LOST
Who Makes the Blue Sparklies?

Alex and Stew sat on a bench overlooking the small pond at Hurley Park, throwing pieces of bread to the half-dozen ducks and geese that had gathered around them. They laughed and chatted, not noticing the dark cloud that grew and moved toward them.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how long have you known Marc?” Alex asked.

“As long as I can remember. We lived next door to each other all our lives. Until we graduated college at least.”

“You went to the same college, too?”

“Yeah. Is that so amazing?”

“No. I guess not. Just a little ‘Leave it to Beaver’-ish.” The captive audience sensed the impending downpour and flew for cover.

“Great. My family’s a TV show from the fifties.”

“It’s not really an insul—” She was interrupted by a large raindrop landing right in the middle of her scalp, where her hair parted, so she could get the full effect of the wetness. “Umm,” she said, looking up, “you want to…”

“Yeah, let’s, uh…” Stew looked around for shelter, feeling the rain fall on his own head. “There’s a gazebo over there. Come on. Let’s run for it.” They sprinted for the shelter and made it underneath just as it started to really come down, only getting their head and shoulders wet. “What are the chances of two romantic moments in a row getting rained out?”

“The fact that we got rained on doesn’t make them any less romantic. Just wetter,” Alex said, grinning. “I thought last night was pretty hot.”

Stew was not paying attention to Alex’s reply. Something else caught his eye—something he could not believe. The grass around the pond began to sparkle in blue, gold and silver. A few moments later, the source of the light—tiny, bright blue specks—started to rise from the rain water that settled on the ground. They swirled and glittered, dancing in the air. It was as if the soil had inhaled the rain and exhaled magic. Stew stared in wonder.

“Stew. You okay?” Alex asked, slightly worried.

“Yeah,” Stew said, still bewildered. “I don’t suppose you can see that.”

“See what?”

“That’s what I thought. Well, it seems as though the grass around this little pond really likes it when it rains. At least, that’s what my hallucination would lead me to believe.”

“Tell me what you see,” Alex told him, with genuine interest.

“Really?”

“Really. Every detail.”

As Stew described everything he saw, Alex stared into his eyes and, for a second, she thought she saw effervescent magic there, but then realized it was raindrops reflecting off his blue eyes. Still, it was enough for her. “I can see it,” she said.

“What?” He was dumbstruck when he looked at her, excited and confused. He wasn’t sure what to think or say. “You weren’t even looking at it. You were looking at me.”

“I could see it in your eyes.”

“Oh, man. I was flipping out there for a second. You had me thinking maybe these aren’t hallucinations. And if they aren’t, then, what the hell are they? But you didn’t see it.”

“Sorry. It just sounded so beautiful. I wanted to see it.”

Stew’s cellphone rang from inside his jacket pocket. He took it out and looked at it. “It’s Marc,” he said, flipping it open. “Marc. What’s up? I’m sitting with Alex at the park. Yes, it is raining. Just a little. We’re sitting under a gazebo, actually, watching the blue sparklies in the grass. Nevermi—That’s harsh. Coffee?” He looked at Alex with eyes that silently asked if she wanted to go get some, to which she nodded. “Sure. We’ll see you in about twenty minutes.” He flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket.

“What did he say that was harsh?”

“He asked if ‘blue sparklies’ was the best I could come up with. He said that he’s gay and he doesn’t even say stuff like that.”

“Wow. That was harsh. So… he’s gay?”

“Yeah, well… it’s more like celibate with a preference for the company of men.” Stew paused, waiting for more questions. When Alex remained silent but thoughtful, he lowered his chin in guarded discernment, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Oh, no. It’s not a problem. It’s just… I don’t know… refreshing?”

“What? For two men—one gay, one straight—to have a platonic and completely normal friendship?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Yeah, I knew before he did. Well, before he was willing to admit that he was, anyway.”

“Has he ever…”

“Come on to me? No. He does weird me out sometimes, though. He notices things that friends just aren’t supposed to notice. I realize part of that comes from the two of us being so close for so long. But part of it… i-i-is something else.”

“He just loves you like a brother. That’s what I think.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. Well, the rain has stopped for the most part. You ready to go?”

