The Color of Her Name

About 4% of the population, including me, have a superpower called grapheme-color synesthesia. No, it’s nothing dangerous. Just a neurological condition where overlaps in my neural pathways cause me to associate letters and numbers with colors. If anything, it makes life a little more entertaining. Instead of remembering useful things, like people’s names, my (Stella's) brain connects a person with a color. It’s purely involuntary and, many times, I’m not even aware that the association’s been made. Usually, it's attributed to the first letter of their first name and boom! Their skin becomes pigmented for eternity, unless they find a magic reversal potion—just kidding. But, in all seriousness, once connected, they do stay their 'color' forever in my mind.

I know it’s a bit long-winded but, for those that are curious, here’s the key:

(The digraphs are a mix of their two colors but I’m keeping it simple here.)

Red:

A, F

Orange:

C, Ch, V

Yellow:

D, Q, W

Green:

G, H, P, T, Th

Blue:

B, I, M, Z

Dark Blue:

K

Indigo:

J

Violet:

O, S, Sh, St, V

Dark Violet:

E, L, R

Pink:

U, Y

Brown:

N

Grey:

X

Perceiving colors this way had flown under my radar until college when my best friend, Rose, an elementary education major, came along. And, unlike the bouquets commonly displayed around Valentine's Day, Rose’s color was so boldly, deeply, completely…purple. The richest shade I’d ever experienced! For a long time, my brain screamed from the dissonance, that someone with such a name could be anything but blush-colored, fiery-orange, or red.

Since middle school, I’d always longed for a friend like Rose. Someone I felt comfortable enough calling up on a whim, that shared the same interests, that I could tell anything to and would still love me after. I’ve heard a person’s lucky if they find a friend like that within their lifetime; it shakes me to think that some never do. It was by such a slim chance that Rose and I had chosen the same elective, a college mixed-media art class taught by one of three different professors that semester. I’d forgotten my painting supplies before a live studio project and Rose had generously let me break in her brand-new tubes and white-tipped brushes. That was seven years ago. Since then, we’ve both become mothers and built beautiful lives that have grown so rich running parallel to one another.

One night, Rose had called to invite me over the next morning. She’d let it slip that they’d found out something so big that she needed to tell me in person. After we’d hung up, my mind had raced, diving through a labyrinth of rabbit holes past 2:30 a.m., until I’d felt pretty confident that they’d just discovered the baby she’s expecting was actually twins. A small smile had tinged my lips as I’d drifted off to sleep.

Knock, knock.

“You know, you don’t have to knock.” A muffled voice called from the other side of the white, metal door. It was a phrase I’d heard a hundred times and it’d become a sort of inside joke.

“I know,” I replied playfully, slipping off my battered shoes and setting them next to Rose’s family’s collection. Her house smelled of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls. I stepped around the corner into the living room.

“I’ll get you coffee!”

“No, I’ll get it!” I didn’t have the heart to make her move, especially since Rose never sat down much even when she’d broken her ankle twice! She looked so comfortable in her glider, wrapped in her nest of an over-sized cardigan and pillows, her legs and the hem of her black, lace dress curled beneath her. A cozy mystery novel and writing prompt book rested on the stand beside her. The kids were all at school so we, being two stay-at-home-moms that’d paused our careers, had a good couple hours to hang out before the madness of the carpool rush began.

My heart raced in anticipation to hear her news but I knew quite well that she liked to share things in her own time. “I brought a surprise!” I said excitedly, plopping onto the couch and pulled a well-played-with stuffed animal out from under my leg.

Roses green eyes glanced up curiously from the large bat-printed mug that warmed her hands.

“It’s a game.” I peeled the plastic and passed the box to her. “You draw a card that has three questions on it and choose one to ask me about yourself. We both write our answers on these dry erase boards,” I continued while handing Rose her own tiny set. “And, if I get it right, I get a point. Then, we switch.”

“Fun!”

