Ticky Tacky -open-

[pc]

"Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same...."

Spencer's voice rang out through the trees of Central Park, making some heads turn. While his voice was moderate, his fingers danced skillfully across his guitar's strings. He was a good looking boy, his dark auburn hair falling gracefully against his face, his pale hazel eyes staring out into nothingness. He wore a dark gray v neck that clung attractively to his frame, with a blue flannel acting as a shell of sorts. His faded blue jeans were artfully ripped, and his converse had some wear to them.

He enjoyed Central Park in the Spring on the days that it was not raining. He could smell the vendors selling their goods: Peanuts, Popcorn, Hot Dogs, Falafal. Mixed in to this was the sticky sweet smell of flowers that the breeze carried. Lilacs and... Hyacinths this year, mixed with the usual daisies and posies. The birds chirped in a randy way that was common this time of year, and the squirrels chattered away happily. The clopping noise of the horse carriage and (unfortunately) the smell that followed that. The scratching noise of skateboards, and the eclectic music of other performers.

Oh, and hark! The sound of a quarter (perhaps a nickle, but he was an optimist). "Why thank..." He sniffed thoughtfully, taking in a rose perfume. "Ma'am." And he continued to the next verse:

"And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same."

Spencer bounced a little to the tune of his music, but had decided long ago that dancing when you could not see was a bad combination. Pickles, the large German Shepard, barked lightly, wagging his tail in an endearing manner. He was a well trained, handsome dog, with thoughtful brown eyes though Spencer had to take others word for it. Still Pickles was an unending companion for Spencer's trips outside of school.


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[olleyloo2]

“And they all play on the golf course,
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.”

Came a voice joining in. To a person without sight, it could be startling for the sudden voice to come out of nowhere, especially one that didn’t seem hesitant, one that didn’t seem to waver, and one that definitely was not shy. The smell that seemed to accompany the voice was a mouth-watering watermelon scent. Of course, Ziggy didn’t like perfumes. They felt too artificial, and much too strong. She preferred eccentric body sprays of different fruits. Apples, Watermelons, Banana, and even the stranger ones—like Cotton Candy and Peppermint.

To someone with sight however, the strong voice was coming from a shockingly tiny girl. Different from her usual short hair, the ever-changing Ziggy had placed in extensions, which the matching white hair tumbled to the middle of her back. And on her body, was a very large, pale, satin looking dress shirt that had been forced into servitude as a dress. Buttoned up, and held in place on her teeny waist by a matching ribbon, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

“And the children go to summer camp,
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes,
And they all come out the same.”

She continued to sing with him, her voice not overpowering. Strong, but in a harmony with his, that seemed almost rehearsed. While she sang along, she stayed out of range of the dog—it was a seeing eye dog, and looked friendly, but you never completely knew. In her tiny hand, was a small paper bill. Her voice dropped out of the song, and she watched for a moment, the smell of watermelon still making sure her presense was there. “Hold out your hand, you talented man of a musician. I’ve got something for you, but I’d rather not put it in your case where it could be snatched out without a sound.” Ziggy chirped, in that eccentric way of talking. By the way his eyes didn’t respond, and the apparent loyalty of the dog---Ziggy was intelligent enough to put together this boy probably couldn’t see. And just when she was dressed shocking enough---people were going to get use to her loud colors, but she looked relatively normal and part of the crowd today. That would be shocking to those who knew her.

[pc]

A lot could be told about a woman by what she sprayed on to her body. For instance a girl who wore expensive french cologne was (in most cases, not all) either highly Daddy dependent or had a vendetta against her old man. She would wear the cashmere-iest of cashmere sweaters and the silkiest of silk gowns, her hair and make up would never be out of place, and she would expect to be taken on a fancy dinner. A young lady who wore natural oils: lavender, rose water, sandle-wood, jasmine; was (again, the rule with a few exceptions) environmentally conscious and enjoyed (yes, enjoyed) granola. Her ideal date would be to go hiking or doing yoga. And then their were the darling body spritzers, each in their own category. The floral spritzers loved elegance and simplicity, and most of all predictability. They would be lost on a spontaneous date and
thrived in the common Movie and Dinner date. Then their were the fruity spritzers: Far more adventurous than their floral counter parts and sweeter than cinnamon french toast with extra syrup. And then the Candy spritzers, innocent and sweet, princesses at heart.

