The Colors of the Rain

by R. L. Toalson

  She stays out until it’s time

  to tell us good night.

  I like to watch her

  on the nights she sings.

  She hasn’t been singing since

  Mama sent us our letters, though.

  I miss her singing. I want

  to hear her voice again, and I think this

  might be why I open the door and

  walk down the porch steps and

  stand by her side tonight.

  The flowers look pretty, I say,

  just to let her know I’m here.

  She turns her face to me and smiles,

  but her eyes stay tight and dark,

  like they don’t remember

  how to smile the way the rest

  of her face does. She moves her hand

  under one of the white flowers

  we thought for sure wouldn’t make it.

  She bends to smell it.

  I didn’t think I’d ever see this one

  bloom again, she says. Your gran’s got

  magic in her hands.

  Her voice is sad and happy

  at the same time. I touch

  the velvety petals of the bloom

  closest to me, and she sits back

  on her heels.

  Your daddy gave it to me,

  and I let it die, she says.

  Her eyes are like brown

  pieces of glass, but she blinks

  the shine away. And then,

  so soft I can hardly hear,

  she says, And here it is again.

  Resurrected.

  I let her have her quiet for a minute,

  but there’s something I need to say,

  something that’s been burning up

  inside of me since reading Mama’s letter.

  I don’t really know how to say it, so

  I count a minute and then I blurt out,

  I don’t want to go back,

  before I lose my nerve.

  Aunt Bee doesn’t say anything at all.

  She just folds me in her arms

  and lets me stay.

  After a long breath,

  she starts singing.

  STORM

  Aunt Bee pulls me from class

  three hours before the last school bell.

  She tells me we’re going to a hospital,

  but she doesn’t say why.

  We stop to get Charlie on the way.

  Aunt Bee parks close to a sidewalk

  darkened by trees and tells me

  to wait in the car while she goes in.

  So I wait, staring out the windows

  at a bright blue sky with a few

  puffy clouds, nothing to warn

  about a storm coming.

  It doesn’t look like the kind of day

  something would go wrong, but

  I know how pretty days can trick us

  with their sunshine and

  clear skies.

  KNOW

  There is an old tree,

  off to the side of the street,

  with branches that twist

  all the way up to the sun and

  leaves that let light through.

  It’s tall and wide and strong,

  and for some reason, it makes me

  think of Granddad.

  Charlie slides into the front seat

  beside Aunt Bee. She looks back

  at me with all kinds of questions

  in her eyes, the same ones trying

  to climb out of my mouth.

  I don’t know any more

  than Charlie does.

  All I know is Aunt Bee stops

  by her house but doesn’t go in,

  just picks all the white flowers

  from the plant my daddy

  gave her.

  All I know is she drives faster

  than she’s ever driven before,

  flying around other cars and

  cursing under her breath when

  she gets blocked in, more like Gran

  today than she’s ever been.

  All I know is she tells me and Charlie

  to wait in a too-bright room while

  she takes those flowers into a

  hallway marked ICU

  and disappears for a long time.

  I fall asleep

  on a cushioned chair

  with wooden arms.

  DIE

  When I wake up, it’s Aunt Bee

  who is sleeping in a chair next to me.

  Charlie stands by the window.

  I slide out of my chair, careful

  not to disturb Aunt Bee, and

  walk over to Charlie. She’s staring

  out at the sidewalk, and it doesn’t

  take long to see why.

  All over the gray stone

  are the flowers Aunt Bee brought.

  I don’t know how they got there.

  She threw them out, Charlie says.

  My heart sounds loud

  in my ears. It must be

  worse than I thought.

  He’s not dead, Charlie says,

  and for a minute I think she might be

  talking about my daddy, except I

  saw the crumpled car and I heard the shots

  and I felt the cold that every boy must feel

  when their daddy leaves them.

  Granddad, Charlie says.

  She turns to me, her eyes like

  the deep end of an ocean.

  He’s just not exactly alive, either.

  I don’t know what this means,

  not being exactly alive. So, I ask,

  Will he die, then?

  Charlie turns back toward the window,

  toward all those flowers that

  look like death, now that I know.

  I don’t want to see them pointing

  the way inside this place

  where people come to die.

  HEART

  He hasn’t woken up yet, that’s all.

  It’s not Charlie who answers

  my question. It’s Aunt Bee.

  She stands right behind us now.

  We’ll know more when he wakes up.

