“No I’m sure,” you step back, letting the thread between you and this random guy on the street stretch long and taut so it shimmers in the light.
“So….?” He puts his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and you can’t imagine someone in cargo shorts could be your soulmate, so you do another doubletake at the thread between you, the possible but unestablished tenuous connection of a first meeting is still glimmering delightfully.
The thread of fate between you stubbornly shimmers with every color of the rainbow.
Just to be sure, you turn to your best friend, the steel cable between you two a teal green that spreads from your chest to hers. She raises her eyebrows at you in a silent check in and you smile tightly back.
“If she says you guys are rainbow then you’re rainbow.” You and Lianne have been friends for years. Too many years. You both had your big gay freakouts together, your bad breakups and your amicable arguments. The steel cable between you went from the lush green of friendship to the sisterly teal of love somewhere around the five year mark. Your mother haas the only connection with a darker color, the deep blue of love so powerful it’s a braided cable thicker than your thigh. Yours and Eliza’s ‘thread of fate’ is around the thickness of your arm, but it grows every year.
You turn back to your possible soulmate and look him up and down.
He’s looking back at you thoughtfully.
“I’ve never seen rainbow before,” you explain. He’s remarkably game about it, standing there and waiting for your grand pronouncement on the streets of New York at the beginning of summer. Wearing cargo shorts.
“Um,” he says, which means ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about but your friend isn’t acting like it’s crazy talk so I’ll stick around and see how this turns out.’
“She’s hella psychic,” Eliza pats your shoulder like you’re a new car ready to be driven off the lot by the first handsome man in cargo shorts who you stop on the street.
“Hella?” What he means by that is ‘where is your weird friend from? Maybe she doesn’t have the best sense for what is and isn’t crazy talk.’
“I can sense human connection,” you point between yourself and him, “we could be great together. That’s all.” And now that you say that out loud it feels kind of silly. There are so many people walking around with possibilities between them every day, and you just happened to notice this one because of his blue hair and suddenly you’re explaining yourself to him.
“That’s cool,” he hedges, looking past you for an exit strategy.
“Thanks for stopping,” you step out of his way, hassling Eliza to the side too so you won’t block foot traffic. “I appreciate you giving this a chance.”
“Hey we wouldn’t be rainbow if I wasn’t the kind of person who wouldn’t give this a shot.” He offers you a fist bump, which is satisfying for the single moment where your knuckles touch. You watch the thread between you settle into a fond golden color.
“Take care of yourself,” you wave as he wishes you and Eliza the same and continues down the street, the thread going slack as it extends. He moves farther and farther away until he’s lost in the crowd and you stand in the shade of an awning just thinking about it for a minute. The gaping distance between you doesn’t tug at your heart the way your ever-present connection to your Mother does sometimes, but you almost miss him just the same.
“What a waste,” Eliza complains. “If I had a rainbow connection I absolutely wouldn’t let her go.”
“Someday I won’t,” you smile at Eliza, hooking your arms and pulling her close affectionately. “This was new and scary, but I’m glad I stopped him to see how it’d go, I’ll be more ready next time. And I’m glad you were here with me to convince him I wasn’t crazy.”
“I mean you are crazy,” Eliza disagrees with a gentle kiss to your hair. “You did great.” She squeezes your arm a little more tightly. “But if you ever see a rainbow connection for me, I want you to stop her on the street immediately, none of this following him for three blocks before getting up the nerve to talk to him bullshit.”
“Got it.” You squeeze her back gently. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you.” She pulls you toward the Japanese book store and you glance once after your mystery rainbow connection. He’s long gone, the possibility just another weird fact of living in New York to him.
Around you, people with golds, greens, teals, pinks, whites and blues walk by every day. Some have threads glistening between them, dark blue with love that is unfounded. Some have gold cables braided into unbreakable connections of fondness and appreciation built on time and respect. Few and far between have the red strings of fate that connect soulmates building their loves on a hope and a prayer, and even fewer have red cables reinforced with thousands of tiny moments, time and experience that bring them together. You’ve never seen a rainbow thread before, maybe that color thread is only for you.
You met Eliza with a gold thread of fondness. You’ve always known your mother to be the deep eternal blue. You’ve always looked at your new classmates and observed their snap judgements through threads of human connection.
“Hey!” You turn sharply, the guy from before is back, looking like he’s run however many blocks he got away from you. “So I was thinking.” He grins, and his eyes sparkle. The gold thread between you still lies slack on the hot pavement, the emotional distance between you two neither growing or shrinking. He shrugs at you and Eliza. “Who am I to argue with a psychic right?” He holds out a hand. “Let’s try this again. Hi. I’m Skip Juarez. Let’s start over.”
You look at the golden thread sitting comfortably taut between you, thicker now like embroidery floss wrapped together.
You shake his hand and the thread glows brighter. It’s a whole new world of possibilities now.