“Sure. Are the blue sparklies gone?”

“Yes. The blue sparklies are gone.”

Alex winked.

“Slow down just a little. It’s right up here,” Stew said as Alex drove down Main Street toward Spill the Beans. “Marc’s already here. There’s his car. I don’t see any open spaces yet, though. Take a right here. Maybe there’s some around the corner.”

They eventually found a spot, after circling the block, across the street in front of the hardware store.

“Hey, Alex,” Stew said, grabbing her arm to keep her from walking in front of a truck whose driver was not paying attention.

“Whoa. That was close,” Alex exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Don’t say anything to Marc about what we talked about. He’s still kind of shy about it with people he doesn’t know. He says he’s still in his ‘stranger closet’.”

“Okay. No problem,” she replied, stepping onto the sidewalk from the pavement.

Stew held open the door of the coffee house for her, “After you.”

“Wow. Such chivalry. My knight in shining armor.”

“Yeah, whose life you had to save a couple weeks ago. Remind me to find a new blacksmith, because my armor may be shiny but I think its integrity has been compromised.”

“It’s all right. Every hero has his faults and weaknesses.”

“And my kryptonite is in the back of my head, apparently.”

“Stew!” Marc called from a comfortable looking couch in the corner of the café. Two rows of track lighting—one toward the left wall and one toward the right—were fastened on the ceiling, each lamp lighting a painting or photograph. Since the only other light was a small wall sconce beside the swinging door to the back room, the coffee shop had a warm, welcoming glow.

Alex and Stew joined Marc in the corner and it was unclear who had the bigger smile between the three of them. Alex took off her jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch as she looked at some of the art on the walls. All of the artwork had little, white cards next to them with the artist’s name, the name of the work and the asking price.

“Alex, meet Marc,” Stew said, pointing his hand, awkwardly, toward Marc.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Marc.”

“Same here. I’m sorry about the other day. One person calls in sick and it’s utter chaos.”

“It’s quite all right. This is a pretty cool place,” Alex said, looking around. “Nice atmosphere.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot better than it used to be,” Stew commented. “It used to be too artificial. Asian decorations on the walls. Tribal masks. Java Zen, it was called. When was that, Marc? Summer before college?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“The Zen vibe was not jiving with people here and the place tanked. Alice and her husband bought it, got rid of all the decorations, put work up from local artists, traded the fancy furniture for more comfy stuff and it’s thrived ever since.”

“Now that we’ve had our history lesson,” Marc said, receiving a playfully evil glare from Stew, “what would you guys like to drink?”

“Medium skinny chai latte, please,” Alex said.

“Large mocha for me.”

Marc left the counter carrying a drink holder with three cups. As he got closer, Stew saw something—something that seemed to be sitting cross-legged on one of the taller cups. Marc set the drinks down on the coffee table in front of the couch, gave Alex her medium chai, and then handed Stew the cup with the stowaway. It was the Cyndi Lauper faerie. She looked up at him, smiled and blinked. Stew did nothing but stare.

“So, Stew,” Marc said as he sat down with his coffee in hand, “tell me about these blue sparklies.”

“Well, honestly, I’d rather talk about the orange-haired faerie that rode over here on my mocha.”

“What?” Marc and Alex blurted out at the same time.

“Is she still there?” Alex asked, staring at the space just above his cup.

“Yeah. She’s still there.”

“Can she talk?” Marc asked.

“I don’t know. Can you talk?” Stew asked the faerie.

“Of course, I can talk,” Regan replied in her high-pitched New York accent, full of attitude.

“Yeah. She can talk.”

“What does she sound like? Does she speak English?” Alex asked, the excitement obvious in her voice.

“She sounds like she’s from Brooklyn. And, yes, she does speak English. What’s your name?” He continued with the faerie.

“You want the name my father gave me or the one Wiz gave me?”

“Wiz? You know Wiz?” Stew asked, confused.

“She knows Wiz? Well, of course, she does,” she answered herself. “She’s your hallucination.”

“You can call me Regan. Wiz does. And I’m not a hallucination. It’s just not everyone can see me.”

“She says she’s not a hallucination. This is just weird.”

