Color in the Darkness



A field of colored tulips spread over the grassy plain. They consume the grass and eat away the ground at my feet as the sky turns from a baby blue to dark black. Thunder. Rain. And then I hear her voice. It’s far away, then right next to me. “Charlie!” the voice screams. “Charlie! Help me!” I run, but I don’t move. I stumble and my vision is blocked by my hair blowing into my face. But then, I see her.
“Mom, run!” My vision is taken again. Mom tries to run, but her wrists and feet are tied and she stumbles towards me, tripping over the piles of flowers. The sound of thunder rumbles on, and as it gets closer, I realize that it’s not thunder; it’s an engine. It trudges and heaves itself up the rolling hills, tearing apart the flowers as it passes. Mom’s screams overflow the hillside. But I can’t save her in time. The engine churns. Mom stares and me, her eyes glazed with hopeless tears. The tulips laugh at her, she can’t escape it.
“I love--“ The engine consumes her feet.. legs…waist…neck…
I wake screaming in my bed. My hand touches my wet face, tears streaming down. It was just a dream, Charlie. Just a dream. I fall back down into the purple bed sheets. The walls are dark, like the sky in my dream. I shudder. The clock flashes 5:00am. The cozy sheets are so welcoming, but I heave myself out of bed, just in time to watch the sunrise.
I walk into the old crowded kitchen and see disheartened pots and pans piling up in the sink, and my crestfallen roommate, Olivia, passed out drunk on the dining room table. I scavenge the cupboard for the last remaining teabag, and pour the water into my great blue heron mug, while trying to avoid hot water splattering onto Olivia’s passed out, mascara-smeared, face. Over by the window near the sink, the open curtains display the hint of morning. Off in the distance, the sun starts to peak shyly over the hillside. I go to the screened-in back porch, and snuggle into the hammock with my teacup. The sun becomes more daring, and the rays start to fill the deep orange and purple sky. Beautiful. The start of a new day, a new beginning, anything can happen today. My cat, Sparky, meanders onto the porch and homely relaxes herself on my lap. Her black thin coat is night, and today, the morning overpowers her darkness. This morning brings tears to my eyes. It must be from the dream, but I push the thought back down. The dream is a door that should never be opened. “It’s extraordinary isn’t it, Sparky? Everything is going to be okay. It’s a new day. Everything is---“ The phone blares in the other room.
“Ugh!” The aftereffect of a Tuesday night binge drinker screams. “What the hell, Charlie! It’s 5:30 in the goddamn morning!” She takes her lazy body out onto the porch and pitches the phone at my face, scaring Sparky to unleash her claws into my yoga pants. I don’t need to wonder who it is. The question is, do I pick up the phone to answer my sister? With a sigh, I hit the little green button.
“Hello?”
“Happy 24th, Big Sis!” she squeals into the smartphone. “That was the perfect Birthday sunrise wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was pretty good. How’s Dad?”
“He’s still asleep. I can wake him up if you want to talk to him?”
“No that’s fine. Hey, listen, I got to get ready for work so I’ll call you later.”
“Oh, okay. Are we going to do anything later tonight? Like, dinner or something? We haven’t seen you in a while, Charlie. Is everything good?” Her voice sounds rejected and worried. It breaks my heart to say goodbye. But, her voice sounds just like Mom’s voice, so I can’t talk to her that much anymore. Memories come along with family.
I head into my room and search the floor for a clean green camisole and summer jacket, and slide into a pair of cut off faded jean shorts. I look into the old vintage mirror that hangs on the wall, and finger through my long somewhat tangled dark brown hair. My bangs are a little crazy today, so I pin them back with a barrette and call it good enough. I race down the steps and unhook my bike from the rack, and pedal off to work.
The soft breeze ruffles my hair as I latch my bike to the bike rack. The grass is slightly overgrown, little dandelions popping up their heads everywhere on the small front yard. Above me, a big sign painted green reads, “Second Chance Animal Shelter”. I walk under the pillars to an old creaky door and am greeted by the sweet stench of dog and cat hair. The familiar barking sings off in the distance. The entryway is dimly lit, giving the room a poetry café sort of feel. Off in a different direction, I hear the bickering of Mrs. Debbie Fitzgerald, the front desk lady, arguing with the repairman. I attach my green lanyard around my neck, and tiptoe to my back corner office. A few more steps to paradise, think light thoughts, Charlie. I’m as light as a feather. One of the wooden floor boards creak under the pressure of my foot. The squabbling stops, and is replaced by the stomping of feet marching towards me. Before I’m spotted, I tug on my camisole to hide my crane tattoo on my shoulder blade. I don’t need another lecture from her on how I’m living my life wrong.
“Oh, Charlotte,” Debbie Fitzgerald slithers. “would you look at the clock, dear? I believe it reads 6:35, Honey. You wouldn’t want me to write a letter to the board and say you were unfit for this job?” She laughs at this. Her cheekbones rest way too high on her triangle-shaped head; her eyes squint behind her bright pink cat-eye glasses.
“I set the clocks 5 minutes ahead, Debbie.” I roll my eyes when my back is turned. My arms rest on the desktop while I check to see if there are any appointments set. No appointments today, which means I get to spend all day with the dogs. My heart leaps in my chest.
“OH!” Debbie purrs, looking in the mirror and bobbing her fat orange curls. “I almost forgot, Happy Birthday, Charlotte.” Her velociraptor hands, crusted with light pink nail polish give me a complimentary Humane Society birthday card.
