The Value of Nil
“It’s all about perspective.” Devon reached up to pinch the sun between his fingers,
smiled down at Trista. “Right now, I’m a god.”
She looked up at his smile, his hand, returned to picking at the edges of the red patch
on her skirt. Red, blue, yellow, floral, striped--Trista had patches in every color of the
rainbow, every fabric style from the remnant bin at Goodwill, but she picked most often
at the red.
“You’re not a god. You’re a nobody.”
Devon dropped his hand, sank down against the retaining wall beside Trista, nudged his
shoulder to hers. “I’m not a nobody to you.”
“Another nobody’s opinion doesn’t mean anything. Nothing and nothing is still nothing.”
“A negative and a negative make a positive.”
“We’re not negatives. We’re zeroes.”
Devon smiled again, took Trista’s hand, stilled her picking at the red, laced his fingers
through hers. “I love you. That’s bigger than all the numbers there are.”
“Numbers go on forever.”
“Exactly.”
Trista bunched the fabric of her skirt in her free hand, twisted, untwisted, twisted...she
wanted to pull her other hand loose of Devon’s, wanted her heart to stop racing, her
throat to stop closing, her thoughts to stop spinning.
Almost a year since he’d found her in the trash-strewn alley, broken, discarded, red.
Almost a year that he’d been gentle, thoughtful, green.
She thought of him as green, the color of new grass peeking through ancient dirt, tender
buds sprouting from brittle limbs, life emerging in barren spaces.
But her dirt, her limbs, her spaces fought to remain barren, rooted in the world they
knew, the ecosystem they understood.
Why did he bother?
Devon slid closer to the wall. The white brick was always cold, but felt good against his
back. Solid. Bracing. Real. No one noticed them here, in the no man’s land between the
subdivisions and the Prohibited greenbelt. No one else came here at all, except county
maintenance workers, once enough homeowners complained about the brush serving
as a breeding ground for rats.
It hadn’t been cleared since he found Trista. Maybe it never would be again. Maybe it
would twist into thickets so dense not even the rats could pass through. Maybe he and
Trista could hide away here forever, counting all the numbers they could count. Maybe
she’d finally believe they could be more than zeroes.
“I saw them today.”
Her voice was quiet, toneless, like it often was when she spoke of them.
“Did they see you?”
Trista shook her head. “I ducked into a doorway. On 38th. They were having lunch.
Outside. At Perry’s. Laughing. Drinking wine. My mom was flirting with the waiter.”
Devon tightened his grip on her hand. “They’re not gonna show how they really are out
in public.”
“He was with them.”
Devon’s heart dropped. “Who was?”
“You know who. They were all laughing and joking like the happy little family.”
“Maybe it was just for show. Trying to rebuild their reputation.”
“They already have. They’re back at the country club. My mom’s doing the Women’s
League crap. My dad’s talking about trying again for city council.”
“How’d you hear all that?”
“Aunt Gracie. She’ll never forgive them. But she’s the only one.”
“No she’s not. Nobody’d vote for your dad. The rest of it...they’re just taking them back
thinking it’d be more of a scandal not to.”
“Yeah? Funny how Golden Boy’s football scholarship is still on, too.”
Devon brought her hand to his lips, kissed it. “Don’t, Tris. You know that’s from
everything getting pawned off on him still being screwed up from the accident.”
“What I know is that he’s getting away with it, just like he said he would. Who’d believe
me when I’m just trash they took in off the street and he’s their real kid. He was just
putting me back where I belonged."
”He actually said that?”
“Yeah. And I told them. I told everybody. It didn’t matter.”
Devon leaned over, kissed her cheek, lingered. “The hell with them. The hell with
everybody. I’ll take care of you.”
Trista pulled away, pushed up to her feet, glared down at him. “Would you stop? How
the hell can you take care of me when you can barely take care of yourself? And who
the hell said I wanted to be taken care of? What I want is for them to pay. For him to
pay. But that’ll never happen because they’re who they are and I’m who I am and
people like me don’t fucking matter.”
She stalked away, swiping her sleeve across her eyes.
“Then I’ll make them pay,” Devon called after her.
Trista halted, but didn’t turn back. “Yeah? And you’d do that how?”
Devon stepped over, wrapped his arms around her, kissed the nape of her neck.
“However you want.”
She reached back and stroked his hair. “You’d really do that?”
“I’ll do anything that’ll make you happy.”
Trista smiled, envisioning a whole new world of green, all set awash in red.
She took Devon’s hand and raised it to pinch the sun.
Right now, he was a god.