He could smell Watermelon, but their was an under tone of..... Cotton Candy? Perhaps her shampoo or lotion. Spencer had only a moment to consider, becoming instantly distracted by a powerful voice. And what more! She knew the lyrics to Little Houses! How few of his peers had a liking for music, especially old music, like he did. How refreshing! How.... interesting. Spencer half listened to Pickles shift at the sudden joining of another, and his study whip tail whack Spence on his heel.

Of course, Spencer ceased to sing. He could in no way match her voice, but he continued to play on the guitar. When she stopped singing, a small sadness fell on the boy, but her perked back up when she spoke to him. "For me?" He smiled coyly, feeling his auburn hair fall into his eyes slightly. He brushed it away, only for it to fall right back into place stubbornly. Spencer held his guitar by its neck, but set it in the case carefully. "Generally the case is pretty safe. They are scared of Pickles..." He nudged in the direction of the Shepard, who barked happily at the recognition. "But personal interaction is important..."

He held out both hands, one out stretched for his reward and the other out of habit, a smile on his face. Touch was important to the blind, because the feel of ones skin was even more revealing than the type of perfume they wore. So often, upon meeting a person, Spencer would touch their hands. When you were blind, it was the hands that were the windows to a soul, not the eyes.

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[olleyloo2]

Ziggy hadn’t exactly noticed that his voice had dropped out until she herself stopped. She opened up her eyes—she liked to sing with them shut. She could pretend she was in an auditorium, filled with screaming adoring fans, throwing roses at her feet. With her eyes shut, she was thrown into Rachel Ziggy Ella’s Home Coo-Coo Theater, and she quite liked it that way. He may not have seen it, but she smiled as he fussed with his hair. Good hair never behaved, good hair had a mind of its own.

“Does Pickles eat pickles?” She riddled curiously, then folded the corner of the bill to give it an odd shape, but recognizeable for later, “It’s a twenty.” Her other hand went into his open one, and rested for a moment. She gave a little curtsy, “Rachel Ziggy Ella, at your service! Though, please don’t call me Rachel, it’s much too bland. And Ella is sort of that annoying song. You know, ‘Umbrella…ella..ella..ey…ey.’.” This was the way she always introduced herself, explaining why, “So, Ziggy is my name? And this cute little pooch is Pickles. Does that make you a tomato?” She chirped curiously, leaving her tiny hand in his. Her nails were short, and blunt, not bitten, but filed down—she simply couldn’t be bothered with breaking a nail during her many jungle-hunting adventures. The nails would feel glossy, but that would be because there was sunshine yellow polish on them, and around the wrist in his hand, were several thin bracelets, and one clunky one—made out of Legos strung on a thread.

[/b]“I generally don’t mind dogs, it’s the crows that bother me,”[/b] She shuddered, she really hated crows, they were so….creepy. “But it’s better be safe than sorry, is Pickles a friendly pooch?”
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[pc]

"Ah, no." He chuckled a little. "It was a joke, but it' not very funny." She slipped his a crisped bill, and a small but polite frown crossed him as he touched her hand. He didn't want to offend her by not excepting, but a twenty seemed to be too much. Spencer tried to think of a resolution as she introduced herself. What a curious manner she had when speaking, her sentences strung along as if she was saying whatever crossed her mind. Of course this very well could have been the case. He touched his chest and gave a slight but dramatic bow. "Spencer Price." He grinned at her, though his eyes (as always) were pale and staring at nothingness. Still, they had a mischievous sparkle.