“Thanks.” I snatch up the card and walk down the sanitized hallway, the walls decorated with pictures of happy puppies and sleeping cats. I head into the supply room and grab a few colored leashes and open the door to loud barks and whines. I open up the first 4 cages, attaching the leashes to Sadie, a Labrador, Bambi, an Australian shepherd, Maxie, a beagle, and Maggie, a Boston terrier. “Hey buddies, time for your walks!” They lick my face and wag their tails. We shuffle out the door and start on the usual walk.
We jog down the main street. A little girl with blonde pigtails And a bright yellow dress smiles at us as we pass.
“Can I pet your dogs?” She reveals a minimal amount of teeth.
“Sure.” I say. I bend down to her level. She hugs Sadie --who slobbers all over her face-- and laughs. Animals bring such joy to people.
“Thank you.” She pats Maxie a last goodbye. “Bye!”
“See yah later!” I fumble with the leashes and start up my jog.
The sky starts to twist and turn, warning us to head back to the shelter soon. I guess we will have to cut it short today. So instead of heading up the lush green hillside, I stay on the street. Rounding the corner, I pace over to the red stoplight and press the button to walk. And then I see them.
There, on the dirty sidewalk corner, delicate yellow and red tulips stand, with their heads held high. The red and yellow petals dance with joy in the wind. My breathing heavies and I fumble with the leashes. Before the tears can escape my eyes, my feet smash the flowers, kicking up dirt and rocks. I fall to my knees, because it’s too late. The memories those flowers hold deep within my heart come barreling out. The memory I’ve managed to keep down for years, fill my head. My last day with her.
The beautiful Saturday morning sun shines down onto the grass. A perfect afternoon at Mom’s favorite garden, in the middle of our crowded city, a safe haven is hidden. Trees line the outskirts of the oval shaped garden. We walk through the vine-infested archway that reads, “Blooming Jeans Community Garden”. I march over to the old picnic benches that rest in the middle. Carrie runs over to the swings nearby the willow tree. In the center of it all, the flowers bloom. Beautiful gold, purples, and reds burst color, that dance in your vision. I unload the picnic basket, and birds sing high in the trees. Mom hugs me from behind, and kisses the back of my head. Her long dark brown hair falls onto my shoulders.
“What kind of bird is that?” She points to an orange and black bird whistling in the tree.
“That’s a Baltimore Oriole, Mom. The male’s brilliant orange chest blazes like a torch, that’s like their trademark.”
“I see that, my little bird expert.” She ruffles my hair. Carrie runs over and plops a handful of picked tulips on the table. Mom gasps.
“Carrie! Thank you for these lovely flowers, but we shouldn’t pick them.” She takes us by our hands and walks us back over to the garden path. “Flowers are a gift from God, which means we need to treat them with love. With all the terrible things in the world, just think of the miracle that is the flower, my girls, something that grows from the dirt, from a tiny seed. We need to count our miracles every day. The flower reminds us of this.” Her weathered gardening hands brush the tulips with the tenderness of a newborn child. She smiles at us, her skin sun kissed. We run along the paths outlined with different kinds of flowers; Mom naming all of them as we soak up the summer sun.
I stare at the crushed flowers in front of me. I am like these dead tulips, shriveled, and destroyed, beaten down. I am the thing I hate most; this wonderful flower. What was once a beautiful beam of color, full of light and love, defying all odds by growing in this terrible soil on this terrible street corner, now nothing, and darkness is restored to this unfair world that kills wonderful people.
“Umm,” a small voice says from behind me. A little hand is placed on my shoulder. Her little blonde pigtails and yellow dress look sadly down at the defeated tulips. She rummages through the remains, I see her hand pause. She lifts up my chin, and there is one I have missed. A little pink one stands shyly in the middle of the wreckage. Like hope. The girl pats my shoulder. We stand there for a while. The conjuring to a light gray to dark fills the sky. I stand up; the dogs wait patiently at my feet. I know what I have to do.
After dropping the dogs off at the shelter, I race my bike as fast as I can until I reach the Welcome sign outside Blooming Jeans. The rain falls lightly onto my face. I hear my heart inside my ears. My palms sweat. I drop my bike on the green overgrown sidewalk, and count to three. I can do this. One. Do it for yourself, Charlie. Two. Do it for Carrie and Dad, Charlie. They miss you. Three. Do it for Mom. I step into the garden.
A rush of anguish and joy spreads through my body. Mom is here. I see her in the flowers, I feel her in the wind. She holds me in the rain. The joy. The old swing set where she used to push us, I feel her. The red wheelbarrow we used to race, I see her smile. The shack full of gardening equipment, she breathes. And the sun opens up from the clouds, and shines its rays down onto the tulips she planted and raised. Love is grown in this garden. And Mom embraces me with aromas and colors and textures. I collapse onto the grown.
“Mom, I love you so much. I just want you to be here. I want you to be proud of me.” I sob into the flowers I have avoided all these years. “You weren’t supposed to die. You were supposed to live, so we could pick out colleges together, and go wedding dress shopping, and hold my baby, your grandchild.” I brush the tulips, as tenderly as a newborn child. “Life was not fair to you, Mom.” I cry.
But it’s still laced with miracles. My heart whispers to me.
“I know. You were always good at finding them.” My chest rises and falls. I can’t help but smile and look up at the sky. A Baltimore oriole lands on the wheelbarrow and starts to whistle a tune. I whistle along, and pick up a nearby shovel, and start to work.