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The Girl in Pink
Like spring begins with pink buds on the trees and each day begins with a rosy sunrise, pink is the color that starts everything.
The first thing they see when the nurse brings her to them is pink. It’s the color of her cheeks and her fingers and the soft knit beanie that encompasses her tiny little head. It’s the color that makes them dream infinite dreams for the sweet bundle in their arms.
The freshly painted walls of the nursery have a never ending shade of pink that wraps that sweet girl in innocence. Pink blankets and Barbie dolls litter the floor and as the years go by magenta hair bows and ballet slippers join them.
Pink is the sound of little feet dancing across the hardwood floors at six in the morning and soft lullaby’s at eight. It’s the color of cold noses and warm scarves and her favorite mug that holds hot chocolate. The bubble gum chewed and the strawberry lemonade poured has everything to do with naivety and tutus and sleepy smiles. This is the pink of youth.
But time has a bad habit of passing and soon enough pink is the color of rebellion.
It’s streaked in her hair and painted on her nails every night as she sneaks out. Pink is the color she tries to cover up as she tacks posters on her walls of loud, screaming bands and rappers. It’s the color of her lips as they touch those of a stranger and later a bottle of tequila. It’s flashing lights at the concert and the bathroom tiles she lays on to cool off after emptying her stomach into the toilet beside her.
The same shade of pink that appears as a plus sign on that stick is the color of dread. It’s the sinking feeling in her gut as her whole world shifts on its axis and is filled with guilt as she calls home. To her pink seems to be merciless coddling and she isn’t sure if she loaths or craves it. When she closes her eyes all she can see are her pink bedroom walls closing in on her. Pink is full of worry.
But pink is mostly a color of forgiveness.
It’s the warmth she feels as she is pulled into her father’s embrace and the comfort that comes with the smell of her mother’s rose perfume. It is the ‘welcome home’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ all in one. Her cheeks turn a wild shade of pink as she cries in their arms until there are no more tears to shed.
It’s the color that centers her at her worst and helps remind her of what bubble gum tasted like. Pink is the tender promise made that everything will be okay and that she isn’t alone. It’s the old mug being pulled out of the cabinet and once again being filled with hot chocolate. It is the soft whispers of ‘I love you’ as the light is turned off and the door is closed to the little pink room. Pink is the color of safety. Of home.
The crinkly sanitary paper on the table is a light blush that matches the shade of her cheeks when the doctor walks in. She feels a hot pink warmth in her heart when she hears the heartbeat for the first time. It’s the color of the highlighter used when she begins picking out names and it’s painted on the toes she can no longer see.
Pink is shock and surprise and excitement on the drive to the hospital and the words of encouragement spoken to her. It is what she sees behind tightly sealed eyelids when she just wants to give up.
But then she hears the color of that first cry.
And her whole world erupts with pink.
It’s the first thing she sees when the nurse brings her over. It’s the color of her cheeks and her fingers and the soft knit beanie that encompasses her tiny little head. It’s the color that makes her dream infinite dreams for the sweet bundle in her arms.
Like spring begins with pink buds on the trees and each day begins with a rosy sunrise, it is the color that would start everything.