Colors Part II

Everything is Gray: V

My fist knocking on the front door of the house I grew up in reminded me of every time my mom would need me to help her bring in the groceries from the car and it felt weird knocking when this was my home for years. The door opened to reveal my mom, here eyes not so sunken in and the dark circles that have been there for years no longer remained. A true smile was held upon her face. She's always had beautiful features and when I was younger, when she use to wear makeup daily -not for looks, but because she loved it so much- I use to watch her and wish I had her beauty and talent to apply all the products she had. She was wearing what seemed like just a bit of bronzer in her crease and nothing else. It made her look so flawless and she had very little on.

"My Lou-Lou," she said and opened her arms for a warm hug. "I missed you so much."
"You seen me two weeks ago, mom," I said and grunted when she squeezed a little tighter. She pulled away to see my face.
"I know, but I once use to see you every morning, every evening and every night," she said and I felt a little bad. "Come in."
I walked into the house and noticed she had a kettle on the stove, whistling to let her know the water was finished. She handed me a cup with my favorite tea inside the little bag that sat at the bottom. "You were prepared."
"Of course," she said and poured my milk in. We resorted to the table where she still held her kind smile and the tea warmed my cheeks. "We're having a cold one this winter," she said.
"I'm not complaining, but I never have any clothes for windy days," I admitted.
"We should go shopping," she suggested, her tone a bit too excitable. Something was off. I looked around, the counters clean, the kettle on the stove. The box of my favorite tea was clearly just opened, she bought it new. There was something wrapped on the end of the table that she slid over to me. "Which reminds me. I saw this and couldn't not get it for you."
I peeled back the paper and it was a very nice hardcover notebook; navy blue and it had a stretchy strap to hold it closed. It was thick, it would take me a while to go through this one. I opened it fully and revealed the first page, which stated, "This notebook belongs to:" and she wrote my name in the most beautiful cursive handwriting possible. I smiled at her, thanking her for the gift, but I had to ask, "What's going on?"
She sighed which caused me to worry because there was something happening. "There is something that I have to tell you," she admitted and I held my breath, nodding for her to go on. "I know all these years its just been you and I, and everyone who dared to come into our lives shook us up and then left us."
"I know," I said and shuddered at the painful memories of my mom crying when she would date someone new and be gone in no time.
"After a while, I couldn't put you through it anymore, so I stopped dating," she said, patting my hand and I gave her a small smile. "But since you moved out, I've been....seeing someone." She said with caution.
"You what?" I wasn't sure I heard her correctly. She repeated herself and I took at least ten seconds to myself to register what she was saying. "For how long?"
"I met him not long after you moved out. So about two years ago, I guess," she laughed and I only blinked at her, holding this reassuring but unresponsive smile. "Oh, Lou please be happy for me. I'm..." she paused for a few seconds to take in the emotions she was feeling and I tilted my head to see her eyes in sympathy. "I'm really happy." Her eyes were watering but she held the brightest smile I've ever seen on her face in a long time.
"Of course I'm happy for you mom," I got up and went around the table. She stood and we shared a long hug, one well needed. She was sniffling and although I was scared she would only get hurt like she had so many times before, I really was happy for her. I opened my eyes and looked out the back window before attaching myself from her. "You started a patio outside?"
"Isn't it wonderful?" she said and brought me over by the door and we both went out to explore it together. "It was Sal's idea."
"Sal," I repeated his name and she blushed which made me feel excited for her. "So no going back on this project?" I asked, pointing to the garden that was once again, starting to die.
"All of the weeds are getting dug out tomorrow," she said matter-of-factly, her nose high.
"Hey, good for you," I said we both sat down in the lawn chairs she bought for her soon to be patio. There were boards everywhere, nails, paint, brushes... "Tell me about him."
"He's so nice, and tall. He's very tall," she fawned. "He's divorced for a long time, so we both have been lonely for a long time. We met at the spring block party. He served me a burger at a booth and we found out we have a lot in common."
"A spring block party," I repeated and she nodded. "So why the secret for so long?"
"I wanted to make sure he wouldn't leave. I wanted to be sure he would stick around to even meet you," she said. "But he has a family as well, so I'm pretty sure he and his daughter know what it's like."
"His daughter?" I imagined Sal as a tall man with a kind smile, just like my mothers alongside a tiny little girl, maybe going through her blue eyeshadow and red lipstick phase.
"Yes! He has a daughter, she's so nice. I met her just a few months ago," my mom relaxed more into the chair. "You two would get along well. Would you be willing to meet them?"
"Of course!" It was my turn to get excitable about them now. "Name a time and day, I'll be there."
"I'm so glad you're happy for me," we shared another hug, this one even tighter than the last. We finally decided to go and enjoy our tea inside, the wind chilling our bones. "So what's been up with you? I heard Valerie is back in town."
"Valerie," I repeated her name, not expecting it to come out of her mouth so easily. "She's...yeah she is."
"Have you two talked at all?" She wondered, sipping her tea slowly and waiting for my response.
"Yeah, she's doing well. She's actually really well," I said a bit shaky. "I think she's staying here a year before she goes to find a job back in California," I explained to her what Valerie told me. "She graduated from cosmetology school last year."