“I thought it’d be!” She studied the back of the box while I shuffled into her 1940’s style kitchen and helped myself to some Portland coffee and soy creamer. “I’m gonna know more,” I taunted and heard her chuckle softly. When I returned, Rose had put the game pieces down on the coffee table and, after seeing her face for a fraction of a second, it hit me that the news she wanted to share might possibly be bad. “Is everything alright?”

“Before we play, I want to let you know something.” Her tone had gotten all serious. “It’s about Andrew—”

Letter A. Andrew. A flash of red popped into my head. Her husband.

“He got the promotion—”

I froze. It was crazy how such good news could feel like the sky was crashing down. I swallowed. As much as I didn’t want anything to change, I knew what this promotion meant for Rose and her family, their future, that it was an opportunity for a fresh start—

“—We’re going to move to Spain in July. After school’s out.”

“I see.” Was all I could muster. Not because I understood any of this, much less my own emotions in that moment, but that I really could ‘see’ how much telling me was hard for my friend too. Something like this had been a long time coming. Rose had frequently talked about eventually moving somewhere else, some place less hot, but I’d always thought it would’ve been to the Pacific Northwest. “I’m gonna miss you,” I began and tucked some of my hair behind my ear before straightening my teeshirt. “But, I’m happy for you.” At some point, I’d let myself cry later.

“Thanks,” Rose breathed and her shoulders relaxed. “We don’t know much yet. Maybe, we’ll focus on something else for now. Do you still want to play?”

“Of course.”

She leaned forward and picked a card. “What’s my favorite flower?”

I started to laugh at the irony of this, knowing full-well that Rose’s wasn’t a rose.

“What?”

“Remember Hank,” I cracked. That green man. The color combination of the letters of his name (green, red, brown, dark blue) was just as quirky as he was. “Bringing you two-dozen roses?! He was in love with you!”

“No, he wasn’t.”

My eyebrows raised. “Absolutely infatuated. And, it was quite the romantic gesture. Before class, in front of the whole auditorium.”

“Mortifying,” she grumbled and I could see the incident of him asking her out replaying in her eyes. “Ugh, that smell.” Rose slightly wrinkled her nose. It was funny how much she hated the smell of the very flower she'd been named after.

“I know!”

“Don’t make me puke,” she replied and wafted her hand above her coffee to erase that part of the memory. She was still in the throes of the first-trimester.

“Violets,” I burst, laughing at the irony again, though this time she didn’t understand why. But, to me, it was so apparent, how purple always seemed to appear whenever Rose came to mind. Another memory of that day popped into my head, of how she’d let Hank down gently after he’d borderline-stalked her most of the semester. I would’ve just told him to get lost but we’d learned later that he’d been going through a hard time and we were all so impressed with how kindly she’d responded. It’d really gotten me to think.

Rose tallied a point under my name.

“Alright, my turn,” I said heartily and scanned the three questions on my card. “What’s my favorite hobby?” I read with a smirk and scribbled the answer down. I flipped the pen between my fingers.

“That’s not fair!”

She was right. We both had a million hobbies that we constantly cycled through. Eventually, the spark of creativity would hit and they’d come whipping back around again like a revolving door. And, when we both were into the same thing at the same time, it was like the stars in all their glory had aligned!

This question still wasn’t enough to stump her. “Writing,” she said and her red lips smugly sipped her coffee.

Right again. It wasn’t a fair question, I told myself—for me. She knew very well what my current projects were and had read some of them. In fact, Rose was the one that’d encouraged me to pick up writing again after a multi-year dry spell following the birth of my son. I remembered the night she’d called me and set off the spark, by mentioning this month-long writing event that we could do together. So, after we’d hung up, I’d dug out some old scenes I’d written 6 years prior that'd been forgotten in a drawer. Rose's persistant nudging had encouraged me to keep writing and doing the hobbies I love, despite being a new parent. It’d been the gentle push I’d needed and, three years later, the story had grown into a novel!

I marked a tally under her name.

“What crime would I most-likely be arrested for?”

“If I were a ghost, what would be my preferred method of haunting?”

“What’s one of my top pet-peeves?”

