The Colors of the Rain Read online

  this is what I wrote:

  1. My

  2. Daddy

  3. Isn’t

  4. Coming

  5. Home.

  6. He

  7. Is

  8. Forever

  9. GONE.

  I know it was wrong,

  but they were the

  only words my hand would write.

  The day after that,

  Mama pulled me and

  Charlie out of school,

  on account of our

  mental trauma.

  She didn’t say we had no

  car anymore.

  I think she was ashamed

  of that part.

  EYES

  Daddy called his car

  My Fair Lady.

  Mama never had a car.

  Gran told Mama

  she could take us

  to school every day

  if Mama needed her to,

  but Mama said

  no, thank you.

  She’d teach us herself

  for a while.

  Mostly she just leaves

  worksheets on the table

  and then forgets to ask

  if we did them.

  It’s not right, those kids

  not getting school learning,

  Gran says.

  I don’t mind so much,

  not going to school.

  I never liked it anyhow.

  But Charlie, she goes looking

  for more worksheets

  when she’s done.

  I don’t want to get behind

  for when we go

  back, she says.

  I hope we never

  go back to school.

  You’re crazy, I say when she’s

  stacked more sheets on top of

  the ones Mama left us.

  Least I won’t be dumb, she says.

  Charlie has these really blue eyes,

  like a clear winter sky.

  My daddy had those eyes,

  and they’d dance when he was

  laughing and when he raged, too,

  so we never knew

  which one we’d get.

  Will I be dumb

  if I don’t go to school?

  Well, that doesn’t

  change my mind.

  I still don’t want to go.

  FRIENDS

  Josh and Brian,

  my two oldest friends,

  used to stop by after school,

  and we’d run in the woods

  together until suppertime.

  But after a few weeks,

  they stopped coming.

  They live down the road,

  not even half a mile

  in either direction,

  so I still see them ride by

  on their bikes once in a while.

  I can usually hear them coming.

  I stopped shouting their names

  after the fourth time they passed by

  like they hadn’t even heard me.

  I reckon some kids think

  a daddy leaving

  is contagious.

  MILO

  I don’t need friends, though.

  I have Milo.

  Milo isn’t big, and he isn’t small.

  He has shiny black fur,

  one blue eye,

  and one brown one.

  That’s how come I knew

  he belonged with us,

  because he had

  all our eyes in his two.

  My daddy brought him

  home from work one day.

  He said someone dropped

  him off and then just left.

  I can’t imagine doing that to a puppy.

  Mama said we’d give him

  a home for a little while,

  but I knew he’d stay for good.

  WOODS

  I’m Milo’s favorite person.

  We wrestle and run together,

  but most of all we walk

  through the woods,

  down to the dirty pond

  Charlie jumped in once

  on a dare.

  Milo likes to swim in it.

  That’s one thing I won’t do with him.

  Snakes live in that black water.

  I’ve seen them, heads bobbing

  like little sticks,

  only sticks don’t float

  and turn to look at you

  and suddenly disappear.

  I love the woods

  because I can hear my daddy

  singing here,

  in the music of the birds,

  in the music of the trees,

  and in the music of me and Milo

  crunching dried-up pine needles

  under our feet.

  I think he lives here now.

  I haven’t told Mama.

  She would look at me

  with those sad eyes,

  and then she’d cry herself to sleep.

  I don’t like that kind of music.

  So I come here

  and let him sing to me,

  like it’s our secret.

  SMILES

  Milo gets silly in the woods,

  since it’s cooler under the thick trees.

  It doesn’t get too cold

  in Houston, though.

  It’s mostly wet, heavy air

  and hot rays of sun.

  That’s one of the things

  I like best about it.

  Milo rolls onto his back,

  smashing needles and leaves

  underneath him,

  legs pawing the air.

  I rub his belly,

  and he smiles at me.

  Most people don’t know

  dogs can smile.

  Milo smiles at me

  all the time, and I’m glad,

  since I don’t see

  too many smiles anymore.

  When a daddy leaves,

  he takes all the smiles

  with him.

  LEAF

  Come on, boy, I say.

  It’s getting close to dark,

  and I promised Mama,

  after running off like I did

  on her birthday, that I

  wouldn’t stay out here

  once the sun went down.

