HOME | DD

Description
I've been told that life comes in many colors, each in unique shades. I've been told that I should always remember this simple fact, and so I have. I now find myself lying alone, listening to the consoling rhythm of "Hey Jude", and doing my best to convince myself that this afternoon has been painted purple, a color which seems to best describe a mask of serenity and self-acceptance, beneath which hides a mixture of shame, loss, and self-pity. It is in this condition that I allow myself an hour of hitting repeat on my cassette player, reflecting upon myself and consoling with my conscience.

What colors will tomorrow show? Will they appear in blotches, or fade from one to another? This is the question I ask Aunt Marry when her shadow kneels over my now fossilized sheets and, like every night before now, she whispers into my right ear.

"Well, I'm afraid I just don't know the answer to that question. You see, it's different for every person. I might see tomorrow as a valiant orange in the morning and green in the afternoon while you see a consistent blue. So you tell me, when you wake of course, what color you see in the morning," she presses her lips to my cheek, "See you then, dear."

I close my eyes and allow her shadow to return to that of my radio and respond, just as I did every year before now, "No… you won't."

I dream of frozen scenes, and tampered memories. I walk through dampened crowds, the voices muffled and inaudible, while my own is loud and focused. I continue talking to my guests, and when my own voice becomes drowned, I know that this night is over. I continue to hold my conversations, not wanting to face what awaits me when I open my eyes. when i do, it will be twenty years since Aunt Marry has confided in me her views on life, but that it is not why the morning frightens me.

Although my aunt may have sat me on her lap that morning, telling me to look at the world as though it were a painting, that night… she had let her colors fade. Her morning was a vibrant orange, but her afternoon turned to a sudden black. We met her in the hospital – me, my mother, and my sister – at seven o' clock, and she told us that everything was going to be okay, that I should run to the bathroom and wipe the tears from my eyes. This was easy for her to say, since the doctors refused to show her to a mirror. They said that it was good for her spirit, that seeing her own body may throw every ounce of her serenity out the window.

Taking her advice, I took to the restroom, and used the mirror to make sure that there were no tear trails left. It dawned to me then that I can brighten her afternoon at least a little bit. To hell with the doctors. They could have a college degree in every medical field known to man, but they knew nothing of my aunt. I gripped the edges of wire frame which held the glass in place, and tore it from the wall with my fourteen year old arms. I rushed down the hall and back into the room, shoving past the disapproving thrusts that were meant to hold back the rash teenager. My mother stood aside, her arm holding my sister to her chest, so that I could lay the mirror on my aunt's midsection. "Look!" I insisted, "This is why I cry!"

Aunt Marry took the mirror in her plump palms and glared at the wrecked woman opposite her. Her right eye had been lost in scraps of lose skin and torn muscle. Her cheeks were dark with crusted blood. Her nose had been broken. She put the mirror to the side and looked beneath the covers, her tears telling us that she had found the bandages that rounded off what was left of her legs. She looked back at us, and then to me alone. "Come here hun." My mother patted my shoulder, as if to say, "We'll be waiting outside," and took my sister to the bathroom. Aunt Marry caressed my face with her still soft palm. The doctors covered up what they could, but they knew that the internal injuries were non repairable. Aunt Marry knew this as well, and as I glared at her misshapen face, she whispered her last words. "I'm going to die, dear. I know that, and you know that. In heaven, these wounds will mean nothing," she was wiping my tears at this point, "If you let me live on in your memories, I wont need this body. You can paint me a new one. Can you do that for me dear?" I nodded, letting my voice creep past my lips in a mouse-like whimper. "What colors will tomorrow show, Aunt Marry?"

She smiled at my question, and laid back her head to answer. "I just don't know that answer."

I nodded again and let my own hand, shaking like an autumn leaf, caress her less damaged cheek. "Can you tell me what color you see now?" A moment passed during which I feared that I would never hear the answer. Then, in her ever so subtle voice, she breathed, "I see… purple."