“Wait a second. We can do a quick test and then we’ll know, yea or nay. Marc, find a piece of paper.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Here. Use this napkin,” Marc said, giving her the one that he had been holding around his coffee.

Alex reached in her pocketbook and pulled out a pen. She cupped her left hand over her right as she wrote something down on the napkin. When she was done, she put it behind her back where Stew couldn’t see it but facing away from her so anyone behind her could.

“Stew, ask her what’s on the napkin.”

“What’s written on the piece of paper that my friend is holding behind her back?”

Regan flew off the coffee cup and disappeared behind Alex. A moment later she reappeared and flew back to the table, this time, sitting on a coaster with a daisy painted on it. “It says, ‘Who makes the blue sparklies?’” Stew repeated what she said and Alex’s eyes got wide, slowly bringing her hand in front of her and placed the piece of paper on the coffee table. On it was exactly what Regan had said.

“Whoa,” the three of them said in dumbfounded unison.

“Okay… now…,” Alex tried to rationalize, “…either you’re psychic… or there’s an actual faerie sitting on the table in front of us that only you can see.”

“I’m not psychic that I know of.”

“So, you saw the rain nymphs?” Regan interrupted.

“Is that what those were?” Stew asked.

“What?” Alex asked.

“The blue sparklies,” Stew said. “They’re rain nymphs.”

“Rain nymphs. Wow! That is so cool.”

“So, why are you here… Regan?” Stew asked, very curious.

“Wiz sent me here to see what you were up to. Make sure you were okay.”

“Wiz sent her,” Stew relayed to the others.

“Oh,” Alex said, remembering that she was mad at Wiz, “Ask her why he didn’t show up for lunch the other day.”

“He’s scared because he can’t keep the secret much longer but he doesn’t think you’re ready for it,” Regan answered, not needing the relay from Stew.

“Doesn’t think I’m ready for it? What kind of a secret is it?”

“I really can’t say anymore. He’d squash me if he found out I even talked to you at all.” Her wings fluttered and she began to rise off the table. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re ready.”

“Wait!”

“I really have to get going. We’ll see you soon. Okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She was a blur of orange and fuscia as she flew out the door.

Alex could tell by the way Stew stared at the door that she was gone.

“Wow. That’s all I can say. Just… wow,” Marc said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Now, hold on,” Stew said, a little agitated. “If she’s real, then… what about the thing that tried to walk off with my dad’s keys? Was he real, too? How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s a hallucination?”

“What if…” Alex said, inching to the edge of the couch, “none of them are hallucinations? What if the damage to your occipital lobe was not damage at all, but a… release? You know how people only use like eleven percent of their brain? Maybe you’re able to use more now.”

Stew cocked an eyebrow up, not believing what he was hearing. “Come on. Give me a break. That eleven percent thing was never proven. Then again, it makes about as much sense as anything else I can come up with. Let’s just chill out, see how things go for the next few days. Okay? This is just…” He shook his head in disbelief. “My brain is on overload right now. It’s not used to operating at more than eleven percent.”

“Well, let’s get our minds off of it, then. You guys want to go to a movie?” Alex asked.

“Yeah. That sounds like a good plan. Nothing with faeries, though, please.” Stew picked up his coffee and waved his hand over it. “Just making sure.”

“Oh, crap,” Marc exclaimed. ” I almost forgot.” He reached in his pocket and pulled a key ring with two keys on it. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Stew. “Six-hundred square feet of freedom and happiness.”

“What’s this?” Stew asked, confused as he looked at the keys.

“Keys to your new apartment. Rent’s paid for six months.”

“What? You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. I figure, ten years or so worth of birthday and Christmas presents, so, don’t expect anything from me before then.”

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Well, it’s not much, but it has everything you need—even a new dishwasher.”

“Is it furnished?”

“Okay, it has everything you need except furniture. It does have one of those beds that fold up into the wall.”

“Awesome. It shall be my man-cave,” Stew said, his eyes wild and excited.

“You can’t have a man-cave,” Marc added.

“Why not?”

“Dude. It’s on the third floor. Man-caves are in the basement.”

“I can hang some dark curtains,” Stew said pitifully.

“I’m sorry. You’ll just have to leave the man-caves to the cavemen.”

“Dang.”

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