  She’s never said sorry

  for coming home like she did,

  tripping around like my

  daddy used to do.

  Charlie says Mama’s

  under a lot of stress,

  on account of her job

  and Daddy leaving

  and the schoolwork

  she has to make sure we do.

  I think she adds

  that last part to make me

  feel guilty or something,

  and it works, just a little.

  I did my work today,

  before coming out here.

  I race Milo back

  through the trees, toward home,

  and I can almost feel my daddy,

  running right behind me,

  the way he used to.

  When we’re almost home,

  Milo’s feet uncover a leaf

  shaped exactly like a teardrop.

  I pick it up and stuff it

  in my pocket

  so it doesn’t crumble.

  Why do I pick it up?

  I reckon it’s like me.

  Different from all the others.

  I’m the only boy in town

  whose daddy was a criminal.

  SISTER

  When I say

  Charlie’s eyes are blue

  like a clear winter sky,

  I mean it.

  Josh and Brian,

  back when we

  were still friends

  and I still went to school,

  called her the prettiest girl

  in the sixth grade.

  I don’t really know,

  since she’s my sist
er.

  They’d talk about her

  sunshine hair and blue-sky eyes,

  and I’d tell them to stop being dumb.

  They’d just keep talking.

  And I had to listen,

  unless I wanted to go

  play all by myself,

  which I didn’t.

  BRAVE

  Me and Charlie

  used to be real close

  when we were younger,

  on account of all the moving

  and leaving our old friends behind

  and making new ones every year,

  but then we moved here

  where Mama and my daddy

  lived when they were

  first married,

  and we stayed.

  Mama picked this place.

  She said she wanted

  me and Charlie to know

  my daddy’s family,

  but I think what she

  really wanted was help

  with my daddy.

  He hated it here,

  with Gran and Granddad

  right across the street

  and Aunt Bee fifteen miles

  down the road,

  all these people

  checking in on him

  when he pulled in our driveway

  too long after sunset.

  The night my daddy left,

  Charlie’s eyes got real dark,

  like a storm lived there.

  Charlie loved my daddy,

  even on the nights

  he walked in the door

  like he was trying not to fall over,

  nights when he’d throw

  ashtrays at Mama

  and trip over chairs

  like he didn’t even see them.

  Charlie was the only one

  brave enough to stop him

  when he turned mean.

  CAUGHT

  I shift in my chair.

  I’ve been sitting for too long.

  Aunt Bee turns on the water

  at the sink, her back to me.

  I stand, thinking if I’m fast

  and quiet enough,

  I might sneak out

  before she turns back around.

  Finish your work, Paulie,

  Aunt Bee says.

  Her eyes fix on me.

  I’ll do it later, I say,

  inching closer to the door,

  but she catches my hand.

  Hers is small but strong.

  Your mama doesn’t have time

  to make sure you do your work,

  Paulie, Aunt Bee says.

  And Gran says you run wild

  in those woods all day.

  That’s why I’m here.

  Sit down.

  She sounds so much like Gran

  that I sit back down.

  Aunt Bee is nineteen years

  older than my daddy.

  She’s short and wide

  and starting to gray,

  but she still looks young

  in the eyes.

  NUMBER

  Mama’s sending us back, Charlie says.

  No? I say. It comes out

  like a question.

  Yeah, she says, and her eyes

  tell me the truth.

  She told me so last night.

  Soon as fall comes

  we’re going back.

  Fall is not far enough away,

  and Josh and Brian were

  my only friends.

  When we moved here,

  Mama said we wouldn’t

  ever have to start over again . . .

  but I will. My daddy

  fixed that real good.

  I look down at my papers,

  a whole stack of them,

  with the number 9 skipped

  on every page. I let out a

  deep, long breath,

  and Milo jumps to his feet

  under the table. I feel him

  brush against my legs.

  I need a break, I say.

  Aunt Bee pulls out a chair

  and drops into it.

  Her butterfly pin catches the sun

  from the window,

  and I squint against the light.

  She shakes her head,

  black-and-gray curls

  bouncing against her face.

  Your work, Paulie.

  She taps the stack.

  You’re almost done.

  She pulls one of the

  finished sheets closer

  and points to the number I hate.

  You forgot this one, she says.

  She flips the sheet over

  and then looks at the next.

  I don’t answer because

  I can see she knows now,

  in the way her eyes turn soft.

