A Blue World

by William Quincy Belle

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

The woman hesitated, scrutinizing him, then consulted her computer screen.

“Go through the far door to the first door on the right, exam room one. A doctor will see you in five minutes.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I owe you!”

Every head in the waiting room turned to follow him from the counter to the far door.

Nick perched on the edge of an exam table, the sound of the crumpling paper cover echoing off the walls. He mindlessly scanned the room with its charts, instruments, and a counter with a wash sink.

The door swung open, and a doctor came in, studying a clipboard. “Mr. Larsen, how can I be of service...” He lifted his head, and his voice trailed off as he registered Nick’s appearance. “What in heaven’s name happened to you?”

“You tell me, doc.”

“Did someone douse you with paint?”

“Nope.”

“When did this happen?”

“During the night.”

“Yesterday, were you normal?”

Nick explained what had happened.

“There are several conditions which can cause blue skin,” the doctor said. “But I don’t think the color is as bright as this. Besides, physical symptoms such as nausea accompany conditions like methemoglobinemia, caused by chemicals or genetic disorders. You seem okay.”

“Other than the blue skin, I feel fine.”

The doctor put on latex gloves and held Nick’s hand, turning it over and examining each finger. He scrunched up his face. “Argyria?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a blue skin condition caused by the excessive exposure to silver, but I don’t see how this could happen overnight. Besides, I don’t think the color matches your blue. If I remember correctly, it’s more purple than blue.” He leaned in and inspected Nick’s skin. “Whatever the case, I’d say your condition is related to the event in the park. But I’ve never heard of anything like this before. To be on the safe side, we should do blood work, but I won’t have results until tomorrow.”

“Last night, I talked with a research group taking samples for testing. I wonder what they have found out.”

“Unbutton your shirt.”

The doctor examined his chest and back. “I don’t believe this is any sort of contagion. It’s a safe bet this is triggered by your mysterious blue dust.”

The doctor filled out a form. “There’s a lab next door. Take this in, and they’ll draw some blood. We’ll test for chemicals, silver, and so on, but I’d like to analyze that blue powder. I’m sure it holds the key to this mystery.”

“Thanks, doc.”

Nick visited the lab, then went to get breakfast. It was disconcerting having people stare at him, but what else could he do? He was stuck with being blue and, for the moment, couldn’t do anything about it.

He drove to the park and wandered, sizing up the situation. All the protesters from last night had succumbed to the same phenomenon, and everyone had blue skin like him. People voiced concern, talked about the medical implications, and even reveled in their newfound color.

The police were on hand. Other news outlets had set up cameras. The time was approaching noon, so he headed through the park to the main road, the starting point of the parade. He kept his phone up, snapping pictures in various directions.

A group of blue people held up a large sign showing White Lives Matter. Two other blue people wearing t-shirts labeled with BLM came across the road and stood in front of them. After a moment, one of them waved their hand and yelled out, “You’re not white!”

The chanting diminished.

“You’re not white!”

The chanters stopped and looked at each other. “Well, you’re not black.”

“We noticed. Kind of ridiculous, I’d say.”

A man came from the back of the group. “Why don’t you go back to your side of the street?” He thrust his finger at the two BLM protesters. “I’ve had enough of you uppity people!” He used both hands to push one BLM, who staggered back several paces.

“Hey!” The other BLM ran at the chanter, and the two of them fell to the ground, flailing at each other without landing a solid punch.

“Get him, Bobby!” a voice yelled from the group.

As Nick snapped away, two policemen rushed up. One of them grabbed the WLM chanter by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off the other man. The second cop stood in front of the group and spread his arms out. “All right, everybody back. Let’s calm down.”

The chanter jumped to his feet and cocked his fist before realizing he was facing a cop. He backed up and pointed to the man still on the ground. “He started it!”

The policeman helped the BLM back to his feet. “Listen, I want you to go back to your side of the street. I don’t want this to get out of hand.”

“Yes, officer.”

Nick watched as the two sides backed up. One cop shook his head and said to his partner, “Look at all this blue. I can’t tell which side is which.”

A bell tower at the edge of the park chimed twelve noon.

Nick walked to the central point of the park. On the one side, Black Lives Matter, on the other, White Lives Matter. The two men he had interviewed the previous day strode to the forefront, and as they stood face to face, Nick aimed his phone and snapped a picture. A blue man confronting a blue man.

Jacob and David stared at each other for a prolonged moment.

David looked down at one hand and turned it over. “This is weird. A blue man marching for whites.”

More people came forward from both sides, and Nick backed away, snapping more photos.

“Look,” Jacob said, “we have nothing against you.”

“I suppose we have nothing against you,” David said. “Our beef is more about our opportunities.”

“Opportunities?”

“I feel... well, we feel we’ve been passed over. The rich keep getting richer, and we keep getting not rich. None of us are any farther ahead than we were ten years ago.”

“You don’t think we’re better positioned, do you?”

“All the talk about equal rights doesn’t strike me as equal. My impression is that everybody else is getting an opportunity, but I’m stuck with the same old, same old.”

Nick watched the two men staring at each other. Jacob held his hand up, turned it over, then looked at David. David did the same.

“Why don’t we work together to figure this out?” Jacob said. “Maybe we can find some opportunities for both of us.”

David gave him an uncertain look.

Jacob stuck out his hand. “Shake?”

David hesitated, then shook hands.

Somewhere, somebody yelled, “Blue Lives Matter!”

Jacob picked up a megaphone and addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s start our march. We go to the east exit of the park, turn right on Edenshire, and continue to the next corner. Police have set up roadblocks to cordon off our route. We are going clockwise through the downtown core and will return to the park’s west entrance. Follow my lead.”

