[mc, ff, fd]
((One of seven impromptus I’ve written in 2016, inspired by the sequence of hues that make a rainbow. This one is about memories.))
To make an Indigo Helicopter, you’ll need 1 oz. of Blue Curacao, ½ oz. of melon liqueur, 6 oz. of cranberry juice, and 2 oz. of Champagne or sparkling wine. As for the preparation, it’s fairly simple: start by packing a tall 15 oz. with ice cubes. Then, slowly pour in the ingredients one by one in the exact order listed above. Pause for a while between additions to let the liquids separate into distinct layers giving it a very specific chromatic flavor. Stirring it vigorously causes the contents to dissolve into a pool of indigo.
Dissolving was just what Olivia needed so she ordered another. Was it the sixth or the seventh already? Not even the bartender knew for sure.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked, nonetheless.
“It’s never enough as long as the memories are still here,” the pink-haired mid-thirties tapped the counter. “Hurry up!”
“Crying over a man?” the college student behind the counter asked, feigning just enough interest to ensure a better tip at the end.
“Not that’s any of your business,” she burped, “but no. A woman, actually.”
“That’s okay,” he shrugged as he prepared her drink. “I have a very open mind. May I ask her name?”
“Mistress,” Olivia sighed. “The only name that does her justice.”
“I see. A very special woman, then.” He finished pouring the ingredients and handed her the glass, still unstirred. It was up to her how deep she wanted it to be.
Olivia nodded, trembling fingers reaching for the alcoholic deliverance. “She completed me, made me feel alive. She had this way of getting under my skin, remove my mind out of the equation, and make me see the world through her eyes. Everything was beautiful with her.”
The bartender looked straight into her eyes, whose luminescence was a perfect simile of the elusive rainbow color. For the first time since he had begun serving her, a hint of actual concern was reflected back at her.
“I was stupid, pushed her too hard,” she confessed, head hanging low. “I was like an addict, her suggestions were my fix. I wanted to lose myself completely, let her take control of everything for good, and never have a worry again in my life. She said no, and I left, but not before I lashed out with everything I had, all the petty frustrations locked inside. It was messy, no stone was left unturned and the whole world came crashing down.”
“And you haven’t apologised ever since?”
Olivia’s sob came out longer, much more pronounced, air burning within her throat. “I tried, but she’s gone. The house is empty, her number disconnected. No one saw her leave, no one knows where she went. Mistress just vanished from this world. Who knows? Maybe she was never really a part of it to begin with…”
She drank it all in one gulp and asked for another. The night was still young, her aching soul was still not altered enough. Wanting to lose control had brought her to the brink of the abyss, but retaining it was even more heartbreaking. She would take the helicopter, soar across the heavens without a guiding light, and dream of merciful blades upon her neck, humming:
You ain’t never been blue, no, no, noYou ain’t never been blueTill you’ve had that mood indigoThat feeling goes stealing right down to my shoesWhile I just sit here and sigh…