312 A.D.

The day was 312 A.D.

Anno divortium, that is — 312 days had passed since Melody found herself single after bringing nearly 25 years of marriage to a close. 312 days since she’d redefined the A.D. designation, which she decided would now reference the number of days-after-that-unspeakable-event, not years after the birth of Jesus Christ. She introduced the idea at Easter dinner, and her family couldn’t help but make deeply uncomfortable eye contact across the table.

“100 A.D. is a milestone worth celebrating,” she’d said and raised her glass, waiting for everyone to follow suit. When no one did, she chuckled smugly.

She really should have expected that — it wasn’t often that she saw eye to eye with them. How ironic that they’d be offended by Melody’s A.D. theft and not by the retaliatory actions she took after finding out her husband was having an affair. Her family couldn’t even begin to process the nuances of that situation because they could only see in black and white.

None of them could actually remember how or when the color in their city began to disappear from before their eyes. What used to be vibrant, effusive, and lively was now muted, drab, and dull.

Melody’s now-ended marriage had taken the same trajectory.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the push and pull of her pedals, the sound of the wind blowing through her hoop earrings, and the setting sunrays on her skin. Biking on the greenway usually left her feeling at ease, but this evening was different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was making her feel this agitated, so she cycled through her color memory exercise.

The grass along the bike path was green. The pedestrian crossing stripes perpendicular to the main road were yellow. The playground off to the right was purple and blue.

The clouds are still white, and the street lampposts are still black.

She turned into the parking lot, searching for the bike rack. Allowing the heavy weight of her bike lock to ground her, she secured her back wheel to the post and shook out her black, curly hair after removing her helmet. She smoothed her clothes and began walking into Hoppy Days.

Beer wasn’t usually Melody’s drink of choice, but she was making an exception tonight for the Silent Book Club meetup. She’d read that about a hundred readers would gather for the event, where they’d read collectively for an hour, bookended by mixing and mingling. Commit to traditional book club deadlines had been impossible for her since becoming single, and she couldn’t help but gravitate toward this seemingly zero-pressure format.

She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting alone, and small talk was an appealing distraction — and crutch — lately. With a Pilsen in hand, she walked toward a high-top table where two young women were already seated.

“Hi! I’m Melody. Is it OK if I sit here?” She asked, gesturing at the chair and then extending her hand.

“Of course. Is this your first time at Silent Book Club?” asked the straight-haired woman wearing a striped shirt, shaking Melody’s hand. “I’m Gabriela, by the way.”

“Yeah, it’s my first time,” she confirmed. “It’s that obvious?”

“Pretty much. You’ll find that we Silent Book Club goers don’t usually shake hands during introductions — it’s not like this is a formal networking event or job interview or something like that,” said the other woman, peering over her thick-rimmed glasses with her arms crossed. “I’m Becs.”

“Oh, interesting. Um okay, so what else should I know about Silent Book Club as a newbie? Any unspoken rules or things to avoid that are obvious ‘tells?’” Melody asked.

Becs paused for a moment before answering. “No, not really. I’m joking about the handshake, you know. I knew it was your first time here because you stand out pretty obviously from the rest of us.”

Right then, a man with unruly hair sticking out from under his baseball cap took the last seat at their table, sitting directly across from Melody and launching straight into conversation before she could respond to Becs.

“Yo, I finished the short story compilation last night — the one I brought two weeks ago,” he said. “Remember how we thought the author was wild for trying to mix fantasy and horror?”

Gabriela and Becs nodded.

“Well, now I see it. I get it,” he said, smiling. “He was smooth with it, too.”

“Hold on, are you talking about the new David Williams compilation?” Melody asked. “I think you’re hyping him up. I know it’s basically reached critical acclaim at this point, but I really don’t believe the collection deserved it.”

“I think that’s strike number two,” said Becs. “And oh, Travis, meet Melody. Melody, meet Travis.”

“Hey, Travis. Nice to meet you. And what do you mean by strike number two?” Melody asked.

“Well, at Silent Book Club, we don’t critique each other’s opinions about the books we’re reading until after we’ve properly introduced ourselves,” said Becs. “It’s a respect thing.”