“It’s all about perspective.” Devon reached up to pinch the sun between his fingers,
smiled down at Trista. “Right now, I’m a god.”
She looked up at his smile, his hand, returned to picking at the edges of the red patch
on her skirt. Red, blue, yellow, floral, striped--Trista had patches in every color of the
rainbow, every fabric style from the remnant bin at Goodwill, but she picked most often
at the red.
“You’re not a god. You’re a nobody.”
Devon dropped his hand, sank down against the retaining wall beside Trista, nudged his
shoulder to hers. “I’m not a nobody to you.”
“Another nobody’s opinion doesn’t mean anything. Nothing and nothing is still nothing.”
“A negative and a negative make a positive.”
“We’re not negatives. We’re zeroes.”
Devon smiled again, took Trista’s hand, stilled her picking at the red, laced his fingers
through hers. “I love you. That’s bigger than all the numbers there are.”
“Numbers go on forever.”
“Exactly.”
Trista bunched the fabric of her skirt in her free hand, twisted, untwisted, twisted...she
wanted to pull her other hand loose of Devon’s, wanted her heart to stop racing, her
throat to stop closing, her thoughts to stop spinning.
Almost a year since he’d found her in the trash-strewn alley, broken, discarded, red.
Almost a year that he’d been gentle, thoughtful, green.
She thought of him as green, the color of new grass peeking through ancient dirt, tender
buds sprouting from brittle limbs, life emerging in barren spaces.
But her dirt, her limbs, her spaces fought to remain barren, rooted in the world they
knew, the ecosystem they understood.
Why did he bother?
Devon slid closer to the wall. The white brick was always cold, but felt good against his
back. Solid. Bracing. Real. No one noticed them here, in the no man’s land between the
subdivisions and the Prohibited greenbelt. No one else came here at all, except county
maintenance workers, once enough homeowners complained about the brush serving
as a breeding ground for rats.
It hadn’t been cleared since he found Trista. Maybe it never would be again. Maybe it
would twist into thickets so dense not even the rats could pass through. Maybe he and
Trista could hide away here forever, counting all the numbers they could count. Maybe
she’d finally believe they could be more than zeroes.
“I saw them today.”
Her voice was quiet, toneless, like it often was when she spoke of them.
“Did they see you?”
Trista shook her head. “I ducked into a doorway. On 38th. They were having lunch.
Outside. At Perry’s. Laughing. Drinking wine. My mom was flirting with the waiter.”
Devon tightened his grip on her hand. “They’re not gonna show how they really are out
in public.”
“He was with them.”
Devon’s heart dropped. “Who was?”
“You know who. They were all laughing and joking like the happy little family.”
“Maybe it was just for show. Trying to rebuild their reputation.”
“They already have. They’re back at the country club. My mom’s doing the Women’s
League crap. My dad’s talking about trying again for city council.”
“How’d you hear all that?”
“Aunt Gracie. She’ll never forgive them. But she’s the only one.”
“No she’s not. Nobody’d vote for your dad. The rest of it...they’re just taking them back
thinking it’d be more of a scandal not to.”
“Yeah? Funny how Golden Boy’s football scholarship is still on, too.”
Devon brought her hand to his lips, kissed it. “Don’t, Tris. You know that’s from
everything getting pawned off on him still being screwed up from the accident.”
“What I know is that he’s getting away with it, just like he said he would. Who’d believe
me when I’m just trash they took in off the street and he’s their real kid. He was just
putting me back where I belonged."
”He actually said that?”
“Yeah. And I told them. I told everybody. It didn’t matter.”
Devon leaned over, kissed her cheek, lingered. “The hell with them. The hell with
everybody. I’ll take care of you.”
Trista pulled away, pushed up to her feet, glared down at him. “Would you stop? How
the hell can you take care of me when you can barely take care of yourself? And who
the hell said I wanted to be taken care of? What I want is for them to pay. For him to
pay. But that’ll never happen because they’re who they are and I’m who I am and
people like me don’t fucking matter.”
She stalked away, swiping her sleeve across her eyes.
“Then I’ll make them pay,” Devon called after her.
Trista halted, but didn’t turn back. “Yeah? And you’d do that how?”
Devon stepped over, wrapped his arms around her, kissed the nape of her neck.
“However you want.”
She reached back and stroked his hair. “You’d really do that?”
“I’ll do anything that’ll make you happy.”
Trista smiled, envisioning a whole new world of green, all set awash in red.
She took Devon’s hand and raised it to pinch the sun.
Right now, he was a god.
