The Chroma of My Memories.


The best thing about that house was the way it saw so much. She groaned and creaked at delight at the way we scurried in and out—just one of the countless citizenry to partake in her hold while she stood dressed in whitewash. Traces of images like the old rowboat in the river and the fence that needed tending to were all one big suggestion to 1884 and the way we learned to spell M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i that summer. Sweet sugar on the lips, thinking of the pecan pie we could have made if only our legs would give way and sprout us upward. I remember feeling so self-conscious…up until breakfast time. It was the only time I forgot all our differences and lent myself fully to the task. Pouring of the fresh maple felt customarily regal. We were adjoining the library with the old writing desk I’d gaze athirst at. And we were indicted as temporary members of the manor in that room filled with so much enigma and energy. As I peeked behind that revolving door, I saw her world unfurl. And it was painted with nothing more than blueberries and a heavy confectionery smile.

The purple, was rolling off the tongues of the table. And aubergine dreams played in my head that night as I addressed the canopy with impressionable fright. But even as the house talked to me, I’d remind myself of the kind of morning that lay, anxiously awaiting me. The one that would be followed by a warm bath in the porcelain, and hair braided back out of the hurried tones of my face. And now, that my frow reminds me of ingenuousness, and boys in caps, and treetops, the feel of old wood under bare feet, and verily-said stories, I can’t do much else but look back on she—on it—and feel indebted. Georgia on my mind. Foreclosure. And the would-be happenings of the breadth of that home, fallen silent with her absence. My eyes were clouded with hurt as we drove by one last time. Amber memories turned to black and white in a real-time obituary. Looking for another she or it to fill the gaps as a kid, herself, couldn’t fill. And I wondered if all other accounts would be in greyscale, or white-wash and full-bodied.


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