colors

Where are we going?

The truck smelled of cheese and the stench of a fat man. Mattresses and tables and lamps found in alleys were tied with rope in a chaos bundle.

I knew by now that you had to ask a couple of times if you really wanted a response.

Where are we going?

Home.

Someone explained to me that it was a house-church. Our living wasn't a living room, It was a church. It was painted white with red carpeting that had a liking for coffee stains, something out of a White Stripes video. I imagined that the red carpet used to be white too, but it was stained with blood, that in that room long ago was an epic battle of men and angels, and you can never get rid of the stains of angels. It wasn’t a living room or church to me but another part of the building. When friends came over to visit I brought them through the back to avoid any lengthy and unnecessary explanation. There was no real furniture except for a piano and stacks of wooden folding chairs. In the back was a radiator that clanged and hissed, especially during meetings. My dad said that there was an evil spirit living inside of it. I believed him.

The only artwork in the house was a small framed blue stitching of In this house we serve the Lord. My parents slept on a futon that when folded up served as the seating for our real living room and when down took up the entire room of what was really a bed-room. A small television was for two things only, the news and I Love Lucy at eight thirty before bed. My dad painted the room a red-rust color, he said it was warm. My dad’s office was also my bedroom. The walls were painted with books and my bed in the corner. Our back porch was turned into another bedroom for my sister. My dad painted the room green because green is healing, I believed him. The kitchen was painted pure, a bright yellow with white appliances and white cabinetry of the cheap variety. The bathroom was a toilet that clogged, a vanity that didn’t match the sink, and a stained tub. The tile on the floor was always cold. It was a light blue. The tile on the walls was just a plain blue. The walls were painted a blue that was almost gray. My father never gave a reason for the blue. Someone I didn’t know once came over and said the blue almost matched my eyes, but not quite.