Home is made of three colors: white, black, and brown.
The walls are white.
The desk is white.
The nightstand is white.
The closet is white.
The bed is white.
It used to drive me up the walls.
Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, staring at my white, black, and brown room–still the same colors, even though science class had taught me colors disappear at night–I'd imagine painting my body with the acrylic paints we kept hidden away in a drawer because they were "unsightly" and climbing up the walls and ceiling as fast as I could before they dried on me.
Art class–the reason we had acrylic paints–had taught me brushes were made from hair.
Maybe I could use mine as a brush.
It would have been a very big brush.
But I had a big room to paint, after all.
The furniture wasn't mine,
I couldn't throw it out, replace, or paint it.
I wanted to buy new furniture.
A chair and a book shelf.
They would have both been made of wood.
They would have both been brown. But even that would have helped with all the white.
And,
they would have been mine.
I imagined I'd paint them,
with the acrylic paints from the drawer.
Mother said I didn't need a chair and a bookshelf, we already had too many things.
I couldn't replace the things we already had because we already had the best of everything.
The curtains were almost all black; some of them were grey.
It was a strange, somehow washed out grey that looked dead even next to the white walls right behind it.
It took her four months to find them; they were designer brand, she said.
They were very expensive.
The carpet was dark brown. It hid the stains children would inevitably make.
It too was expensive, even for a carpet that is,
but it was worth it, Mother said.
I had gotten my hopes up when Mother declared we would buy a new carpet; something different, a big change.
She bought a dark brown carpet. This one had a light brown border.
I was so desperate to bring some color to my room that I spent almost my entire allowance on Top Model magazines and merchandise that I knew I would not really read–because who cares about boys and other teenage stuff–
simply because with each passing month,
with each new volume,
I'd get another drawing full of color to hide the white walls behind.
The posters in those magazines all had the same structure: one of the characters was in full body view, facing the camera, and showing off their outfit of the month. They were quite bug-eyed, but as a child I did not mind.
I had a bunk bed so I hung the first one right below the ceiling. I didn't want to look at nothing but white wall and black curtains at night anymore.
Mother had only allowed the poster under one condition: they had to be hung up neatly. She would not allow a messy wall.
So I hung the next poster neatly right beside it.
And so I did with the next one.
In the end it was a white room with black curtains and a brown floor. And from all four walls, lined up from corner to corner right below the ceiling was a whole army of bug-eyed girls, in full body view, facing the person standing in the room, and showing off their outfit of the month.
Mother made me take them all down after she had a nightmare about it.
My laptop was full of sticker;
it was one of the only things I could make less white, black, or brown.
–––
I moved into a new apartment.
My walls are white.
My desk is white.
My nightstand is white.
My closet is white.
My bed is white.
Some of the floor is brown.
Some of the floor is black.
It's driving me up the walls.
My curtains are green now.
It's a strange, washed out green that looks almost grey next to the green bushes right below my window on the other side of the street.
It took me four months to find them; all the others were white, black, or brown.
Or they cost the same as my rent.
It took me eight months to buy a carpet. I went to the furniture stores eight times, once each month, before I finally found a single not white, black, or brown carpet in the children's section.
I used my savings to buy it.
It wasn't expensive, not for a carpet that is,
but I had already spent my monthly budget.
I also knew that, if I cam back next month, there would be no more not white, black, or brown carpets,
not even in the children's section.
I spent almost fifty bucks on a art calendar that I knew I would not use for its intended purpose,
simply because with each passing month,
with each turned page,
I'd get another drawing full of color to hide the white walls behind.
I bought two strange, overpriced sodas today because they came with a free art print.
I don't like trying new flavors,
but they came with a free art print.
I had to get a new laptop last month; there is only one sicker on it so far.
It looks naked.
There are prints and posters on the walls now,
but I can still see it, a white path.
Sometimes I still think of painting my body with the acrylic paints in the drawer and walking the white path.
The furniture isn't mine,
I can't throw it out, replace, or paint it.
I bought new furniture.
A shoe rack and a shelf.
The shoe rack is made of bamboo, the shelf of some similarly colored soft wood.
They are both brown. But even that helps with all the white.
And,
they're mine.
I will paint them soon,
with the acrylic paints from the drawer.