"And Pickles is as friendly as they come." Spencer gave a sharp whistle, holding his hand out palm down, just at Pickles height. The Shepard leaped up to his feet and walked over to them, his head resting against his Master's palm. "Aren't you boy." The dog gave a loud happy bark in response, his hind legs shifting as if he was eager to greet the new face. Spencer rubbed the dos large, pointed, ears fondly. "And," The boy said with a grin, even with the $20 burning his palm. "We were actually about to go and experience some of New York's Finest cuisines..." He motioned to the busy hot dog stand off to his left. "If you'd like to join us, Ziggy."

He liked the sound of her name, even the Rachel and the Ella bit. But Ziggy, seemed to suit her particular well. Peculiar, whimsical, with a hidden elegance. Spencer knelt down to close up the guitar case before latching it to his back, and strapping Pickles with his special leash. The dogs ears fell down, as if in petulant annoyance, at the leash and Spencer patted him sympathetically. "Unless, you have other plans of course."

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[olleyloo2]

That was exactly what Ziggy did, rattling off whatever came into her head, not particularly thinking before the words came spilling out of her mouth. Often, it got her into trouble, and even more often, she was forcibly cut off by a loud exclamation, or a hand over her mouth. All of which she was painfully use to.

“Spencer Price,” She tested the name on her tongue, commiting it to memory, “I quite like that.” His eyes, though blind, made her smile. They didn’t have that eerie, film covered look, in fact, they were quite pretty. And she could sneak longer glances at his face without getting strange looks—after all. He was pretty cute.

Her attention was drawn back to the dog, and she immediately crouched to Pickles’ height, and held out a tiny hand towards him. “Well, he is absolutely adorable.” Ziggy confirmed, giving him a delicate little scritch underneath the chin. She stood up slowly, and took a step back at Spencer closed his guitar, and leashed up the Shepard. “Well. I’m not particularly fond of meat, but if I know New York like I think I do, they will have pretzels. And a pretzel sounds really good. I like the kinds with cinnamon, but I love it when they come with cheese to dip into. I’m a sucker for cheese, I have to be careful, because too much cheese will make you sick. What kind of pretzels do you like? If you even like them.” Her finger went to her lips in thought, staring down at her feet as she pondered this. What if he hated pretzels? Despised them? Then began to hate her for her ungodly love of the little twisted, boiled breads?

“So in that case, I would love to join you and your companion. And if they don’t offer pretzels, I will take a hot dog, eat the bread, and distract you while I sneak the meat bit to Pickles.” She raised her brows and glanced down at the dog, “Shh, Pickles. Don’t tell him.”

[pc]

Spencer liked how she said his name. Not even an ounce of pity in her voice. In fact, he had not noted any pity the entire time she had spoken to him. Usually that was the initial issue he had with meeting new people, though it never made him angry anymore. Back in the day, he once yelled at a man who had been angry at a young Spencer, until he found out the boy was blind. But the young man was past that, and it was a common theme in people to feel sympathy in place of understanding. But that was the rule, and Ziggy was apparently the exception.

He sensed a cohesive friend ship forming. At least until he realized his faux pas...

He could have kicked himself, it something catastrophic wasn't doomed to happen if he tried. Of course she is a vegetarian. She said she could get a pretzel, but that didn't sound to particularly filling. Spencer had to think fast. "Well, theres always Big Tony's Dirty Dog's." The teenage boy said, keeping his cool. "It sounds disgusting, I know, but they have some of the best dogs in New York and they happen to have some delicious veggie dogs. It's called a Peta Dog." Fiddling with his strap and holding back a sudden urge to reach out and touch her arm. His friends back at home were use to his handsy nature, but this girl was a stranger. A truly darling stranger, who was quite endearing in the olfactory sense as well as pleasing to the ear, but a stranger none-the-less.

