The Color of You

Orange.

It was never my favorite color. It was yours. You painted your high school bedroom a vibrant version of orange. The little sports car you drove your senior year matched your walls. No wonder fall was your favorite time of year, the way October always bowed in your honor with its piles of pumpkins and seasonal, falling leaves. And every night as brilliant, fiery clouds hide the yawn of a sleepy, setting sun, orange is the color that speaks, “I’ll see you later.”

How on earth did you wind up marrying a girl of blue?

I’m not sure blue and orange even go together. Orange and green are matches—I remind you again of those jack-o-lanterns with their green, garden stems. Yellow and orange are kissin’ cousins, as sunflowers loudly proclaim. Even red and orange enjoy each other’s company, each nodding to the other in feigned humility. “You first.” “No, please, after you.” “Really, I insist.”

Hot hues demand attention. So unlike you. So, tell me again, why was orange always your favorite? And how did you wind up with a blue for your wife?

Was it the love you had for your Florida Gators? Is that the magic combination that gave you permission to love me? They splash orange and blue everywhere they go, who knows why. Real gators are a boring green, and you were never once boring.

I’ve been coloring since you’ve been away. Remember how you always loved coloring and how I never did? I found out it helps my mind relax and let the truth of your departure slowly sink in. Now I’m addicted to the pastime. I’ll bet you thought I’d fill up pages with shades of blue, didn’t you? Sky and turquoise and powder and slate, all the blues a tranquility obsessed girl like me could desire.

Wrong. Well, maybe just a little bit of those. Mostly, though, I fill up the swirly pages of my adult coloring book with bright orange petals, bold red blooms, and happy splashes of yellow. Because I have plenty of blue in my life now, Baby, now that you’re gone.

What I don’t have enough of, is you.