The Presence of all Colors

He leans forward and glares down at the miniscule advertisement. There it is, blatant with his name:

Ash Dempsey. Male. Microbiologist/assistant forensic scientist. Twenty nine. Enjoys: Nothing and everything. Seeks: No one and someone. Hobbies: To find what it means to live and to be alive.

He stares longer. The black words suddenly remove themselves from their white backround and float up towards his face. Furiously he rips it in half, pushing it away like an air bag that grasps to save you and suffocate you in the same instant. "What the Hell was I thinking?" The two flights down to the corner drug store below his apartment are frustratingly long. The woman with the Asian face smiles roundly into a blur past him. "Jose!" he is breathless as the glass door raucously clashes shut behind him, startling the man behind the counter. "I need every copy of the Post!" Exhusted, Ash sits, brooding. Tiny paper particles flutter around him. He stares at the wall.
*****
Ash was sentimental about everything under the sun. He wasen't gay, but the majority had their suspicions. His name and slightly sophisticated manner diden't hurt the argument, either. Ashley Dempsey II, his given name, was a possession he clung to fiercely, the way an alcoholic grips a whiskey bottle, even for all the trouble it gives him.]

*****

"Turning thirty next Thursday." Sleepily mumbles into the phone, pressed sharply between his ear and the pillow.
"No shit. You think I could forget ? I've only known you ...what will it be- Oh! Ten years next Thursday!"
"You wish you could forget that day." Smug-faced he slowly falls onto his back. She ignores the gibe.
"Hey. Now you can read the Song of Songs, Ash!" Sarcastic enthusiasm flowing from a smooth voice fills up slowly in his head.
"Pardon?" A vague smile partially opens his lips.
"Song of Solomon, Canticle of Canticles, however you wanna call it- from the Old Testament, Ash."
"... and I, a delinquent Episcopalian who doesn't give a fuck for religion, am supposed to know what an educated, former Orthodox Jew knows?"
Whispery soft laughter now settles like fog in his head. He smiles fully.
She turns bitter. "According to the Rabbinical, Hebrew tradition, no one was permitted to study it until the age of thirty... way too risque for the 29 and under crowd."
More laughter from her, much harsher sounding this time.
"Fabulous. Really can't wait for that. But, hey, I have a lotta samples coming into the lab tomorrow."
Gazing with one eye into the long shaft of white light, in a long white lab jacket, Ash is suffocated by whiteness. The lab is filled up with light for once, the shades all drawn up by the short dark-skinned women by the windows. Damn women won't quit muttering to herself. Hears a slight clacking of beads. Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros peccadores. Ahora en la hora de nuestra muerte. His free eye slowly slides over from the illumined blood sample to her vein-laced, muscular hand, moving synchronously in circles over the glass, opaque with years of dust. The rythme of her movement, the clacking beads, and her warm-toned prayers have a sleepy, inoculous effect on Ash's blood. Suddenly a patch of glass bursts free like a white flame. Imposing, it follows a path, clashing directly on Ash's face. He exhales angry damnations. The woman turns her wizened native face to his. Her knowing smile turns his stomach. The white coats clings to the linoleum and she watches his back disappear behind the door.
The guitar yields gently to Ash's firm fingers. Her long hair is soft over his crossed-legs. He sings a bit."Oh I watch you there through the window,

And I stare at you,

You wear nothing but you wear it so well..." His voice is as faint and warm as her sleeping breath.