"Of course she did," my mom laughed. "Oh my, I was so hoping she wouldn't stick around when she walked into the house with that strawberry shortcake hair." We both giggled. "Now I'm starting to wonder if it'll look good on me," she poured more boiling water into her teacup and we both laughed. "I kind of wish you two would have held it out. I miss her." She said. I sat in silence for a while.
***
The first thing I realized on my first day helping out at the kids writing center at my school was, I still has as much to learn as these kids did. I'm taking three writing classes this year and I probably could use about five more. With what these kids were writing at such young ages, I didn't even know that I could teach them. They were teaching me. The director of the class stood in front of them all, desks lined in a circle and got their attention after their freestyle writing for the first ten minutes of the class.
"Alright," he said. "Just a run through for our newer students, I'm Mr. Lennings, and this is Miss Shaw."
"Lou is fine," I stepped in, a bit shy.
"Miss Lou!" He corrected and I tried to cut in again and tell him it was fine if they didn't want to call me 'Miss' but he kept talking. "We will help you with whatever questions you have or whatever you're struggling with. Remember, we are here to learn but have fun. If you're writing becomes too much work for you, let us know. We do not want you to feel like it is priority."
All of the students nodded and he continued. "We will begin with a freestyle for the first ten minutes of the class every time. You could writer whatever you want, whether it be a poem, a story, whatever. And then for the rest of the class, you will learn basics, some exercises and every now and again you will be assigned to write something based on the subject of that week, whatever it may be just to be sure you're following what we want you to learn." He finished off. "Is there anything you'd like to add?" He turned to me.
"Um," I cleared my throat as a stall. "I just...I'm here if you need anything."
"Right!" Mr. Lennings clapped his hands. He was around the age of 40, his hair was thinning, he had a warm smile that assured you that you could feel at home here. He dressed in a T-Shirt that was from some sort of writing convention and just wore baggy jeans. His eyes were crystal blue and he spoke in a quiet but demanding voice. "Miss Lou and I are both published authors, so feel free to ask any questions. We will now go around the room if anyone would like us to read anything you wrote for freestyle before we start." He nodded to me again and I proceeded towards the right end of the circle since he went towards the left.
The first few students, around the ages of 12, shrugged in their seats with their notebooks on their laps and it reminded me of how shy I was at that age about my writing. But one of them, a girl about 14, stopped me. "Miss Lou?"
"Yes?" I was taken aback but stopped in front of her desk, leaning down to her eye level of where she was sitting.
"I wrote this for you," she scooted her spiral notebook towards me and I turned it around. "I read your book when it first came out. Everyone shared a copy at my school and I bought my own to keep." Her tone was very low and shy, so I smiled to try and make her feel more comfortable. "It's the best thing I've ever read."
I looked at her shaky handwriting, my eyes scanning the short poem that was jotted across the lined paper. From what I could tell, it was about two lovers that weren't meant to be, which reminded me of the characters I wrote about in my book. Her use of words were very impressive. She signed her name at the bottom, "Alessia Morris" with a tiny heart.
"This is really good, Alessia," I handed the notebook back to her and she smiled brightly. She didn't say anything more, but the facial expression she held said it all. I made my way around the circle until Mr. Lennings and I met in the middle. "Great job everyone, we're going to start the lesson now." I began and looked over to the waiting man next to me.
"Today's subject is," he resorted to the chalk board and began writing sloppily, but clear enough to read. "Emotion. I want you to dive into your work filled with your deepest emotions, inner most thoughts, secrets, fears, regrets, loss, happiness."
And then, we allowed the students to again write in their notebooks for another ten minutes before we made a few stand in front of the class to read what they had wrote. Mr. Lennings chose a boy, about 13 and he proudly walked up next to the two of us. Everyone leaned in to listen. The boy, who's name was Robbie, spoke about an experience he had at a carnival with friends. He read from his notebook that they had a lot of fun, but also about how sick he felt when the ferris wheel got stuck at the top, alerting his fear of heights. Everyone clapped after he finished, including me, but Mr. Lennings spoke.
"That was so great, Robbie!" He said before proceeding to into his teaching tone. "But where is the deep emotion? I want you to make me feel like I'm on top of that ferris wheel. I want you to make me cry. But no worries," he looked to the rest of the class. "We're here to teach you how to do that."
Robbie smiled and went back to his seat. It was my turn to pick a student and right away, I chose Alessia. She was slumping in her seat, but I knew she must have written something great. She came in front the class and looked to me nervously. "Go ahead," I smiled and she bit her lip.
"Hi, I'm Alessia. I'm fourteen and I wrote a poem today for the emotion subject," she stated and everyone waited for her to begin. She took a deep breath. "I looked to the shadow next to me, the friendly figure listening closely. 'Have you ever let someone be your flower?' I asked. They looked to me with a confused glare. 'You bloom so high and even enjoy the water they sprinkle upon you,' I told them. 'But then they pluck your petals in hopes for something better. She loves me, she loves me not. Being someone's flower leaves you like the petals, lying dead, scattered on the floor.'"
Alessia finished her poem and ran back to her desk quickly, leaving everyone speechless. I looked to her, my jaw hanging just slightly. Her eyes avoided mine; they actually avoided everyones.
"That," Mr. Lennings pointed to her, and then the board. "That is emotion."