Complementary Colors by Adrienne Wilder Page A

both wore shorts and t-shirts.
    Neither one of them could have been more than ten.
    They looked so happy. Smiling, laughing, so full of joy they glowed against the world around them.
    “Me llamo…” They darted behind a small crowd of people huddling under their umbrellas and didn’t reappear. “I can’t remember his name.”
    “Did you say something?”
    “I think it’s getting colder.” I curled under the raincoat as the last bit of warmth seeped out of my bones.
    “We’re almost there,” Roy said.
    The cab turned onto a street crowded with old apartments that hadn’t seen a face-lift since the seventies. Water from trash clogged gutters flooded the sidewalks. The cars parked on the side of the road came in two varieties, rusted and pimped out.
    “Tough neighborhood for a Southern boy, don’t you think?” I said.
    The cabby stopped. “Twelve fifty.”
    I dug out my wallet and handed him a twenty. Roy took me with him out of the cab.
    We jogged up the sidewalk to an ugly brick building. A crack of thunder was followed by a wash of rain so heavy it erased the outside world.
    “Jesus,” Roy said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen weather like this.” We dripped water up a flight of steps. “Sorry, there’s no elevator.”
    “I’m surprised there’s electricity.” I ran a hand along the pitted railing. Missing rungs left gaping holes and very little support.
    A blaring TV from inside one of the units was drowned out by the angry yell of a woman. She didn’t speak English so I had no idea what she said, but going by her tone, it couldn’t have been good.
    “I’m down here.”
    We made our way through discarded toys, forgotten drink cups, and the occasional article of clothing to a door close to the end of the hall.
    Roy fumbled for his keys. A man wearing a pair of boxers stumbled out of another apartment. He held up his beer can like he could shield himself from the items hurled at him.
    The woman who didn’t speak English finished her assault by pegging him in the head with a Bible.
    She slammed the door, and the man screamed, “Bitch.”
    “C’mon.” Roy pulled me inside. More yelling was followed by a crying infant. “Sorry about that.” He flipped on a light.
    Roy’s apartment consisted of a cramped kitchen in one corner separated from the rest of the space by a length of countertop. There was less than two yards between the sofa and the bed. A table and set of chairs ate up the blank spot on the other side of the room, and a bookshelf crowded the wall.
    Everything was old, worn out, and rumpled.
    Roy stared at his feet while he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s not what you’re used to.”
    Which was exactly why I loved it. “It’s perfect.”
    He gave me a questioning look. I dropped the raincoat on the floor and wandered over to the bed. A patchwork quilt covered thin cotton sheets. Everything had been carefully folded down. I touched the head-shaped dimple in the pillow.
    “Let me make you some coffee.” Roy squeezed by me. There was a clink and scrape from the kitchen. “Do you drink coffee? Or would you rather have tea? It’s nothing fancy, just those little store packets.”
    “Coffee is fine.” I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my shirt. There was no place to put it so I left it on the floor at the foot of the bed.
    “Are you hungry? I can throw on a can of soup.” A cabinet door opened and shut.
    My pants wound up with the shirt.
    It was warmer inside Roy’s apartment, but not much. Definitely not enough to convince my testicles to quit burrowing into my stomach.
    I stretched out on Roy’s lumpy mattress. His pillow smelled just like him: rich, earthy, with a slight spice. It wasn’t strong enough to be cologne, and it mixed too well with the smell of clean sheets. I knew then that wonderful scent was all him.
    “The coffee will take a couple of min—” Roy stood on the edge of the linoleum staring at me. The coffeepot percolated behind him on