Lavender

When I was a child and my family lived in California, my bedroom was a bright yellow color. I don't know how old I was, but once my parents wanted to repaint my bedroom and let me pick out the color. It was a soft shade of lavender, the hue barely discernable. I remember this because the people who bought the house from my parents commented on it. They had to repaint the room because they had a son and I guess he didn't care for lavender too much.

After I learned my family was going to move to Utah, I was very excited. I had this fantasy that Utah was like the old westerns in the movies, and that people were generally nice and say things like "Howdy." Let's say this was not the last fantasy I had that disappointed me.

We lived far enough away from my elementary school that I needed to ride a bus. The bus would pick up a bunch of kids from Kanarraville, then me, then a bunch of other kids, and then finally take us all to school. That particular route served two elementary schools, and the kids from my school would get dropped off before the kids from the other school. In the afternoon it was reversed, and the kids from my school were picked up before the kids from the other school, and all the kids were dropped off in reverse order along the route. The afternoon bus driver was considered cranky by all the other kids, but I got along with him and at the end of the year he gave me a pin with a school bus on it that had flashing red LED lights. He said he gave it to me because I was the best kid on the route.

I was really excited to ride a school bus. When I lived in California my family's home was close enough I could walk to school. When you are young you read stories like "The Magic School Bus" and your imagination really runs wild. In California school buses were for field trips and other fun adventures, not for the daily trek to school and back.

My dad was nervous about dropping me off at the bus stop, because it was close to the interstate on-ramp and he didn't want some stranger to kidnap me. I know Dad tried to petition to have the stop moved but I guess our family didn't have enough influence in the area. So he would take me to the bus stop and I would wait in the car until the bus came. Then he would go to work. We would make up games to pass the time like how many ground squirrels we could spot, and listen to talk radio.

I'm not sure when exactly it started, and I'm not even sure of what was said anymore. There was a girl who wore a lavender jacket and lived in Kanarraville. She had long, stringy brown hair and was the leader of the pack of girls she hung out with. I put so much energy into erasing this part of my life that I don't remember her name anymore.

She started to tease me. Not because of anything I said or did, but because my eyes were almond-shaped. I got flak for something I could not change about myself. Not that I ever would; I think my eyes are one of my best physical attributes. I had never been teased so mercilessly for something as inane as that. I could understand not fitting in because of the clothes I wore or the food I ate, but those were things that are easily changed. Who we are, the essence that makes us, can never be altered. We can cover it up with makeup or surgery, or hide it with false personas, but it cannot be revised.

I don't remember if I stood up for myself, or if I just watched her and fumed. I know she had a lot of fun, because she would tease me every day. I hated taking the bus to school and would dread the ride if she was on the bus that day. I remember going home and crying to my dad about it. Dad suggested I sit in the seat behind the bus driver, so if she was teasing me the bus driver could see and maybe do something about it. If he ever said anything to her, I never knew.

Nobody wanted to sit in the seat behind the bus driver, because it was reserved for bad kids. Also probably because they couldn't get away with whatever kids get away with on the bus. I didn't really want to sit there because I would get even more ostracized than I was. But for the most part it was a successful strategy, unless someone had already ticked off the bus driver and the first few seats behind him were taken up by unruly children. Once he asked me to move so that he could watch someone less civil than myself. In those cases I was left to fend for myself again.

One winter day I brought gloves with me on the way to school, but after I stepped off the bus I remembered I left them in my seat. So I got back on the bus, but couldn't find them where I left them. The girl in the lavender jacket was sitting a couple seats behind, and I knew she had taken my gloves. I asked her to return them, but she smiled and said that she didn't have them. Exasperated, I turned to get back off the bus again, and after I turned she tossed the gloves into the seat where I had sat in.

I remember picking up the gloves, and in my accumulated frustration and rage ran back to her and punched her in the shoulder. The bus driver didn't like that too much but it's not like I pummelled her face in or anything. I remember he got out of his seat and said something but when I stopped he let it go. I wonder now how much he knew.

For the longest time I detested any shade of purple. Much later I learned that some shades of purple complement olive skin tones and hazel eyes.

I've been slowly learning to like lavender again.