"We can probably get an ice cream cone or an elephant ear there. If you like cinnamon pretzels, I bet you love elephant ears." He offered his arm to the young lady, with Pickles on the other side ready to guide. Being closer, he pinned down his suspicion that she used Watermelon Spritz. It was a tingling smell, but pleasant. The cotton candy smell was so faint it was barely noticeable, and it could very well have been bubblegum. The Watermelon was too over powering to allow the other smell to come through, but it was pleasant all the same.


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[olleyloo2]

As well as adorable, and sweet—poor Ziggy tended to be completely oblivious. Especially when he started to rattle off the different places of hotdogs. She just started up at him, brows up, eyes alight, and content smile on her face. Then it flickered. “Big Tony’s Dirty Dogs….” She tapped her chin, “Well. Truth be told, I came to New York for an adventure. And if a place sounds like it could give me food poisioning, I want to try it.” Then he mentioned icecream. She was a goner.

Ziggy then decided to compromise, “Let’s do both. My treat, or we can split it, cause you’re not paying for the whole thing, buddy. Then we can even stop at that little pet-treat-place up the way, so your four-legged friend isn’t left out in all of the delicious treat-consumming.” She looked at him as he offered his arm. With her clumsiness, and his blindness, this could be either completely perfect, or a royal disaster. However, Ziggy was never one to pass up the opportunity to hang onto a boy’s arm, not at all. She interlocked her arm with his, and placed her hand on his upper arm, like the perfect lady she never was.

Well this was nice. Completely unexpected, but nice. Ziggy was confident around strangers, and would often lock arms(it was one of her favorite forms of walking with friends), or coming up to them and striking a conversation. With her arm around his, her five-foot even height was apparent if one knew the structure of a body, and the occasional brush of her shoulders would give some indication to where the top of her head was. “Elephant ears? Are those like turnovers? Or something completely different?”

[pc]

She inquired on the elephant ears."You've never had an elephant ear? Like, at a carnival? It's kinda like a doughnut, or a fritter. You can get apples or cherries or powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar..." Navada had some of the best carnivals in the world, even if you were blind. It was a colleague of sounds and odors, a cornucopia of good feelings.

As they began to stroll along, things seemed to go smoothly. Even without Pickles Spencer was pretty good at getting around. I was all about paying attention to the world around him, which meat that while he was not trying to bring Ziggy to almost certain doom, he was getting rather quiet. Children ran passed them, and Spencer gave a distracted smile in their direction. A cat ran ahead of them, Spencer was not sure in what direction, and he felt Pickles body stiffen to maintain control. Spencer gave him an awkward pat, not wanting to release Ziggy's arm. "Good boy..." Hearing his own voice, he remembered that he was being terribly uninteresting at the moment.

"So, Malvina Reynolds..." Spencer said suddenly, in an almost apologetic way. He could feel the dog maintain focus, his back rigid and his padded feet reading lightly on the pavement. "Not many our age know her too well. You're not an old lady with an especially young sounding voice are you." He stopped suddenly in front of a saxophone player, touching her arm jokingly as if checking for wrinkles. The expression on his face showed that their was no weight in his words, and he was suddenly hoping he did not offend her. Still, all was not bad. Her arm was quite smooth.

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[olleyloo2]

“Oh…I’ve never been to a carnival.” She said quietly, and for once, held a sad note to her otherwise chirpy voice. “I wasn’t allowed to go out very much.” She said absently, listening to him describe the food. Which caused her to salivate, which she hoped she wasn’t drooling all over herself. Ziggy was use to crazy chatter, but at the same time—she was oddly content with the silence. Pickles seemed to be very good at his job, but sound was probably delicate, and her chirpy, high voice probably wouldn’t help very much.

“Oh…” Ziggy said distantly, though if listened closed, a slight smile could be heard in her voice, “You don’t have a thing for grandmas?” She questioned, “I guess I’m poo out of luck then.” She sighed, her shoulders slumped. “No, I’m not an old lady. I’m sixteen, if you must know. But I am particularly short. My head is about…” Her spare arm touch the top of her head, and leveled it with his arm, and tapped the side of his bicep, more towards his elbow, than his shoulder. “About here. But my hair is white, like an old lady’s.” She explained. Oh, right, Malvina Reynolds.