Travis grinned and shook his head wistfully. “It’s an easy mistake. But it’s fine — I could tell it was your first time, so I won’t hold it against you.”

“That’s the second time that I’ve been told it’s clearly my first time here,” Melody noted to herself. She looked from Travis to Becs. How was it so obvious to them that she’d never attended Silent Book Club? She felt her heel lift off the ground, tapping up and down, up and down.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Melody said to Travis after clearing her through. “So, what now — Gabriela, is it your turn to call my third strike? If you say ‘yes,’ I might need to find a new table. The last thing I want to do is strike out before the reading even begins.”

Actually, the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself when what she really came here to do was clear her mind.

Just then, the Silent Book Club organizer stopped at their table. “Silent reading is beginning now,” she said coolly, “Thanks for coming, and we hope you enjoy the hour!”

Gabriela waited until the organizer was far enough away and then leaned closer to Melody to whisper, “We can tell it’s your first time because we’re seeing you in black and white.”

“Well of course that’s the case. We’re all seeing in black and white these days,” Melody responded.

“No, actually — tonight, you’re one of a few newcomers. The rest of us who have come here multiple times now we see each other in color,” Gabriela said, wincing.

Melody pulled back from her. Speechless, she gaped back at Gabriela, willing her brain to make meaning of what she’d heard. She looked at Becs and Travis to see if there was any indication that they’d heard the exchange, but they’d already begun to read their books, along with everyone else seated around the taproom.

She tried to lean back toward Gabriela to continue the conversation, but then the organizer tapped her shoulder. “We thank you in advance for honoring the silent reading hour and refraining from conversation,” she said.

“But I — well, can I take a — is it okay if I ask you —

“We take the silent reading hour seriously. Hold onto your question, and come find me afterward,” she said. “We’ll talk then.”

Melody swallowed and took a sharp inhale. She’d really have to endure the hour to first find out if what Gabriela said was true, and second, try to find out how seeing in color again was possible. She went through the motions of opening her book and getting settled, but she couldn’t do more but stare at the page. Maybe another color memory exercise would help.

The necklace she wore daily was gold with a ruby pendant. Her favorite shoes were orange. The dog who lives next door was brown.

The pages of her book are still white, and the text is still black.

Eighteen minutes in, Melody couldn’t handle it anymore. The time was passing excruciatingly slowly, the words on the page were swimming, and she had read the same paragraph six times. She closed her book and started to pack her things. As she reached for the zipper of her bag, Becs placed her hand on top of Melody’s and stopped her.

“Wait,” Becs mouthed. And then she whispered, “Trust me.”

Gabriela’s eyes were trained on Melody, too, silently pleading her to stay. Melody didn’t know if she could trust the two of them or Travis — or hell, anyone else at this Silent Book Club. But this was too big a revelation for her not to take a chance, and she needed answers.

Exactly one hour later, the organizer rang a bell to signal that reading time was over.

Melody immediately looked at Gabriela, eyes narrowed. “What exactly did you mean by what you said?” she asked.

“I meant that, when we saw you, well, we saw you in black and —” Gabriela started carefully.

“Actually, you know what, don’t bother to explain,” Melody interrupted. “I really need to catch the organizer, so maybe I’ll see you all next time.” Then she rushed to stand with her bag, rolling her eyes as she threw her hand up in a halfhearted goodbye.

Melody spotted the organizer near the bar, where a couple other people had cornered her. She was about to force her way into the conversation when the organizer paused, looked at her, and said, “Oh hey there, what’s your name? Feel free to join us. I love your ruby necklace, by the way.”

“My…ruby necklace?” Melody looked down, and sure enough, she could see the red gem sitting within the pendant, resting against her chest. She looked up at the others and noticed small spots of color had appeared on their bodies, clothing, and accessories, too.

“Yes, it’s stunning,” Michelle said, a single eyebrow raised. “I was waiting on you to make your way over — call me selfish or impatient, but I hate having to repeat the explanation for how and why color is coming back into your lives, no matter how big a deal it is. What’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s Melody. I really need to know what’s going on.”

Michelle nodded knowingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything.”

And just like that, 312 A.D. eclipsed 100 A.D.