White lies and other colors

Around 1982 I take my dad’s grey sweatshirt from his dresser and dye it purple.  I loved purple. Good thing my dad is forgiving ’cause my hands are stained and there was no hiding from that one.

Around 1997 I tell myself that one little white lie won’t hurt.  People can change, things will get better.

Around 1999 I pull on the white dress my mother has made me and wait as she attaches the train.  Sweat runs between my breasts as I walk down the aisle.

Around 1991 After developing and processing film all day, I get curious and look at the photos before I put them in the envelope.  The manager sees me as my face flushes. I look for a new job the next day.

Around 2007 I have a party and after everyone leaves you kiss me and rest your olive-skinned check against mine “we’re just friends, right?” I nodded.  I wish I had said no.

Around 2001 I meet Tony.  He makes me laugh; I cut his black hair on my back porch and watch as the birds carry the ebony fluff to their nests. He is 12 years my junior we are inseparable.

Around 1980 My sister and I sing “The Piña Cola da Song” at the top of our lungs while my mom shops for groceries. That song always reminds me of Christmas in Hawaii.

Around 1981 Linnea and I sneak into Raiders of The Lost Ark. During the movie the film burned up right as the faces were melting off.  We think we are so cool, until our mom’s find out.  Just like mine predicted, I need a nightlight so I can fall asleep.

Around 2009 I pick my friend up at the airport and ask her how long since I’ve seen her.  She says it was ten years ago, on your wedding day.