“My mom listened to her a lot. And I like older music. It’s not so much about ‘tap dat azz’, or ‘smokin dat roofie’. It’s about life, love, pain, happiness. Not sex and drugs.” She explained. She was very open, and silly. But she didn’t like most of that sort of music, it seemed like a waste of talent to her. “I’ll listen to some things now, but it’s easier to recreate the songs, change the beats and stuff from older songs, you know?”

[pc]

Spencer noted a sudden gravity in Ziggy's whimsical voice, and it put a sadness in his gut. The way she spoke, how she said she was never allowed out much, it made him think of her being caged away. And this, in Spencer's mind, was a great crime. Such a free spirit should never be locked away. "Well," He said, with his own seriousness. "Maybe I can take you to one sometime. But an elephant ear, we can get at Big Tony's Dirty Dogs."

A thick grin was smeared across his face as she took his joke with grace. "Sixteen, eh? With white hair. Does your boyfriend stress you out or something?" Okay, so it wasn't the most creative ways to inquire on Ziggy's relationship status, but it was a nagging thought in the back of his head. Especially how she spoke about music, something he had great passion for. He imagined her strong and (cliche as it sounds) angelic voice singing Helen Kane's rendition of 'I want to be loved by you' or Marilyn Monroe's 'Diamonds are a Girl's best friend'. "I couldn't agree more."

Where had this girl come from? And more importantly, what was the flaw? Crazy Ex-Boyfriend? Over protective Father? There had to be something. There was always something.

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[olleyloo2]

Ziggy tried to not laugh, she really did. Walking arm and arm with Spencer, and indirectly, Pickles, and he was already making plans for a second visit. But he offered her food, and forget the saying ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’, because if you wanted to win Ziggy over. Give her food. And lots of it. Get her lettuce, and she’ll crawl at your feet like a clingy puppy.

“My white hair is natural!” She exclaimed, then almost felt bad. He wasn’t able to see the dark roots coming in, so it seemed somehow unfair. She dropped her voice to a whisper, “Okay, it’s really not. But don’t tell anyone, or I’ll have to….have to…” Ziggy was terrible with threats, “I will come up with something! And furthermore, I do not have a boyfriend. Unless you count music. Music is my only lover.” She almost sighed, as though she were talking about a person. Her body moves, like she was going to lean onto Spencer—but with her luck, and her grace(or lack thereof), may not have been such a good idea, and she straightened back out.

“So. How long?” She asked, her voice looking the chirp to it again. When she wasn’t revved up, her voice was soft, and strangely quiet for such a loudly dressed girl. “I mean, have you been blind?” She asked curiously, “Do you know colors?” There was a strange innocence to her voice, almost child-like. She wasn’t aware that she could have possibly been offensive—it was simple curiosity that made her ask.

[pc]

Her claim that her hair was natural, and the almost immediate recant, was cute enough. But when she tried to threaten him, oh he could have squealed from adorableness had been the squealing type. Spencer grinned, trying not to look patronizing, and his ran his fingers across his lips as if zipping them. When she spoke of music, his heart almost fluttered, which made him feel both cheesy and sheepish. No one seemed to appreciate music enough anymore. But it was understandable. She sang beautifully after all. Spencer wondered if she had been trained. Questions raced, but he didn't want to come off creepy or strange. He'd need to be slick and smooth. If nothing else, this girl would prove to be an interesting friend.

Spencer had the feeling that Ziggy was not the sort to cease to amaze, and her next question proved this.

