Colors: Brown

“So why are we here?”

“I told you already, if we want to talk about the color brown, we have to get a little dirty.”

“Dirty?  Is this what you wanted to show me last week?”

“Yeah.”

I heard her hands touching something, breaking something.  A moment later the rich smell of fresh earth came to me.  There was the sound of something coming towards me, and I was hit full in the face with the dirt.  I sputtered, coughing out the bits from my mouth.

“What the hell?”

Crystal laughed.  “Have you ever played with dirt before?”

“It’s not exactly on my list of things to do.”

I wiped at my mouth with the back of one hand.  The dirt was course and rough and it scraped my lips.  It didn’t rub me raw, but it certainly was discomforting.  I spat out, and I could taste the dirt and something sharply reminding me of stone.

“Well, want to know why I did that?”

“You were poor and deprived as a child?”

“Yes, but that’s not the reason.”  I could hear the smile in her words as she scooped more dirt.  “It’s because today we are learning about brown.”

“Brown.”  I repeated.  “So that’s why you threw dirt at me.”

“Exactly!”  She laughed again.  “Dirt is brown colored.”

“And how does this help me at all?”

She brought the dirt up to me nose.  “Can you smell that?”

“It smells like dirt.”

“What does it remind you of?”

“It reminds me when you threw the dirt at me.”

“Besides that.  Sniff again.”

I made a show of breathing deep through my nostrils.  The earthy scent of dirt came to my nose.  The salty sea air came to me as well.  Her usual scent of vanilla and strawberries came to me, though if I was mistaken, the scent of strawberries was less than I remembered.

“I smell the dirt, and the sea, and you.”

“And what does it remind you – wait, you smell me?”

“You smell like vanilla and strawberries.”  I said.  “It has to be your shampoo or your body wash or your perfume or something.  But I always smell it when I’m around you.”

There was a pause before she spoke.  “I see.”  Another pause, and she coughed gently.  “What does the dirt remind you of?”

“It remind me that I need to take a bath later.”

“Exactly!  Dirt makes you dirty!”

“And how does that work for brown?  Brown makes me dirty?”

“Well, yeah.”  She took the dirt and pushed it into my free hand.  “Brown always makes me think of being plain or being, well, dirty.”

On reflex my hands started wandering the small pile of earth she held.  The dirt was cool against my skin, and I could feel tiny pebbles as I explored.  I came across a finger of hers, and it was once more warm against my own skin.  It felt… nice.

“Plain?”

“Well, brown is such a well, boring color.  It’s the color of all the wood they used in classrooms, and the wood of unpainted doors, and the wood that makes up tables and benches and picnic tables.  It’s like a blank canvas that needs to be colored.  As a Color Enthusiast, I hate this color because of all the lost potential.”

“I didn’t know that you were possible of hating colors.”

“I am.”  I could almost hear the pout in her voice.  “Anyways, it’s a boring color.  And I wanted to get it over with.”

“So then what would be your favorite color?”

“Yellow.  It’s so bright and cheery and happy!”

“But didn’t you dye your own hair?”

“That’s for a different reason.”  She paused.  “Besides, I’m growing my hair out again so it’ll be yellow again soon.”

I reached up with my dirty fingers to her head.  “Let me see.”

“Oh no,” she backed up from me and I could hear her heavy boots against the dirt as it crunched against dead leaves from last fall.   “I’m not letting you do that to me.”

I took a step forward.  “But you did it to me.”

“But you’re learning, and I’m not!”  She ran.

I listened.  She crunched against the leaves, and onto something softer.  It was grass, or at least it had to be.  It couldn’t be sand since we weren’t that close to the ocean.  She stopped, and I walked toward her general direction.  My cane went out in front of me, tapping and tapping.  I stopped as it hit something broad and heavy sounding.

I tapped to either side, and found that she had placed a tree between the two of us.  I reached out and touched the bark.  It was rough and firm.  My fingers traced the tiny crags and the miniscule canyons in the tree’s skin.

“What color is this?”  I said softly.

“It’s brown.”  Her voice came from around the tree.

“Hmm.”  I leaned against the tree with my dirty hand.  “And you said that brown was plain and dirty and what, filthy?”

“Yeah.”  Her voice was a little closer.  Was she leaning around the tree to see me?

“I don’t think that’s it.”  I said.  “If this is brown, then isn’t brown something strong and solid and firm?”

“Sometimes.”

“And does that mean that red is more than passion, and yellow is more than happy?”

“Sometimes.”  I could hear the pride in her voice.  “Most colors have more than one emotions associated with them.  Think of what I’m doing as Colors 101.”

“Colors 101?”  I echoed.  I could hear that she was coming from me left.  And from the way her voice was getting slightly louder, that she was leaning closer and closer to me.

“Colors 101.”  She repeated.  “But that doesn’t include blending colors or shades or – HEY!”

I had reached around and mussed up her hair with my hand.  I smiled as she backed up from me.

“No fair!”

“I had never said that I wasn’t going to do that.”  I stepped around the tree to stand before her.  “Well, maybe after Colors 101 we can do something more advanced.”

“Maybe.”  The smile and the laughter was back in her voice.  “I think that’s it for today.  Do you want to get some lunch?”

“Sure.”  I nodded.  “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Alright!”  She jumped up in the air.  Like, she actually jumped.  I could hear the crease as her boot leather bent as she went down and came back up.  Then there was the landing as she hit the ground in those heavy clod-hoppers of hers.

Her song was the same as I had met it before.  It was disjointed and passionate and wandered freely.  If I was being picky, I would say her jazz solo was played with maybe a clarinet instead of a saxophone.  But, I didn’t care.  Maybe she was just a little sadder right now than back in that café.  And try as I might, I couldn’t help but be caught up in her antics.  She was having an effect on me.  And I kinda liked it.

I was looking forward to her next lesson.