Yellow, the color that has been said to have links to anxiety. The color meant sickness if it was the color of your skin. My mother turned yellow before I was sent away from her. Yellow was the color of faded bruises from when my uncle popped me one good or grabbed me. Yellow was the stale beer that stained the wall when he chucked beer bottles that usually missed. I hated the color all my life. A snapshot of my life before all the yellow had turned yellow. Death, anxiety, abuse and gluttony became the color. The past where I was happy…stained yellow.

I met a girl with yellow hair at the place where I became my uncle one piss yellow drink at a time. It was not blonde, but dyed a bright yellow, as if you were staring at the fresh petals of a sunflower. “Why such a color?” I eventually asked.

It was like she was waiting for that answer. She told me of how she found the color beautiful. She said it reminded her of young stars. I did not see that way of thinking, but the twinkle in her eyes did remind me of beautiful stars. Those were yellow at times.

The makeup mirror where she applied her red lipstick had dying light bulbs that gave of a yellow hue. The crooked teeth that made her look childish when she grinned were yellow like most people were. The dress she wore as she gallivanted on stage was yellow. The freshly lit cigarette in her hand at the end of the night had an ember that glowed yellow. She was adorned with the color so much, but I could not come to hate her. By morning I had come to love the color.