the lavender air freshener back in the safety of my car. 

I feel like I’m walking into a crime scene. I can’t tell if I’m here to drag Judith out of the wreck or clean up whatever is left.

The floorboards tremble beneath me, rattling all my bones as I push through the house. The sticky, liquor-soaked carpet is the only thing keeping me from slipping. The 808s boom like war drums, each drop slamming against my chest, syncing up with my heart rate until I can’t tell where the bass ends and my own panic begins. 

The walls are sweating from the heat of gyrating bodies. A thick cloud of berry-scented vape smoke and dank weed surrounds me. I had been bullied out of wearing a mask by the very people in this room. The pressure of my peers is too much. Too loud. Too close. My hands are stapled to my sides. Don’t touch anything. 

I scan the crowd, but there are people everywhere. Their bodies move all together like a single-minded drunken organism writhing to the music. Every time the beat drops, they jump. It feels like the floor will crack open and swallow me whole. I’m surrounded by people and Judith could be anywhere. 

Jerry has his tongue down Penny L’s throat. They are putting on a full-on, open-mouth show. The kind of show our parents urge us to not watch or take a role in. I try to respectfully slip past them, to not interrupt the broadcast, but Penny suddenly snaps her head back. She gasps for air. Then turns toward me. Her eyes closed. 

Shit.

Before the sneeze explodes from her lips, a hand yanks me backward. Right out of the danger zone. By the time I can register that I’ve been saved, Penny and Jerry are back to swapping saliva. Like I wasn’t even there.

I spin around to find my savior. It’s Jackson. His oh-so-important, calloused basketball player hands rest lightly on my shoulders. Thankfully, he is only touching my hoodie. He already knows better than to make direct skin contact. Without me even asking, he lets go. I raise my middle finger to his face, waiting for his usual smirk.

It never comes.

“You know parties aren’t good for her.” My tone is harsher than it should be, but it’s easier to blame those around Judith than Judith herself. 

Jackson leans in, close enough that I feel his breath on my cheek. I step back. He lowers his voice. “I didn’t invite her,” he says, and for once, he sounds serious. Not his usual cocky self. He sounds tired and worried. “I wouldn’t.”

I wait for the excuses, the ones people always give. But Jackson doesn’t make them. He glances toward the hall, jaw tight.

“I tried to call you earlier but you didn’t answer,” he says. “But I knew you’d come.”

My stomach twists. I should have picked up the phone. Judith has always trusted Jackson in a way I never have. One day maybe I will. 

“She’s in the bathroom.”

The words are a gut punch. But it’s not his tone that paralyzes me. It's the place.

Bathroom.

My chest caves in, my ribs suddenly too weak to hold in my insides. I feel warm saliva creep up my throat. The floor tilts not from the 808s, but from dread.

“I can’t,” The words get stuck in my throat, blocked by the lump forming there.

Jackson’s voice is firm. “Lori. Breathe. You gotta get her.” He turns me around and lightly pushes me forward. 

I press my gloved hand against the wall, my only anchor. I feel like I might collapse. This is my fault. If I had any courage at all, I’d slap myself right now. I can’t even do that.

The bathroom door is half open. I peek inside. She’s fine. She’s okay. I have to stay calm. I lift my elbow against the door and push. 

Thunk.

“Ow. Jesus.”

My eyes drop. There, on the lemon-colored tiles, darkened with stains, is Judith. I hit my knees on the tiles without thinking about the germs. Judith clutches her head, wincing. Her hair is blonde now. Well, yellowish orange, like a marigold. Her natural reddish-brown is trapped in her overgrown roots. Her hoodie is inside out, damp with a massive stain over the college emblem. The drawstrings are missing.

My gloves squeak against the tile as I reach toward her. I freeze. The scent of sour vomit hits.

“Judith, hey-” My words are barely heard over the music. She rubs the spot where the door hit her. 

“What did you take?” An unfamiliar voice cuts in. “I didn’t think you were still alive. ” A stranger’s head pops into the bathroom, eyes on Judith. I react before thinking, slamming the door shut with my elbow. Judith just blinks at me. Her lips cracked, pupils dilated.

Then she murmurs something. “Sunflower.”

