Alkaline

For years I’ve worked at this shabby paint store and for years people only came up to me to make sure this shade of beige wasn’t too dark for the kitchen and which warm tone said, “You’re welcome in our home but no more than three days”? One woman, though, she had it together. A petite thing, one you could wrap your arms around twice but if you squeezed too tight you’d shatter her porcelain skin. She came in first looking for a milky white – one that reflected light even in the dark. Out of a swatch of five she picked Blushing Bride and bounced down the aisle and out the doors. A year or so later, she came looking for the colors of calm skies and roses and consulted her stomach with her hand for answers. She couldn’t decide so she hobbled away with Banana Cream Pie and sat down to rest before reaching her car. It was just a week later when she came in again and refused to look me in the eye. She bee-lined for the browns and blacks, a thick color to slap over the bouncing bananas. She stood there for hours staring at the swatches, not once sitting to catch her breath. She just stood there, staring, and then she left with the color of dirt.