Member-only story
He Calls Me Rainbow
I Call Him Annoying (Part I)
He says my moods are always visible to him
by the aura of colors surrounding me.
He calls it my unique living palette
which moves through a range, he says,
from wonderful to miserable, gentle to gruff,
placid to powerful. Today supposedly I was
all-together opaque, dark… a slate gray of
sullen silence, as foreboding as a coming storm.
“You are impossible,” he said… “a carry-over from when
we spoke of religions.” I reminded him he broke our solemn pact,
the one where we agreed never to discuss religion or politics.
“Sometimes pacts need to be broken.” he spat out.
“Go to hell” I spat back, and left the room, dragging my
slate gray sullenness behind me, watching it darken
to a charcoal black as I marched myself out.
“Awww, lighten up! I need you in a good mood… pleeeez!
Remember, my mother is coming to stay for two weeks… Oh god!
You suddenly look like cold, congealed porridge with smashed raspberries!”
I just stopped dead in my sneakers and stared for a full two minutes.
“Good,” I said, stone faced as oatmeal.“Get used to this look
because that’s exactly what I’m going to feed her while she’s here!”
I did a swishy ballet twirl, sneakers and all, and a beautiful
plié out of the room. Arms and head held high.
