The Clash
“Well, what do you think?” Calvin asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, and his hand pointing like a scepter towards the drapes.
“Umm…,” mumbled Louisa, trying to prevent Calvin from reading her face like the open book that it was.
Calvin agreed to move to the country in retirement as long as she let him decorate the farmhouse. She never wanted curtains, but he begged and begged. With the horses running outside and their windows always open, the curtains would get covered in dust, she argued. He didn’t care. His house was his castle, and he wanted to adorn it any way he pleased. He had always complained that working in a grey-everything cement factory deprived him of a life of color. And being very far-sighted, he had always been drawn to the brightest colors.
“What do you mean, ‘umm?’”
“I’m not sure it works, honey. Some of the colors, they’re so bright, and this is a farmhouse, love. It’s a bit loud. That red on the poppy flower is so prominent. And the green leaves and those little purple flowers, dear, it’s not the most harmonious color combination.”
“Periwinkle,” Calvin said.
“What?”
“It’s not purple, it’s periwinkle, darling. The flowers are periwinkle.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“I asked the salesman in the shop, Louisa. And dusty rose. The little flowers are meant to be periwinkle and dusty rose.”
“Yes, I see them. Very delicate, those little flowers, almost like they’re fading,” Louisa said.
Calvin shot Louisa a hurt look.
“In a good way, dear.”
Calvin raised his right hand to his chin, stroking it several times, the tell he always gave when he was thinking.
“Don’t you think the colors go so well with this room and the windows?” he asked.
Louisa leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek.
“They’ll learn to get along, and we’ll learn to love them, even though they do sort of clash,” Louisa smiled.####
As Big Red looked at his youngest, his rosy-cheeked, gentle one, his heart swelled with doting pride. Even though she was right beside him, as bright and vivacious as the day she was born, he knew it wouldn’t be long before she would fade and be gone, leaving behind just a soft, pink hue.
“Rosy,” he began hesitatingly. His nickname for his favorite suited her better than her given name. Everyone called her Rosy, not only for the color of her cheeks but for her bright and bubbly personality.
“I, I want you to be happy.” He looked out the window at the horses, neighing and running from the barn on the other side of the house around the never-ending fence. Blue sky and rolling hills as far as the eye could see. The family could have wound up in so many other places. Home could have been in a busy, loud, and smelly city or some factory-like apartment setting. Wasn’t he stuck in a hotel for a time? He shuddered at the thought.
“I love it here, and it’s been an incredible life, but…” Pain washed over Big Red’s wrinkled face because he knew what Rosy was going to say next.
“I can’t just hang around here forever. I’m tired of being a star, of having everyone point at me. I want to disappear a little and be left alone, not to be the center of attention.”
“Yeah, right,” said Olive, the oldest.
“Why are you always so disagreeable, Olive?” Perry, the youngest, demanded.
“No one asked you, Perry! I’m just saying no one ever gets out of here, so Rosy needs to face facts,” said Olive.
“Oh really, what makes you the expert?” Perry snapped back.
“Well, for starters, I’ve been around longer than you, bud!”
“So what? You’re so negative, always with your back to the sun; it’s a shocker you haven’t dried up and wilted yet.
“Stop fighting! We are a family!” Big Red’s tear-stained red eyes glistened in the sun.
“Just because someone out there put us together in here doesn’t make us a family...” Olive said quietly.
M Maria Odessky Rosen
Maria practices law by day and writing and dancing bu night. She loves to hear words play with each other.Her poems, short stories, and essays have appeared in newspapers and magazines, including the Beyond Words Anthology. She has received writing awards, including the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest and the 24-Hour Writing Contest, along with a competitive mentorship in the Gordon Square Review.