Somebody in the crowd of whites yelled out, “Blue lives matter!” Several other voices echoed the chant.

“I want to emphasize something,” Jacob said into the bullhorn. “No violence. Let’s make this a peaceful protest. The police are here. So is the press, and the world is watching. Let’s show everybody our protest is legitimate. We’re protesting for our rights, and we are good people.”

Jacob looked at David. “Join me?”

“Sure.”

“Want to say anything to the crowd?” Jacob held out the bullhorn.

David hesitated. “Sure.” He took the device and played with the trigger. “Testing.” He held it up. “I’m David Sutton, heading up the group Whites for Change. Let’s try to keep things under control. I don’t want to see anybody spending the night in jail.” He cleared his throat. “Not all of us have health insurance, which means not all of us can deal with our blue skin issue. Fortunately, I saw a doctor this morning, and it would seem our condition is not dangerous and probably temporary. Nevertheless, Public Health has a mobile clinic on site for anybody who would like a free consultation. At the park gate, turn left, and there’s an EMT van parked at the curb. I think we’re okay, but if you are still concerned, get yourself checked out.”

He handed the bullhorn back to Jacob.

“Let’s go, people!” Jacob said into the horn. He waved his one arm to the crowd and started walking, David beside him. The two men chatted as everyone followed.

The White Lives Matter crowd followed in parallel on the opposite side of the street. Nick could see people on both sides staring at each other, bewildered by the blue skin. He heard the occasional chant of “Black Lives Matter” and “White Lives Matter,” but every once in a while, a distinctive “Blue Lives Matter” sounded off.

As the crowds arrived at the park exit, a line of police officers guided them into the street, BLM to one side, WLM to the other. However, one group mixed with the other, and the crowds began walking together as one. Nick followed them onto the street, then hurried down a sidewalk to get ahead of them for more photos. Curious onlookers lined the street to gawk.

At the next corner, Nick found barriers marked Road Closed with several cops standing guard. He went out part way on the crosswalk to snap the protests coming towards him.

“This is dumb.”

Nick looked at an elderly white woman standing on the edge of the sidewalk, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Pardon?” Nick asked.

“Look at ’em! They’re all blue!”

Nick half-smiled.

“Blue protesting blue? This is dumb.”

“Protest is important to some people,” Nick said.

“Yes, but these idiots are protesting the wrong people,” the woman said.

“What do you mean?”

“The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer. As long as they keep various groups fighting amongst themselves, those groups will never realize the rich are robbing them blind.”

“Really?”

“Look at those white idiots. They’re always mad at blacks, women, or immigrants as if they’re losing out to those people. The rich have the self-serving goal of distracting people from what they’re doing. Keep those people mad at something so they won’t see that the rich are rigging everything in their own favor.”

“You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Nick said.

“I ain’t no dummy. Unfortunately, I’ve got no power, so I can’t do anything about any of this. I’ve got a vote, but one vote isn’t enough to turn the tide.”

A black man came out of a store and stood beside the woman, sliding his arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. He observed the crowd. “My goodness!”

“This is my husband, Tom. I’m Mabel.”

“I’m Nick Larsen, a reporter with The National View. Would you mind if I quote you? I’m doing a piece on today’s protest.”

“If I’m not being impolite, your color blue seems to make you part of the protest.”

Nick chuckled. “Yes, I have inadvertently gotten into the thick of it.”

“Tom and I have been married for over forty years. Race has never been a problem. But finances are something else. These whites are going after the wrong boogeyman. The rich, big business, and the political system with its lobbyists are all conspiring to stack the deck against us little people. How much wealth does any one person need? These super-rich could give up half their estates and still be stinking rich in comparison with the rest of us average folk.”

“Do you mind if I take your picture?” Nick held up his phone.

“Snap away.” Mabel and Tom stood against each other and gave a smile.

The crowd had reached them, led by Jacob and David. The general noise reached a crescendo with people chanting, talking, and the sound of footsteps.

“Look at all that blue!” Tom said. “This is a curious sight.”

The crowd was more subdued. People shuffled along, holding their signs, but Nick thought they seemed more focused on completing the march than protesting.

A young man raised his arm and shouted, “Blue Lives!” Nobody else said anything.

Mabel let out a long sigh and shook her head. “Unfortunately, your average voter knows very little about politics, their country, and how the world works. They are ripe for being manipulated by unscrupulous players. All these protesters want is a better life for themselves. Is that too much to ask?”

* * *

Two days later, Nick sat with Michael, his editor, at the newspaper offices.

“The doctor said my blood tests came back normal,” Nick said. “Others have analyzed the blue dust but remain mystified by the way the substance had interacted with melanin, a component of our skin pigmentation. It would seem this interaction is temporary, as my skin is returning to its normal color.”

“Odd,” Michael said. “Lucky, but odd.”

“Overall, the protest came off relatively smoothly. There were a few altercations, but compared to some protests that have turned into a full-scale riot, this was, if you’ll forgive my joke, a walk in the park.”

Michael half-smiled.

“Oh, and I made inquiries about the meteor.” He consulted his notepad. “NASA estimated the object to be fifteen to twenty feet in diameter, weighing about a thousand tons. It exploded in an air burst at a height of six miles or thirty thousand feet. The noise was heard for ten miles. Have you seen the amateur video?”

“It’s startling.”

Michael laid out a hard copy of the newspaper on his desk. The photo of the two blue men shaking hands was front and center.

“Several national outlets have picked up our story and your photo. It’s going to be on TV. Congratulations.”

Michael tapped the photo. “Racism will go on; it’s as old as the hills. But you’ve captured an interesting moment. Are we really that much different from each other?”

Nick nodded. “For one moment, Earth truly was the Blue Planet.”