Page 5 of Quiet Chaos

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“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” Matthew 7:1-29

Sky - April 2019

Aside from Sister Mary, I’ve never had a best friend before. Until Olivia, who has been by my side for the past year. We met while I was waitressing, and she accepted me for who I am. While many people find my naïveté or faith annoying, Olivia embraces it. Ms. Adeline says, “We’re thick as thieves,” but I tell Ms. Adeline I’ve never stolen. She takes my hand, explaining the phrase. My inexperience seems to dampen the cutest of phrases, adding crinkled apologies for my ignorance. Ms. Adeline, Ms. Babs, and Olivia don’t hold it against me and laugh. It’s why I thank God each day for these new friends.

Olivia and I couldn’t be any more different. While I am clueless about life, holding faith close to my heart, she is a free spirit without a care in the world. It’s where we sometimes disagree. Olivia is pagan. She worships the earth and nature. Of course, God made everything, so I can’t fault her for her thinking.

The small things in life are special to me, and Olivia is the one who has given me these gifts, even if some are good and some are best to be forgotten. Today, Olivia is coming over. She says she has a surprise. It’s heating up outside, so I throw on a summer dress covered in daisies. It has short sleeves and flows down tomid-shin. Olivia searches for ways to get me to try new fashion styles, but in the end, I remain wearing the items I brought here, along with a couple more purchases.

The doorbell rings as I scurry to the door, but Ms. Adeline beats me to it. She has taken to Olivia as I have and invites her in. Olivia and I giggle hug before she takes my hand, pulling me into the living room. She plops down on the couch, opens a small bag, and removes nail polish.

With her chin lifted, she says, “We are going to polish our fingers and toes.”

I move closer, tucking my dress against my legs before sitting down. “I don’t know, Olivia. First Corinthians says, “know ye—”

“First Olivia says, ‘who cares’.” She pouts. “Come on, Sky. I doubt God would be upset if you put nail polish on.”

Ms. Adeline agrees.

My brittleokaysparks a scream from Olivia. “Yay! Now pick one you like.”

There are so many colors, from beige to red. Olivia chooses a loud pink. The kind Pepto-Bismol might claim.

My hand hovers over a beige, and she shakes her head. “This is your first painting and you’re going to wear a plain color? Pick something that will pop against your skin.”

“Olivia! I don’t want anything popping on my skin.”

Her head falls back from laughter. “No silly. I mean, pick something to stand out.”

We laugh at my comment. My eyes keep wandering to a sparkly yellow. I pick it up as Olivia pumps her arm in the air, whisperingyes.

We spend the next couple of hours painting our fingers and toenails, talking, and laughing. Ms. Adeline has even joined in. I talk about some regulars at work. Bab’s diner attracts a lot of older folks, wanting a good, inexpensive meal. There’s a small, younger crowd and adult men working construction in the area,who make me nervous. Over the two years, the stress I originally had when younger people and grown men came to the diner wasn’t as extreme anymore. I still get anxious when socializing and ignore comments about my appearance, but Ms. Babs comes to the rescue. She’s amazing at relieving the tension I get from even the littlest of jokes. Now, the regulars pretty much let me be and I only take the orders. But I’m working on my fears.

After my work babble, Olivia tells us about a new boy she met. My eyes widen in revelation.

“A boy? Olivia, when?”

She blows on her fingernails. “I just met him.”

I wave both hands around in excitement. “What’s he like?”

Olivia glances at Ms. Adeline, who gives her a thumbs up.

“He’s so cute, Sky!”

We both carry on like we’re twelve. I know it’s immature, but the opposite sex is so strange to me. For most of my life, I’ve only been around women. Nuns. When it comes to boys, the sisters hadn’t taught me anything. Not that I wanted the nuns to teach me. Boys are intimidating enough without a nun detailing it.

“On my favorite street, I was finishing up a painting of the mountains. A shadow came over my canvas, blocking out the light. At first, I thought it was the police, but it turned out to be this guy.”

Olivia is carefree. She’s been living on her own since she was sixteen years old. Although she doesn’t talk about her family, she has hinted that they kicked her out of the house. When I had asked about her parents, she’d said she didn’t want to talk about them. Then she would perk up and describe her gypsy life, traveling from city to city, loving the freedom. Olivia has lived in several cities in Utah. When she isn’t painting by the park, she bartends at night, enough for her to afford a studio apartment outside the city limits. It’s one large room with a bathroom above an arcade.

I’m kneeling on the couch, giving her my full attention. “What’s his name?”

She taps my leg and says, “Matt! How ordinary, yet wonderful.”

I smile at my friend. She’s so unique that she forgets ordinary is good. “What happened?”

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