Of Colors

The pain struck her abdomen with unrelenting might, as it did every morning for the past five years. Olivia pressed her pillow down on her stomach and breathed in deeply. Twenty breaths were the norm, and then the pain would dissipate, but today it was stubborn. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. After fifty breaths, Olivia was finally able to sit up in her bed and get ready for the big day.

The wooden stairs of her hundred-year-old house creaked loyally with each step as she lumbered her way downstairs to the kitchen. A red robe—far too long for her short frame—draped along the floor behind her. Above the dull ache in her abdomen, her stomach grumbled. She was fasting before her operation, or the “small procedure” as Dr. Martinez called it.

Along the hallway stood two towering snake plants in red ceramic pots. “Good morning, ladies. You’re looking well today.” She picked up the small pink spray bottle stored in between the pots and sprayed a light mist all over them. The edges felt dry, so she rubbed her wet fingers against the ridges to make sure they received enough moisture.

As she passed through the kitchen threshold, the long-forgotten clattering noise of little girls getting ready for school suddenly filled Olivia's ears. All those times she woke up late, forgot lunches, failed to sign a school form, and other parenting mishaps replayed in her mind. Being a widowed young mother to two young girls wasn't easy, but they survived grade school, high school, and college.

A loud ringtone broke her trance. Olivia dug through the deep pockets in her robe in search of the nuisance. She answered the call and immediately put the phone on speaker, and set it down on the counter so she could check on her collection of mini cacti for dryness.

"Hello?"

"Morning Mom."

"Good morning, Diana"

Olivia opened a bottle of water and took a sip before pouring some onto the base of her succulents. She emptied the bottle at the purple Bunny Ear cactus before carefully carrying the Prickly Pear to the sink faucet.

"Are you checking your plants?"

"Of course. You know me. I’m filling up the spray bottle right now."

"You sound tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"The doctor said not to eat anything after 6 PM, so my stomach is angry at me this morning. You know how I get when I don't have food in my stomach."

"Cranky? In a bad mood? Cursing the gods?" Diana chuckled over the phone.

Olivia pursed her lips at the lone Calla Lily sitting nearby—miraculously still alive for almost a year since her daughter gave it to her last Mother’s Day. 

"I think your generation calls it ‘hangry’,” Olivia huffed, “but I am more tired than usual today."

"It’s probably your blood sugar level. Did you eat well last night?"

"Just a cheeseburger and fries."

"Mom!"

"Dr. Martinez said I could eat anything I wanted."

"He also said not to go crazy."

"I didn't. It was just one little cheeseburger and sweet potato fries. It won't matter anyway. The damage is done. And who knows when my next real meal will be."

"The doctor said that you would be able to eat a full meal by tomorrow afternoon."

Olivia huffed again. "If everything goes well. Otherwise, I'll be on a disgusting fluids-only diet for a long while."

"Don't think that way, Mom. Everything will go smoothly. You'll see."

Olivia swallowed hard. She recalled watching the graphic video about the surgery, reading about the high levels of risk for someone her age undergoing the procedure, and learning testimonies from patients whose lives were permanently altered by complications. After spending the past week researching her condition and all the possible outcomes from the “small procedure”, Olivia wished she hadn't. The internet is full of information, sometimes too much for one's own good.

"Mom, I have to get Jacob ready for daycare. Marlon and I will be over in about an hour to take you to the hospital."

"I'll be ready," Olivia said, her voice shaking as the words came out.

"Oh, Mom. Please try to relax. Everything will be fine. I'll see you soon."

Instead of going upstairs to prepare for a surgery that would either kill her, cure her, or dramatically alter her life, Olivia walked into the dining room with her large spray bottle and misted two tall stalks of Kentia plants towering over other palm varieties. After a long breath, Olivia sang a song from her childhood:

"Deeeeee colores . . . De colores se visten los campos en la primaveraaaaaaa."

Her voice was perfect, angelic to anyone lucky enough to hear her sing. Olivia bathed her palm plants with a small rain shower of fresh water, and then moved on to the mini orange and lemon trees standing at the base of the bay windows in her living room. The giant Elephant Ear plant with its massive heart-shaped arrowhead leaves, and the Cast Iron Plant with its upward-pointing spires, both seemed to beg for Olivia’s personal touch.

Upon finishing the first stanza, Olivia closed her eyes for a second and imagined her husband Emilio playing his guitar to the melody, shining his brilliant smile against his cinnamon skin as he sang to their two toddler girls. Diana and Viviana took turns singing each section in their own delightful voices, in their inarticulate yet charming three-year-old words. De Colores was the first song the girls learned to sing, and the last one their father would play for them.

When she opened her eyes, Olivia sighed and moved on to the enclosed patio.

While inspecting four bushy outdoor rose plants that were being stored indoors for the winter, Olivia spotted new growth. She had wanted to prune the plants weeks ago once the winter faded to spring, but the pain in her abdomen became too much to bear. "Sorry darlings," she said to the rose bushes as she sprayed into the soil. "Hopefully everything will go well, and I'll plant you outside in a week or two."

She shuffled to the last section of her indoor garden, the sprawling Lucky Vine farm on her six-tier metal folding shelf.

"Now, you guys better behave," she said as she untwisted the tangled branches. The vibrant shades of green prompted Olivia to take up the melody once more.

"Deeeeee colores . . . De colores se visten los campos en la primaveraaaaaaa."

Her soprano voice rang out with renewed confidence. Olivia raised her arms outwards as if she were performing on a stage in front of a grand audience. But at the peak of the song, the pain in her abdomen returned with brute force. Olivia dropped the plastic spray bottle onto a small metal table and gripped a metal patio chair for support. "God damn it," she mumbled. Seven deep breaths. Eight deep breaths. Nine…

In the haze of dizzying pain, Olivia remembered when her husband passed away. That morning, Olivia awoke to a fraction of the man her husband used to be. The stroke came in the middle of the night. The girls slept over their grandmother's house, so they didn't witness their father's desperate attempts at speaking, or the pleading look in his eyes, or his last dying breaths. The last time the girls saw their father alive was the day before—smiling and playing De Colores on the guitar.

Nearly twenty years passed before anyone in the family would sing that song again. It was the birth of Olivia's grandson, Jacob Emilio, that broke the dark spell. A new life. A fresh start. Spring had finally arrived.

After twenty-five breaths, the pain finally subsided. She reached for a small sticky note pad and a pen and scribbled down a note for Diana: I watered the plants today, please water them least once a week. She stuck the note on the glass vase holding two curling Lucky Bamboo stalks beside the kitchen sink.

She nodded, exhaled slowly, and walked upstairs to prepare for her surgery.

As the old house announced each achy step up the staircase, Olivia sang the last two stanzas of De Colores, holding onto the rail with one hand and raising the other as if finishing her grand final performance.

"Y por eso los grandes amores, de muchos colores, me gustan a míiiiiiiiii."

She took two more steps and inhaled deeply.

"Y por eso los grandes amores, de muchos colores, me gustan aaaaaa míiiiiiiiii."