Yellow

My heart was pounding. My foot pressed firmly against the pedal slowly gained speed up Denny Ave. Regrade my ass, I can barely get this four banger up the damn street! It didn’t help that this was the first real date I’ve been on in months. Hopefully she wouldn’t get to see my piece of shit truck, so I purposely looked for parking blocks away from our destination, out of sight. The day was typical, it was June, somewhat gloomy, chilly… definitely a day to grab a quality hoodie or light jacket. I wore the Seattle Blacks, you know, black jeans, shoes, and coat, and I believe I had a black cap on as well, the typical style of most kids on the hill for a late spring chilly day. My grey truck squeaked to a stop somewhere deep in the zone parking area; I had two hours until this date would become more expensive with a parking ticket. I lit up a fourth Marlboro 27 and gave myself the halftime locker room pep talk. Ok, let’s do this shit! The black concrete moved under my feet like a treadmill and the overcast gloom gave me no particular enthusiasm. My heart raced, and mind recreated pictures and moments of the few minutes we spent together the night before, she was beautiful. The pep talk was taking hold and I was prepared to woo and whoa her every delight. I turned the corner, slowly stepping with the cockiness of Tony Manero, taking the sexiest drag of my cigarette I could image, and then placing it beneath my middle finger and flicking it to the curb. I watched the embers explode and extinguish on the cold concrete as my eyes rose from the street. Slowly, each degree revealed a deeper beauty, and I became captivated by the most incredible woman, wearing a bright yellow jacket! Warmth, hope, and happiness punched me in the stomach and took my breath away! The grey gloom disappeared and the sun was shining a bright yellow love. The buildings around us changed into a forest, exposed with no canopy, the newly existant sunshine illuminated the area like lights on a stage. I had to shield my eyes. I was in a fantasy world. This yellow jacket, most likely made of cotton, had the style of a light and miniature pea coat, buttoned from her waist to her breasts, and fastened with a 2 inch thick belt around her ribs. Our rendezvous was at a bar, a small old house looking building which had a large wooden deck at its entrance. We looked up and suddenly the wooden structure rose from the soil as a grandeur ship, soaked deep with adventure. The bow was constructed of a single beam, carved like a totem pole, revealing the past, or future. It rose powerfully like a plant germinating, breaking its seed for its first breath of life, but on a Roman scale. As we both looked down to the street, we saw to disbelief that we were floating in a mahogany row boat of master craftsmanship. An energy twisted through my blood veins, I couldn’t speak, my words usually so bold and witty collapsed into the sea we now floated upon. Weird fishes of the brightest colors swam playfully around us, rainbows stretched across all parts of the land like the LA freeway system. Music, compassionate and invigorating chirped from the tropical birds flying above. My Seattle blacks faded into neon hues and exposed my twitterpated heart. The heat was intense, but the last thing I wanted to do was find shade. Rhythm and love began twirling in a hurricane of emotions, impossible to express in any way, except for one. “Do you like to dance?” she questioned. The light of day had already faded, we had been together for over my two hour parking limit, and I felt that I had only been standing here for moments. The moon was a smiling light of cheese and the stars scurried around the sky as millions of fire flies, smiling upon our acquaintance. I looked around and felt a warmth, like this yellow jacket was made to keep me comfortable and at ease. “I love to dance.” I replied, and yellow has been my favorite color since.