“Would I rather wear a wet sock for two days or a tight waistband for a week?”

It kept going. After the discard pile had started to fall over, we’d abandoned the markers and boards. Once we’d hit the card about the most horrific messes she’d ever had to clean, we were laughing so hard that we’d completely forgotten to keep score. I won’t go into detail but it’d involved potty training and, similarly, my disgusting bonus story had too. Reminiscing like this was so much fun, even though the thought of Rose and her family leaving soon had tinged the memories with bittersweet.

Rose’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked over the questions of her next card. “None of these really stand out.”

“Lemme see—”

“What’s my best virtue?” Rose quickly asked and slipped the card into the pocket of her sweater so I couldn’t get it.

I thought for a while; this one was tough. As I mentally went down the list, I pictured green. P. “Patience.”

“Really?”

“You’re seriously a saint!” I was speaking from experience and she didn’t hear these things enough. A year or so ago, I’d tagged along on one of my son’s first grade field trips. Rose had been teaching that year and her class had gone too. A lot can be said about someone that keeps their cool while a child tantrums in their face and then chooses to hug the kid after. It’d really changed my perspective on patience and showed me that some kids just need some extra time. Later, while patience was one of Rose’s top virtues, I still felt like I’d selected the wrong word. That another, more accurate one, sat quietly in the back of my mind.

“Shoot! I’ve gotta leave in five minutes!” It’d always astounded me how quickly the time passed whenever we were together. Would it fly like this all the way into July? “Congratulations, again, about the promotion,” I said while scooping the cards, markers, and game pieces into my bag. I was genuinely happy for their good fortune, even though it had thorns. I was able to hold it together long enough to absorb more of the details of their plans before giving her a big hug and heading out. I didn’t make it far down their driveway before I started to spiral. My best friend would be gone in a couple months and we still had a brimming bucket list of things we needed to do. As I sat in the carpool line to get my kids (yellow and blue), my brain raced, wondering how in the world I’d ever get along with a Rose-sized hole in my life. In my anxiety, I looked up how far Spain was from here. “Four thousand eight hundred fifty-four endless miles…” And with that overstimulating jumble of colors, the tears finally came.

A few months later, Rose and her family did move. We all had helped them sort and pack their things. At the airport, we said our goodbyes while the kids exchanged presents and, shortly after, a plane took them off on their new journey. The fullness of our friends’ absence hadn’t hit until a day or two later, especially for me. It’s like a part of my heart had stowed away in Rose’s suitcase and rolled along with her onto that plane. Of course we’d promised to message every day, video chat, save up to visit each other in the future. On paper, it was doable, so why did I feel so incredibly heavy with a piece of my life missing? To help clear my mind, my husband (orange) had suggested that we take the kids on a small vacation to the beach. It was out of our means but this sort of thing had worked wonders before to calm my thoughts.

~*~*~

Now, I sit on the powdery sand and watch the sunset with my family. We’d just hung up a video call; Rose and everyone are at their new place settling in well. Even though it’s chilly out, the gorgeous array of colors sweeps me away and reminds me of the names of those that have entered my life, warming my heart as they light up the sky. While faced with such beauty, I become lost in time, thankful, fortunate to have met every single one of them. And, right after the sun extinguishes its brilliance behind the Atlantic, tears well in my eyes as I’m left with the deepest, richest, most beautiful shade of all—R-O-S-E’s purple. The color of my dear friend, my sister whom I miss and love so much.

It’s in this moment I realize, that something of Rose had remained with me in America, that I’ve finally found another word exactly the same bold, deep purple as her: L-O-V-E. I smile that this virtue, like her name, could also be so equally hers. Thinking back through the years, love is the theme that’s continually colored her life. And, by her example and friendship, I’ve learned ways to better extend that sort of love to others. It’s not a surprise that both words share the same unique hues and pattern. And, no, I don’t think the association my neural pathways had made, all those years ago, could ever have been a coincidence at all.

~*~ For T. C. (Green. Orange.) ~*~

Thank you for persistently nudging me to write.