The Book of Colors by Raymond Barfield

Author:Raymond Barfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unbridled Books
Published: 2015-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

Bruised Sky

Some things and people can become part of your dreams just by being made up the way they are. The rattlesnake can easy enough. The sound of the train passing by at night. The Troll under the bridge. The rich man standing with his white shirt and cuff links in the middle of the track. But somehow none of these seem evil. Snakes can’t help what they are. The Troll—well, nobody with any real power good or bad stays under a bridge. Stay away from the bridge and you stay away from the Troll. And the rich white man was from another world than mine.

But the tattooed marble man with the wax-paper skin grabbed on to the hem of one of my dreams and he wouldn’t let go. He didn’t do much. He didn’t need to. He just needed to grin and turn his dull eyes up here and there and drink his water, leave his glass, walk around with his shirt off, all white and waxy and covered in nasty tattoos.

Between that and not getting into a comfortable position all night with the baby I hardly could sleep and finally I got up and waited for the sun to come up. It was the first time since I was a girl and got locked out of the house that I saw the sunrise.

Sitting in the dark when it’s almost time for the sun is so different from sitting in the dark when the only thing you have to look forward to is more dark.

So I watched the sky to see if it had changed since I was a girl.

My father was one of who knows how many men who were in and out of the house. I don’t know which one. But I would guess he was white. I say that because my mother had dark skin and it would take a lot of white to get skin to my shade in one step.

It wasn’t until I was about thirteen and my mama died that I really noticed how different our color was and the shapes of our noses. I was kneeling by her bed listening to her groan. I almost never got to really look at her except when she was sick and even then I wouldn’t have stared except that it was my mama. There was not much peace between us for most of the time I can remember and when she was sick it looked like peace from the outside but mostly it was just being sick, which makes it hard to do anything good or bad except for moaning.

I didn’t hate her but I didn’t really need her either. I had stopped needing her long before that. If I needed her I’d have hated her. But speaking as a grown-up with a baby, it’s the saddest thing I can think of not to need your mama. And it was sad to see how weak she was, even though when she got mad she seemed so strong and huge to a little girl.

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