My stomach knots. What the hell is that? A cocktail? A drug? I check her pockets, full crisis mode. I only find candy wrappers and not even her car keys.

Judith snorts. “No, dumbass.” She points at the wall. There’s a framed picture of a sunflower. She bursts into frantic giggles.

“How high are you?”

“It’s like my tattoo.” She tries to lift up her shirt to show me but falls back. She grins, showing all her teeth. Then her face twists. Suddenly, she lunges forward and violently vomits right onto the toilet seat.

The sound. The smell. The color. It’s everywhere. It’s yellow. The vomit is thick, and acidic, just a few shades from her new hair color. It slowly inches toward me. I cover my mouth as my stomach turns.  But a good sister doesn’t leave. I have to stay. But I need air.

The barely open window is my salvation. I stick my head out, gulping in the crisp, vomit-free air. The chill of the wind shocks my system. I breathe in deep. Then another strange sound. A trickling sound. Not from behind me. From above. I yank my head back inside. Just in time.

Something splashes against the window. A puddle forms on the grass below. Apple juice? No. Piss. Dark yellow piss. Someone is pissing out of the upstairs window. My face burns with rage.

“What the fuck?!” 

The pissing stops. A guy yells back, very casually “My bad.”

I shove my head back out, ready to verbally annihilate him only to immediately have to shield my eyes.

“Put that away and drink some water, you deranged dehydrated goblin!”

Judith weakly giggles. I bring my head back in and almost slip on vomit. Judith grabs my hands, catching my fall. Her puke-covered hands. 

And then she rips my gloves off. Skin to skin. No protection. Something in me snaps.

“Oh my god,” More bile erupts from her. My body convulses. This is too much. Too much. She coughs and wipes her mouth with her sleeve. 

“Water,” she whimpers. I can’t move. I’m staring at my filthy, disgusting, unprotected hands. We haven’t been apart that long, right? It wasn’t supposed to be so long that she’d fall apart.

She tugs at my jeans. I step over her to the sink. Inside, floating in what is hopefully beer, is Judith’s student ID. I force myself to turn on the faucet. The water runs hot. Steam rises. I catch my reflection. I look wide-eyed and my hair is a mess. I dump soap into my palms and scrub. Again. And again. 

Judith keeps tugging at my jeans. “Water.”

I lose my mind. I cup water into my hands and lower myself next to her. I hold the water to her lips. She stares at my hands before smacking them away. 

“Water bottle.”

Oh. Right. But I’m gloveless. And touching the doorknob isn’t an option. God knows how many guys have pissed, not washed their hands, and then grabbed that knob. Judith yanks my jeans harder this time. I stumble as she pulls me down toward her. She drops her head in my lap.

“Jackson likes your hair like this,” she whispers, half-conscious. “Wild. Curly.”

“Oh, well,” I mutter. “ That changes everything.” 

Judith giggles weakly.

“Maybe I’ll marry him.” I pause. 

“Good for him,” I add dryly. “Should I thank him?”

“He does like you, though.”

I snort. “What, he told you that?”

She does her annoying laugh again. ”He doesn’t have to.” 

All I can do is roll my eyes and guess I should be honored. I should shove her off. Instead, I look at her. Her eyeliner smudged. Her foundation is nearly all gone. Nails chipped, half-painted. Her patchy, uneven marigold-yellow hair looks pretty under the bathroom light. I twist a strand around my finger.

“I wish I had the balls to dye mine.” My voice is soft. “When did you do it?”

“Months ago.” That cuts deep. My throat tightens. I visited her at the beginning of the semester. Maybe she was already unraveling and I didn’t see it.

She closes her eyes. “I’m not high.”

“Okay.”

She cracks one eye open. “No, really. I have food poisoning.” She looks at me, pleading. I sigh. “Okay. If you’re not high, I’ll leave.” I shift. She doesn’t move.

“You think I’m a mess.” There’s so much pain in her voice. 

I don’t answer right away. I just keep twisting the strand of her yellow hair between my fingers. There’s yellow everywhere. Like my gloves. Like my ducky. Like Judith. I exhale, pressing my forehead against hers. 

“You’re my sister.”