It was red.

There’s nothing better than waking up to the sound of the kettle knowing mom is having a third good day in a row. When she’s happy, she’s making tea. When she’s waking up depressed, I have to make her tea so it’s good she’s been making it for a change.

           I have so many plans for today! I want to go to the park and feed the ducks, so I must go by the store and buy duck food. Maybe I’ll grab some new yellow flowers, the vase seems lonely. A summer morning without school and endless possibilities is the best time to wake up!

           I jump out of bed and look at my face in the mirror. Does it require makeup? I think maybe some blush and some mascara and, also, I really need to comb my hair! My bangs look crazy this morning. I’m running to the bathroom to brush my teeth, yelling “good morning, mom!” on my way there. The door slams behind me and I start singing to my toothbrush as I carefully place toothpaste on. I remember how mom used to tell me that it should be the size of a pea when I was little and I always got it wrong until, one day, when she brought an actual frozen pea and put it on my toothbrush. Now every time I’m doing this I remember that frozen pea and my mom’s smile.

           I probably should also take a shower. I’d like to go to the bakery and buy that amazingly crispy bread they make on Wednesdays. I'm certain mom would be even happier if I brought it home as fast as I could, so that it wouldn't get cold on the way. Ah, the smell of freshly baked bread makes me really hungry! I should shower quickly and see what mom made for breakfast.

           I walk with a spring to my step towards the kitchen and see mom in her chair, enjoying the smell of fresh green tea in her mug with her eyes closed, the morning sun resting on her face. She looks so beautiful in the morning, so peaceful. She hears the floor crack under my feet as I enter the kitchen and awakens from her day dreaming with a smile forming on her lips.

           “Good morning, dear,” she says. “How did you sleep?”

           “Oh, very well!” I reply. “I slept like today was going to be amazing!”

           “That’s great to hear! Do you want some tea?” she asks, getting up from her chair, softly leaving her mug on the table. The steam rises in the sun rays and I can almost hear how the hot water was poured into that cup, making me crave the taste of my mother’s tea.

           “Of course!” I say, sitting down on the chair. “What’s for breakfast?”

           “About that,” my mother begins, “we don’t really have any leftovers. Or food for that matter. Do you mind running to the store to get some eggs and cheese? I could make an omelet.”

           “Not at all, I can take my bike,” I reply. “Would you mind waiting for me to change my clothes and put on some makeup?”

           “No, take your time. I’m not really hungry,” she added, kissing my forehead.

           I ran to my room, deciding in my head that I was going to wear the white turtleneck with short sleeves with my home-bleached denim overall skirt. I’ll also wear my posh leggings with the small flowers embroidered on them and my summer boots that I painted ducks on. My mom wishes I would stop dressing up like a toddler, but I enjoy clothes that make me happy, I can’t help it! She said it’s not appropriate for a 16 year old girl to wear boots with ducks painted on them when I showed her my creation. That made me sad, but, looking at them, I feel joyful thinking of all the moments we fed the ducks together in the park when we were happy, my mother and I. Not long after my 10^th birthday, her depression settled in our lives and we were no longer the same ever since. I enjoy seeing her peaceful in the morning; it makes me feel like she’s back, but I’ve lost hope that she will ever be ok again.

           Now that I’m all dressed, I’m getting my bike, taking it to the hallway. I place the shopping bag with money in it in the small flowery basket. I ring the bicycle’s bell twice and my mom yells “take care!” while I exit the door. I have to carry the bike down two floors and it gets heavier and heavier. I’m lucky we don’t live on the 4^th floor!

           As soon as I leave the building I get on my bike and check for my boot’s laces to be well tied. I once again see those ducks painted on them and giggle. I start pedaling down the hill and I feel the morning air in my face. It always lifts my spirits. Maybe I should have worn some perfume today, to smell like Mrs. Hartley’s roses. I know I’ll be back as soon as I finish eating breakfast, so I can wear it later and it will be just fine.

           The store is not far, maybe a 7 minutes bike ride away. I have to go down the hill, then make a right at the first corner where there’s a tailor’s shop. I go down that street and take a left around the intersection with Main Street. My arts teacher lives on that street and I can see all the way to her house from here, but I have to keep going until I reach the intersection with the traffic lights. That used to be my favorite crossway growing up, as me and mom would count all the cars that would pass by while waiting to traverse before heading to school.

           I stop pedaling and get off my bike to wait for the green light. I should “always get off my bike when crossing the street”, I remember my mother saying. “It’s less dangerous.” The sun is shining and I know it’s going to be a hot day today. It will be hard for me to go back up that hill, but I’m getting really hungry, so I’ll do my best.

           Across the street there’s an old lady with her little dog on a leash. I never know where to look when there are other people across the street. It’s really weird to look at them for the whole waiting time! I’m lucky I can just look at the dog this time. Oh, look! There’s another person standing at the crosswalk. I first saw his shoes – a white pair of sneakers with green lines and dots on them. He’s wearing jeans, a light gray jacket and a very red t-shirt underneath; or at least I think it’s a t-shirt. Interesting combination – green and red, but who am I to judge?

           Our eyes meet and I feel like he’s searching my soul with that look. I suddenly see him clear, every portion of his face and how his mouth curls a soft smile and how his hand moves and now we are closer, in the middle of the road. I watch as he slides even closer to me and I can’t breathe. What’s this sensation? He places his hand on my lower back and pulls me closer. He grabs my right hand with his left hand and steps back, drawing me after him. I step along and we start dancing as light surrounds us. Whenever he steps, I step. Whenever he leans, I lean on him and our chests intersect. I feel the warmth of his body, the fragrance of his breath and the atmosphere lightens as we lift off the ground, whirling.

           I follow his command and we move through the air like the ducks that leave in the cold season. Before I realize, we’re in the middle of the park, above the gazebo, when he steps towards my left and we start climbing down, in a circle motion, in a waltz: his hand still holding mine, this stranger with dark hair and brown eyes that captivated me in movement. We land in the gazebo and there’s no one around but us. The way he moves his hand on my body, letting me know where I should step next, the way I follow him with my eyes closed, at every breath that makes me feel like I can only get closer. We keep dancing to a music that only we seem to hear, but it has to be a dream, it has to be my imagination. 

            That’s it! I should open my eyes.

           When she does, the light turns green so she steps towards him without looking away. He isn't noticing her, being occupied with how the little dog is wagging his tail, but she knows she needs to talk to him, to find out his name. As she crosses, all he can see is a car coming too fast, making her fly a short distance before running over her bicycle. When she falls, the ground makes a cracking sound and blood as red as his t-shirt surrounds her. He races over to her, checking her pulse and discovers that she is still breathing.

           “What is your name?” he asks with a trembling voice, as the old lady desperately calls for help and the driver comes out of the car, collapsing on the pavement from the shock.

           “Amelié,” she replies, and with that, her breath leaves her body like a steam. She rises from the ground, her soul floating towards the sun rays, blending with the morning. The sound of an ambulance troubles the air from afar, as a mug, somewhere, falls on the floor, breaking into 16 little pieces.