Yellow

It started in the classroom.

Among model planets, times tables,

chapter books still illustrated

with magic trees, I started to slowly notice a small stain

spreading over the laminated plastic taped to the top of the desk

where I wrote my name,

yellow.

Spelling, addition, the click of plastic tangrams

formed a bird over my desk.

I was proud. “You’re a fast learner”, the Mr. praised me.

I was a fast learner, so I quickly learned to hate

banana laffy taffy and the bright yellow dress

that my mother insisted on for school photos. I

learned to hate stubborn dandelions

and classroom introductions that occurred

each time I entered a new grade.

It only took a couple grades before I found

myself unable to move forward. I was trapped

between the solid backs of my peers seated on cafeteria benches

to either side of me.

With their attention focused on their baby carrots and

triangle PBJs, I could only face the scowl of an angry boy.

We were blocking each other’s paths, each

unable to move forward, each

unwilling to back out.

I heard the ugly yellow words spewed at me

for the first time. I’m sure my body shook

violently.

I saw his grimace, his arm cradling his leg, and

small tears welling with the childish threats of

"I’m telling on you" falling from his lips.

My Mr. came to find me after I barely

stomached my meal. He called me into the empty music room with notes of

"Why did you do it?" hanging heavy in the air,

asking me to explain

how this wasn’t my fault. I knew

it was my own foot that flew into a boy’s shin. Why did you do it?

My eyes watered but the bile rose and

my voice wouldn’t make the yellow words and I couldn't

explain.

I wanted to become a Mary or a Violet,

a Susan or Amanda. As long as I gave away my yellow stained name

I was certain I could also give away

the yellow words

still stuck halfway in my trachea.

Time passed in front of the mirror where I tried on Samantha or Amy. But

I couldn’t give away the salted egg yolks encased in pillowy pastry or

warm chicken feet shrouded in bamboo and steam or

sunflower seeds shared with family on heat soaked evenings.

I hung the Rachel and the Megan on the "tomorrow" rack and picked up

the yellow name that hung

as the only "definitely".

It continues in the office.

Among sales projections, P&L statements, reference books illustrated

with scatter charts and line graphs, I wipe

the unmarred plastic laminated pass

I keep on the side of my desk.

Today will include another meeting of first introductions

But this time I will spell out

the letters of my yellow name,

uncompromising.