In general people had two ways of handling Spencer's blindness. Half wold ignore the issue completely and others would try to discuss how it feels and make things super awkward. But in Ziggy's voice, he only heard an honest curiosity. "I had just turned eleven, when it happened." His voice was very casual, as if discussing weather or sports. "I think I do, remember colors. I know I had a fondness for blue." He didn't really think about colors that much, and when he did it always seemed associated with a feeling, a smell, or a sound. "But sometimes it's like a memory I can't focus on. The edges get fuzzy, and I associate a color with things I know. Blue isn't the color of the ocean anymore; it feels like a soft quilt, smells like rain, sounds like sugar being poured in a bowl." He wondered if that made any sense to her, and made sure their was nothing that could be construed as sadness.


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[olleyloo2]

Ziggy fell silent as he explained when he had gone blind. Very young, it seemed. She couldn’t imagine not seeing color, though her wardrobe choices often made people assume the eccentric girl was colorblind. “So you relate colors and things to tastes, and sounds. Hearing colors…” She trailed, and closed her eyes, trying to listen to the color. This only seemed to accentuate her grace, because her toe decided to hook onto the edge of the crack in the sidewalk and she stumbled. She loosened her grip on her arm, and wobbled, her entire body going rigid has she regained her balance, clutching his arm once she was steady—just to be safe that he wouldn’t go toppling over.

“Uh….A cat ran by.” She fibbed, her face turning bright red, just like the color of those blasted flats on her feet. “Okay, it didn’t. But we’re gonna go with the fact a cat ran by, so I don’t seem like a total goof, deal? Deal. How did it happen? If I’m being too nosy, feel free to say,” She then deepened her voice, in a stereotypical imitation fo a guy’s voice, “You are far too nosy, Miss Ziggy Ella. No elephant ear for you! Tata, cheerio!,” Then back to her normal squeak, “It’s really quite alright! How long have you been playing guitar? You’re really good, you should try to get a demo put together and send it in to radios. You could be totally famous! And you would have a bunch of girl groupies too!” She rattled, her head bopping from side to side as she continued on.

[pc]

Ziggy's voice had become so ethereal, he was half expecting her to float away. What he wasn't quite expecting was for her to lose her foot, and out of instinct he released Pickles's leash to catch her before she could crash into the ground. She seemed to catch her own footing however, and his aid was completely unnecessary. The heat glowing off her seemed to point to her blushing and he released her, giving her an impish grin. "A cat, absolutely." He agreed, as if not hearing her recant her fib once more. "Pesky little critters, always dashing out of nowhere." In truth, he was non to fond of cats. Litter boxes gave off one of the most horrendous odors, and even when he had his site he found their aloofness (for lack of a better term) bitchy.

She voiced a fear that she might be being nosy, and he gave a gentle chuckle as he patted leg for Pickles to come to him. The dog's soft fur rubbed against his hand, and he found the strap easily. "Ziggy, I find your questions refreshing. Most don't want to talk about my little eye problem, but I don't mind. Really." He assured Ziggy gently, averting his gaze towards the dog. He had been told that he would sometimes accidentally stare at people, though he could hardly do it on purpose. "You can ask me whatever you like. I'm pretty tough. Almost impossible to hurt my feelings. He man, yeh know?" He flexed for effect, wanting her to laugh.

But when she complemented his guitar skill, he couldn't help but blush himself. Him, famous? In his dreams perhaps. Every night since he started playing the guitar. "Groupies you say?" He said, trying to sound suddenly intrigued, though his natural modesty seemed to shine through, making the effect a little mixed. Giving up on his failed rouse he merely shrugged. "Maybe someday, but I'd need a band first. No one just wants to hear a guitar play for three minutes."

Spencer needed to make sure she wasn't hurt, but he didn't want to embarrass her. "Do you want to sit a minute?" He motioned to Pickles, pointing the blame on the dog. "I think Pickles may be tired..." As if responding to his masters assumption the dog's ears flattened and a confused whimper crossed his clever throat. A frown creased Spencer's lips, but he shrugged and gave a new excuse. "I could show you what yellow feels like to me."


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