  She tells us how he was out pulling weeds,

  trying to gather what vegetables he could

  before the first freeze came in, and then he

  fell over on his back, so numb he

  couldn’t even move. Gran was

  out with him and saw it happen,

  and that’s the only reason he didn’t

  show up at the hospital already dead.

  He had a heart attack, she says.

  And they got his heart working again,

  but no one really knows what

  happens from here. She sounds bitter,

  like she blames him for the heart attack.

  I don’t know what comes

  over me, but I say, Why did you

  throw all those flowers away?

  Aunt Bee looks at me

  for a long time. And then I guess

  she decides to tell the truth.

  She says, If he dies,

  I won’t be able to tell him

  something I’ve waited to

  tell him for years.

  I almost ask what that something is,

  but the way her mouth twists

  keeps me quiet instead.

  Tears roll down her cheeks,

  and me and Charlie don’t know

  what else to do. We both

  take one of her hands and hold her

  for as long as it takes.

  I guess this is what you do

  when you know what it’s like

  to lose a daddy.

  PETALS

  Later, when Aunt Bee has

  fallen asleep in her chair again

  and Charlie is down in the dining hall

  getting supper, I walk out the

  sliding doors and collect all
>
  the white petals that

  haven’t blown away.

  Granddad might still

  want them, after all.

  A present from his two kids,

  one dead and one

  still alive.

  FLOWERS

  On the fifth day,

  Granddad wakes up.

  It happens fast.

  Gran comes running

  out the same door

  Aunt Bee ran in five days ago.

  She looks smaller and older

  and too tired for words.

  She waves Aunt Bee toward her,

  and Aunt Bee pats Charlie’s knee

  and tells us she’ll be right back,

  and then she disappears and

  we’re waiting again, not knowing

  what’s happened.

  Then she’s back, and

  me and Charlie are walking

  through the doors we haven’t

  been allowed through in all the days

  we’ve sat in a waiting area with

  three hundred and ninety-six circles

  on the carpet, and we stop at a room

  with an open door and a heavy smell

  like old people mixed with soap and

  something I might call death, if

  Aunt Bee wasn’t still smiling.

  I must be wrong.

  She walks behind us into the room,

  and the first thing I see is a clear vase

  of yellow flowers on a windowsill,

  and I wonder how they got here

  and who might have sent them.

  They’re the same flowers

  Mama used to keep on our

  kitchen table. That’s the

  only reason I wonder.

  PLAN

  Granddad is sitting up in bed

  with four pillows behind his back,

  blinking in the light from the window.

  Charlie moves to Granddad’s side,

  so I do the same. He says something

  I can’t understand.

  I look at Aunt Bee, wondering if

  it’s just me. She’s standing right

  behind me, still smiling.

  She leans toward me.

  He’s a strong one, she says.

  He’ll find his words again.

  Just let him talk if he wants.

  I don’t know how Granddad

  could have lost his words,

  but nothing he says

  sounds like sentences

  or conversation at all.

  Charlie takes his hand, but I

  keep my distance.

  He’s still a little confused, Gran says.

  She stands up and touches his forehead,

  moving her hand all the way across

  the crinkled paper of his skin.

  It might take a few days.

  Granddad leans his head back

  on the pillow and closes his eyes.

  Aunt Bee says it’s time to go.

  She moves to Granddad’s side and

  whispers words, but I hear them all.

  I’ll be back tomorrow, Daddy.

  We have so much to

  talk about.

  Me and Charlie follow her

  out of the room and out the doors

  marked ICU and all the way

  out the front of the hospital.

  And even though it’s our first day

  going home after five days of

  sleeping in a hospital waiting room,

  I don’t think about home

  or a hot bath or how good

  my own bed will feel tonight.

  I only think about how I want

  to hear what Aunt Bee

  will say to Granddad.

  VISITOR

  When we get home,

  a car I’ve never seen

  is parked out front.

  It’s a bright orange Ford Pinto.

  The only reason I know

  is on account of Mama laughing

  with my daddy one time when we

  passed such an ugly car on the highway.

  Aunt Bee stands outside her

  car door for a minute, and

  I swear her face turns younger

  in the golden light.

  Charlie looks at me, wondering

  the same thing I’m wondering.

  I shrug. We follow Aunt Bee

  around the corner to the porch.

  Mr. Langley is rocking

  back and forth in the chair

  Aunt Bee usually sits in.

  Luke, Aunt Bee says.

  I’ve never heard her call him

  anything but Mr. Langley.

