Coloring Inside the Lines

Image courtesy of historyofpencils.com

I liked my hippos purple. I grabbed a crayon from the aluminum tin on the kitchen table that had been dubbed “crayon heaven.” This purple was too dark; it was too blue. I dug through the wax rainbow in front of me until I pulled out the perfect one: Purple Flurp. I shoved a handful of Cheerios in my mouth as I began to add color to the circus hippo in my new coloring book. I had nearly filled in every inch of the smiling hippo’s body when I heard someone come up behind me.

“Good morning! Looks like your hippo spilled some of his colors on the floor,” Mom teased as she put Kate in the high chair. I examined the masterpiece in front of me and noticed that I had gone outside the lines— right by the hippo’s giant toe nail. My small heart fell as I realized I had made a mistake. I felt my cheeks turn a brighter shade of red than the Razzmatazz crayon on the table.

“I can fix it,” I replied, scrambling to find a white crayon. The white ones were always the hardest to find. I never used the white ones. I spotted one grinning back at me from the bottom of the large tin and pulled it out only to find that the pointy tip was missing, almost as if it were one of my beheaded barbies. I ripped the paper off the crayon and proceeded to color over the Purple Flurp streaks that escaped the hippo’s foot. The attempt, though valiant for a four-year-old, didn’t have the effect I had quite imagined. Instead of purple streaks, there were now light violet spikes coming from the hippo’s enormous foot as if he were wearing a pair of celestial soccer cleats.

“Num num!” Mom said as she subconsciously opened her mouth and shoved a spoonful of green mush into my burbling baby sister’s mouth. Kate immediately dribbled the green concoction onto her chin, bib, and shirt. “Come on Katie! You have to eat your veggies so you can be big and strong.” Mom was talking in that high-pitched voice that you only use with dogs and small children.

“Mom. . . MOM! Mommommommom! Look!” I said as I shoved my masterpiece in front of Mom’s face while she attempted to shove another spoonful into Kate’s mouth.

“That’s great, Leah! Let’s put it on the fridge to show Dad when he gets home from work.” I hopped off of the chair, happy with Mom’s approval, and ran to the fridge where I grabbed the nearest alphabet magnet. I hung my new creation among twenty other circus animals already displayed on the bottom half of the fridge.

I ran into the living room and turned on the tv. The news came on-- Mom always watched the news before going to bed. I changed the channel several times until finding my favorite show: Barney. I sat criss-crossed on the floor directly in front of the screen as the brightly colored dinosaurs appeared on the screen.

“Leah, you need to eat either a fruit or vegetable before watching tv.” Mom yelled from the kitchen. I pretended not to hear. Kate started to fuss and Mom pulled her out of the high chair and came to the living room where I sat. “Leah, come to the kitchen and eat a fruit or vegetable before you start your show.”

“But Mom! It’s already starting!” I protested.

“I know, so come eat one, really quick and then you can watch,” she replied.

“But I’m not hungry!” I fussed and threw myself on the floor like a dramatic soap opera star who had just been told her husband had died in a car crash.

“Just eat a banana! I’ll even peel it for you,” Mom said as she pulled me to my feet and led me to the kitchen, Kate still fussing on her hip.  Mom peeled the banana one handed-- a skill that all moms possess-- and handed it to me. “There, now eat it quick and you can keep watching your show.” I reluctantly took the banana and sat pouting at the kitchen table as my mom took Kate into the other room to change her diaper.

I’m not even hungry. I don’t like bananas. . . . Or at least not today. The Barney theme song still sang to me from the other room. I slammed the banana on the table and crossed my arms in anger. I was not going to eat that banana. Mom came back into the room holding Kate who was now only in a diaper, her green-mush stained clothing now in Mom’s hand.

“Leah, you won’t be able to watch your show until you eat that banana. Please eat it.” I looked at the banana again and grabbed it grudgingly. I took a defiant bite with squinted eyes in Mom’s direction. “Thank you,” she said in response to my four-year-old attempt at rebellion.

Mom went out the door nearest to the kitchen to the laundry room where she put Kate’s soiled clothes in the washer. Now was my chance to get rid of the banana! I ran to the garbage can under the sink.

The phone rang. Mom hurried into the kitchen with clean towels in one hand and Kate in the other. “Hello?” she said in her sing-songy-phone-call voice as she picked up the phone. I froze next to the open cabinet door, revealing the trash can. Mom saw me and her eyes widened and she gave me her don’t-you-dare look. “Oh hi Carol! Yes, I was planning on coming to book club tonight!” Mom moved the mouthpiece part of the phone away from her face and whispered, “Leah! Sit back down and finish that banana or there will be consequences.”