  Aunt Bee is smarter than

  anyone I know.

  Maybe that’s why

  I ask a question instead.

  Will Mama leave, too?

  It takes her a long time to answer.

  She stares at me with Granddad’s eyes,

  and it’s almost like she can see

  all the way through to the

  very bottom of me.

  What does she see there?

  She doesn’t smile, just pats my hand.

  Your mama won’t do

  what she did the other night,

  if that’s what you’re asking, she says.

  It’s not what I’m asking,

  so I say it again.

  Will she leave, though?

  Aunt Bee turns to the window

  and stares outside.

  It’s a beautiful day, Paulie.

  Why don’t you take a break?

  You can come back to all this later.

  She stacks the papers up

  real nice and neat.

  It might have been better

  if she had just lied,

  because the storm starts moving

  in Charlie’s eyes again.

  I push back from the table

  and walk toward the door,

  Milo beside me, and when

  the screen slams twice behind me,

  I start to run,

  into the waiting woods

  where my daddy lives.

  APOLOGY

  Mama stops by our room

  on her way down the hall tonight.

  Charlotte, go get me

  some water, hon, Mama says,

  and Charlie climbs down

  from the top bunk

  and is out the door so fast

  I know they’ve planned it this way.

  Mama sits on the side of my bed.

  She taps the sketchbook open on my lap.

  What’s this? she says.

  A shoe, I say.

  She doesn’t seem to notice

  that it’s my daddy’s shoe

  because she says, Looks real nice,

  and smiles.

  Mama hasn’t smiled at me

  since my daddy left.

  It warms me all over.

  Charlotte says you know, Mama says.

  She brushes hair away from my eyes.

  About going back to school.

  What I also like about not going to school

  is I haven’t needed a haircut since I left.

  My hair looks like my daddy’s now,

  straight brown strands that stop

  right above my shoulders.

  I’m sorry I didn’t

  tell you, she says.

  It’s okay, I say,

  even though it’s not.

  I’ve learned that sometimes

  it’s okay to lie to Mama.

  It’s just . . .

  Mama’s voice cracks,

  like the words are

  hard to push out.

  I don’t look at her

  because I know what I’ll see.

  Mama tries again.

  I know school

>   was hard on you after . . .

  I fill in the blank without

  saying any words.

  She looks at me,

  and I stare back this time.

  I just can’t do it, Paulie.

  I can’t teach you both

  and work, too.

  She takes my hand,

  and I know this is

  her apology.

  All your friends will be

  so glad to see you.

  Mama smiles again.

  You’ll be just fine.

  I don’t tell her about

  Josh and Brian pretending

  like they can’t hear me anymore.

  Mama stands and turns toward the door.

  You can come back in, Charlotte, she says.

  I see Charlie standing right outside the door,

  looking like a shadow in the hallway light.

  She hands Mama the cup of water

  and climbs back into bed.

  Mama stops at our door.

  I love you kids, she says.

  And then she walks down

  the hall to her bedroom

  and closes the door behind her.

  SHOE

  I’m not thinking

  of school anymore.

  I’m thinking about how a shoe

  can tell a story, too.

  He wore them all the time.

  He was wearing them

  the night he left.

  I know because I saw one of them

  on the television screen Aunt Bee

  turned on after all those

  flashing lights went dark.

  It was a ways from his crushed-up car.

  I reckon my daddy’s shoes kept going

  even after he lay still.

  It wasn’t the lead story

  on the news that night,

  on account of some space probe

  landing on Mars without crashing

  and my daddy’s favorite musician

  releasing a Christmas record.

  Mars 3 and John Lennon’s new music

  were bigger news

  than a man dying, I guess.

  But the local station picked up

  my daddy’s story, talking about

  the bar fight that ended in murder

  and a car that lost control and

  two men shooting the man

  who missed the curve.

  Why would two men

  shoot my daddy

  when he was already dead?

  They never found those men.

  That same night I heard

  Mama tell Aunt Bee

  that my daddy turned weak

  a few years after I was born,

  on account of the Vietnam War

  and all those people

  he had to kill.

  She was crying

  when she said it,

  so I couldn’t tell if she was

  angry or just real sad.

  STRONG

  Mama called my daddy weak

  for what he did.

  We have this picture