Blue

I spent a brief time skipping rocks on the Mississippi about two years ago. I’m still not sure if I am a completely horrible rock skipper, or if the overbearing muddy brown waters weigh my flat stone down to sink it to the bottom after only one or two measly jumps. The history of the good ole Mississippi is intriguing and sets an ambiance that only Tom and Huck could truly explain. I couldn’t help but to think that, water is blue. Not brown, and the transparently blue tides of the Caribbean, or a glacier lake, the fade of blues in a large wave, and the tints of green between the rapids of a river all set a calming yet powerful tone and are the mothers and fathers of what the Mississippi is. The two largest things this earth has are the water and the sky, and we are on this ever changing vessel called land. I’ve recently found that I perhaps have felt the most alive while swimming naked in the ocean. I typically would prefer a lake or pool of freshwater, soothing. But when you enter into the salty ocean, as it slowly moves all around you, like lying in the bath, letting it rise millimeter by millimeter around your body, feeling every water molecule cling and surround your skin, you can’t help but to feel alive. The blue becomes a fountain of youth, when you’re naked. Even just a small European or Brazilian bathing suit constricts the true freedoms that are being handed to you by this creation. Then when you dive under the surface, you are free. The water moves over you like the hands of the most skilled masseuse, holds you like an incredible lover, and lets you free like pollen billowing off a field of a thousand wild flowers. You never want the feeling to end, but you need to breathe! Bursting out of the surface to that first breath gives you an idea of the preciousness of life. Regardless to how or why we achieved our consciousness, it is inevitably a gift, and this luscious blue water had been like a yearly Christmas present from a distant relative reminding you that you are loved. As air fills your lungs, your eyes begin to open. And there above you is the blue sky, soaring for an unexplainable distance until it begins again. The sky is our ceiling, protecting us, and creates the possibility for life, its calm and deep, ever changing with the hours of the day, rotations of the sun and moon. It harvests our fresh water and releases it to once again create. They hold blue to a true standard. A mind stunned by the complete power of nature enters euphoria, leaving other senses immobile. In this case you may then be pounded back into the sea by the same power of nature. As you take your second breath, staring into the cloudless blue sky, the force of a stampede of stallions crashes over the top of this temporary body, hurtling you deep under the surface. The water scoops and sweeps you in its own circle of life revolving and shaking with a power that no man, however strong, could withstand. You’re lungs are out of air, under water, naked, just the same as the blissful swim moments ago. Now fearful of death, scared and not in control, airless, the wave releases you. Control of your body and strength over the tide rebuilds confidence and your mind stops to panic and controls your body responsibly again. Through the wavy glare of the water beneath the surface, the blue sky above seems to be fiendishly holding this air, like a drug dealer waiting for an estranged customer to relapse. You fill your lungs again, and quickly swim to the shallows; into the protection land gives us. Looking out into the blue, smiling, there is nothing to do but thank the water. It is like God, giving the bliss and pleasure of living, but more powerful, full of more energy than a million atomic bombs. As you just now, I remember standing in the wash on the shore about up to my shins, and felt the push and pull of the water, constant.  That push and pull will not stop, never sleep, and never end until the end of Earth. The blue sky and the blue sea will work together, forever showing us how precious life is, the chances we have to be free, and the limitations our mortality sets. The answers are clear, well, the answers are actually blue, and blue has been my favorite color ever since.

RED

I strolled down Mercer Ave to go to work, and my toes got chilly! These damn Chucks, I love them and hate them. The rubber is worn to the sole, the canvas ripped and torn. They’re only a few months old and I spent 60 fucking bucks for the most minimalist shoe wear on the market! I do like the color, they’re red. Red perplexes my mind. It is bright and positive, dark and twisty, bold and daring, full of life and death. Red makes a statement, and is always seen. Most cars stopped for speeding are red, stop signs are red, Christmas is red, heat is red, pain is red, love is red, blood is red. I remember watching myself bleed as a kid. I was rollerblading through the neighborhood and saw some older kids grinding the curb. I thought to myself, sliding looks fun! I like to slide. I made my approach, of course at a distant curb from the tweenagers to protect my neighborhood reputation, or lack thereof one. I pushed off with my right blade gaining a slight speed at a gentle angle towards the curb of the side walk, knees bent, focused directly on the stretched corner of this strange cube. I leapt enough to clear the edge and locked on between the 2^nd and 3^rd wheels of my blades anticipating freedom to hit my soul like riding through the curl of a wave. The gritty concrete gripped me, holding me like a fearful mother, freezing my skates, throwing my momentum from my hips over my shoulders and into the street where I began. I threw out my arms as airbags for my body and felt my hands scratching the rocky crust, grating the skin on my lower palms. I frantically looked up to see if anyone had observed the failure of my treacherous feat. The older kids rolled on further down the road, oblivious to my presence. Quickly, I leapt back up on my blades and scurried away to a vacant grassy knoll at the park nearby. I dabbed the blood into the grass, my grandmother would be furious if I stained my jeans. As the adrenalin subsided the sting began to slightly grow. I peered at the back of my hands slowly turning them outward revealing the consequence of my decisions. I watched the cool blue veins in my wrist, I could see each blood cell like a group of rafters on the Wenatchee, flowing into my palms, and out the perforated holes on the juicy part of the hand under my thumb. I could almost see the transition in slow motion, life turning to pain. Blue turning to red. I whimpered for a short instance, consumed in self pity as the red slowly filled the small pieces of my skin that had been torn away. Then, I saw it, almost for the first time, this amazing color. It invigorated me, empowered me, entranced me. It had texture and depth that inspired me to live. It was beautiful. Red has always been my favorite color since.