I dragged my feet back to my prison.  I sat down hard on the chair and squished the banana in my hands. It was mushy now— kind of like Kate’s food but yellow and in a peel. Mom left the room as she went to take the towels to the bathroom. The house wasn’t very big and I could tell where she was in the house by the faintness of her voice as she talked on the phone. I sat staring at the banana as I listened to mom chat but the washer was too loud for me to hear what she was saying.

The washer! Maybe I could hide the banana! I snuck into the laundry room. The only light in the room hung by a chain from the ceiling over the pile of socks whose pairs had been stolen by the sock monster. The furnace and water heater loomed like evil robots to my right. I quickly looked to the left where the white cabinet full of cleaning supplies sat. I looked to the side between the cabinet and the wall where we kept the brooms. Mom always looked there. I looked under the sad sock table. The large containers of flour, sugar, and wheat stood like pillars guarding a palace. Mom would never look behind those! I crawled under the table and wrapped my short arms around one of the pillars. My fingers didn’t even touch on the other side. I pulled with all my four-year-old muscle but it wouldn’t budge.

“What I loved about the book was. . . ,” I heard mom say, her voice closer than before. She was coming back to check on me! I panicked. I hoisted myself up on the dryer trying to find a suitable hiding place for the squishy banana. Where was a place that Mom never looked? I glanced around my new eye level frantically. I looked between the dryer and the wall at the long alleyway of darkness. That was it! I let the banana slip from my fingers and escape into the alleyway as I hopped off the dryer and ran toward the tv screen in the living room. I plopped down on the floor and a smug smile found my lips just as I heard Mom coming down the hall.  I heard her go into the kitchen.

“Thank you, Carol. I will make sure to bring a treat to share tonight,” she said as she hung up the phone. She came into the living room and put Kate on the floor to play with her rattle. “Thank you for finishing the banana, Leah.” Mom said as she left the room again. Suddenly, Barney wasn’t quite so interesting. I felt sick to my stomach. I heard Mom adding clothes to the washer. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, loud and haunting.

I sat back onto my elbows trying to distract myself as I watched two kids swing and sing about apples and bananas.

Bananas.

“Leah Kathryn Kelson!” My full name. I hopped off the floor and rushed into the kitchen as my increasing heart beat rang in my ears. Mom and I entered the kitchen at the same time. Mom held a dust-covered, half-eaten banana in her hand. How had she found it? I thought she never would! “Is this your banana?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

Ba boom. My heartbeat was louder now. Ba boom. Could she hear that? Ba boom.  I opened my mouth but words weren’t coming out. Ba boom. Mom looked at me expectantly. I couldn’t look at her blue eyes anymore. Ba boom. I looked at the floor.

“No.” I said. I looked up through my eyelashes to see those blue eyes change. They weren’t angry anymore. Now they contained an emotion I had never seen before. Was she sad? Was she mad? My four-year-old cognitivity lacked the understanding of emotion I needed at that moment. Her blue eyes widened and a surprise shaped her lips. Emotion filled her voice as she said, “You lied to me!”

Lie. I didn’t know what that meant. I’d never done it before. I only knew that I felt as though I had colored outside the lines. I longed for a white crayon to cover up my mistake. I looked around frantically, as though a giant white crayon—apt for fixing these kinds of situations—would suddenly appear to help me. But no help appeared.

“Go to your room!”

I sat on my Winnie the Pooh bedspread and cried until I had no tears left. The emotions I felt were new to my four-year-old mind: guilt, remorse. Mom’s eyes were still different when I came out of my room that day. I wrapped my tiny arms around her waist and quietly whispered an “I’m sorry” into her t-shirt, my attempt at using a white crayon to fix the situation. But just like with my hippo, the Purple Flurp streaks were only made a lighter violet, a full repair was not left up to me.

Mom looked down at my wet cheeks. I saw the Purple Flurp streaks fade from her eyes as she said, “Please don’t ever lie to me again. I love you too much for that.”

I have since created many Purple Flurp streaks on my personal relationship with Mom; some of them were even different colors like Mango Tango or Charcoal; some were more than streaks—they could have filled a whole coloring book. And on the other hand, Mom has created a few streaks of her own. But streaks fade as I have not only learned the meaning of a lie, but also of forgiveness.