  I stare at her, and I guess

  my mouth must be open,

  since Charlie elbows me.

  I look at Mr. Langley

  just long enough to

  see him wink.

  I came as soon as I heard,

  Mr. Langley says. But you

  weren’t home. So I kept trying.

  We were staying at the hospital,

  Aunt Bee says, and her voice

  holds a hundred yawns.

  I yawn, too.

  He woke up, then, Mr. Langley says.

  He starts to take her hand,

  but Aunt Bee waves us all

  through the front door.

  We’ll talk inside, she says,

  and I know what she means is

  away from me and Charlie.

  DOORWAY

  Mr. Langley is the last one

  through the door. Me and Charlie

  go straight to our rooms,

  but we’ll be back.

  We wouldn’t miss their talk

  for all the sleep we might get

  in our own beds before supper.

  So we wait. And when we hear

  the pots and pans clanging

  in the kitchen, we sneak out

  with socks and silent steps.

  I barely breathe, peering around

  the doorway. Mr. Langley’s hand

  is on Aunt Bee’s arm.

  He pulls her close

  and wraps his arms around her.

  I’m so glad he made it, he says.

  His voice is ancient and sad,

  like it’s been around for

  a thousand years, but it’s still

  bright at the edges.

  Aunt Bee buries her face

  in his shoulder and doesn’t

  say anything. They stay that way

  for a long time, until Aunt Bee

  pulls away and turns back to the stove.

  She wipes the back of her hand

  across her eyes, like she might be

  getting rid of tears.

  Mr. Langley pushes himself onto

  the counter beside the stove,

  like my daddy used to do.

  He watches Aunt Bee turn on

  the burners and break apart spaghetti

  and drop it into the water. He lets her

  stay in her quiet until she hands him

  the sauce jar and he twists it open

  in one try.

  Then he says, When will you

  talk to him?

  Aunt Bee stirs the spaghetti pot

  and says, As soon as he’ll understand,

  and her voice breaks apart

  in the middle of it.

  It’s then I realize how scared

  she is that Granddad will never

  get better. That he will never

  understand.

  Mr. Langley slides off the counter

  and puts his arms around Aunt Bee

  again. I’m ready to marry you, he says,

  real quiet. But me and Charlie

  hear it easily, since we’ve listened

  to talking softer than those words.

  I’ve been ready a long time.

  I know, Aunt Bee says.

  She looks him stra
ight in the eye.

  I am, too. But I have to make it right

  with Daddy first.

  Of course, Mr. Langley says.

  There’s so much to say.

  So much for him

  to make right, too.

  Aunt Bee nods, and she has that

  look on her face like she can’t

  talk anymore. After a minute, Mr. Langley

  kisses her right on the mouth.

  Charlie gasps. We have sense enough

  to move back into the living room

  and then race real quiet back

  to her room.

  COMPLICATED

  I sit on Charlie’s bed.

  Charlie stares out her window,

  into the backyard where Milo

  used to play. The sun

  colors her hair orange,

  and the blinds turn

  her face zebra.

  I told you, she says.

  They love each other.

  I’m still trying to process

  what I’ve seen, but I know

  enough to know she’s right.

  Why can’t they just

  marry each other, then? I say.

  I reckon because she’s white

  and he’s black, Charlie says.

  People don’t like that sort of thing.

  Charlie turns to me.

  But that doesn’t mean

  they won’t get married.

  She’s smiling.

  Golden hands reach through

  Charlie’s window, and I can feel

  their warmth from the top of my head

  all the way to my toes.

  MIXING

  Aunt Bee says we’re not

  going to the hospital today,

  since Granddad is tired.

  We go to school instead.

  So I go see Mr. Langley.

  We haven’t painted

  the building since

  Granddad’s heart attack, and I still

  need to finish my field

  before we start on the wall

  we’re supposed to paint together.

  Mr. Langley is standing

  at the back of his room,

  near the washing-up sink.

  He looks up when I come in,

  and his face folds into a smile.

  Paulie, he says,

  like I’m just the person

  he wanted to see.

  His words warm me

  like Mama’s smile always did.

  I came to see if

  we could paint, I say.

  Granddad’s too tired

  for a visit today.

  Mr. Langley dips the brushes in

  one side of the sink and pours

  a measuring cup of gray water

  down the other.

  Help me finish these, he says,

  without saying whether we’ll

  paint today. So I stand beside him,

  handing him measuring cups and