I woke up and it was early. I have the urge to give a time now, but in that moment, lying in bed, seeing my white walls absorb an enchanted blue, I was certain checking my clock would break the spell.
This house wouldn’t be ours much longer, and I felt very aware of that as I crept out of bed, through the hall, kitchen, dining room, living room, back door. My only concern was making sure I was quiet as I walked past the glass door that lead from the back yard to my parents’ bedroom. My parents were just as bad as my clock, if not worse.
I needed my tree. The apple tree had a branch just for me that was perfect for sitting on, and I was sure that was where I wanted to go. But as I looked out over the yard, I saw that my walls weren’t the only things absorbing and bouncing light. Everything was blue. Grass, fence, barrier, flowers. Peach tree, palm tree, apple, orange, lime, nectarine. The red wooden platform I’d flown off of once was blue, the sand pit I sang in was blue, the concrete and dew around its edges, all of it was blue.
Then I looked down. I was blue, too. My pale purple nightshirt was no more, my skin was no longer peach, and my hair still shined, but not golden.
Everything was blue, the same blue, but everything was still distinguishable by sight. It was like the blue was blurring every other distinction between myself and my surroundings. And the connection and comfort I was going to my apple tree to obtain was everywhere. And I felt moved. The kind of moved I would feel when I listened to Enya. Maybe I did hear music, but it was through my skin. It felt like I was hearing everything, and I started to spin. I wouldn’t learn of whirling dervishes until much later, but perhaps I did learn part of why they spin then. It induced a sober kind of delirium, kept my pores awake and open so I could continue to listen, extended that moment of blue and pulled it ward me with my own gravity
I debated staying until dawn. I didn’t. I had to leave it sometime, so I left before the blue had faded too far. I wanted to go to sleep on that memory. I can’t remember if I managed to or not. But I still dream about it to this day.
Teachers Swear, Too 