A Moment in Time, A Lifetime in Teal.

As she was setting down her second cup of coffee—double shot espresso and the rest piping hot water—her hands cupped each side of the mug tightly, feeling its warmth. Longing for that comforting feeling of being held, she found herself lost in thought. Her eyes drifted towards the teal kitchen cabinets her mom had helped her paint, weathered and peeling away, needing a fresh coat. The fresh scent of blueberry muffins emanated from the oven. She didn’t have to wait for the timer to go off; she knew they were ready. The smell, the puffy, crisp crack of the tops, and the heat filling the room were enough to know.

As she traipsed towards the kitchen, her hands found the edge of the bottom cabinets. She could feel the bumps and oddities of the old wood, but it was the color that made her mind wander.

She was only five years old but somehow managed to reach the top. The sycamore’s thick branches were so enticing, and at such an early age, this was her Mount Everest—the zenith. Her small feet and hands clawed at the bark and any crevice that served as a step to get on the first bough. Her hand wasn’t long enough, no matter how far she stretched. She lost her balance. Something was off. Suddenly, the branch seemed further and further from her.

Then a snap.

A thud.

And tears falling on her dirty cheeks.

She looked up in despair; there was Mom, always there in times of need. Nora's mom was such a gentle spirit, her arms the most comforting place for Nora to be. She held her daughter while dusting off her face, hands, and knees. As Nora rested her head on her mom's shoulder, she twirled a vintage necklace with opulent Paraiba tourmaline stones that hung around her mom's neck. This had become her thing whenever Mom picked her up.

From the day she was born, her eyes had always seen this teal stone near her forehead. Even when breastfeeding, the necklace was there. Her father told her that when she was in the delivery room, her mom refused to take it off. It calmed her. Soothed her. In other words, Amanda, her mother, never took it off.

Nora placed her gooseneck kettle on the stovetop. As she waited, she slowly poured cold milk into her sunflower cup, dropped in her Earl Grey teabag, and stirred in two sugars. Just in time for the steam to endlessly drift towards the ceiling, she poured the boiling water into her cup, right up to the rim—enough for an extra sip, which she took, needing the extra wiggle room for stirring.

She opened the drawer and pulled out a tiny silver spoon with her initials on it, an odd gift at first, but it had been with her since her twelfth birthday. She began the oscillating motion, tightly squeezing the end of the spoon and going in circles, although she remembered being told that a back-and-forth motion was better for mixing liquids.

She placed her mug on the dainty patterned tiles on her kitchen counter, waiting for it to cool down slightly.

Aimlessly, she detached from her task, thinking about the mystery that had held her thoughts captive for years. It’s one of those things you can’t forget; it will always subconsciously be embedded in her.

How could it have possibly disappeared?

There was no way. It didn’t make sense, she thought.

Although her memory of the accident was vague, she was conscious enough to have seen strangers or moving shadows, but they were on a narrow road—one way, in the middle of nowhere. Which was why it took so long for help to arrive.

The last thing she remembered was a foggy image of her mother clutching her neck, as if gasping for air—or so the paramedics thought. Nora knew she was holding on to that gem, the one thing that could soothe her pain.

Then she was gone.

Taken to the nearest hospital, she didn’t know where they were. She could never remember how she got there. Blank. No recollection of how or when.

She was just there, sitting on a cold, stainless steel bench in a bright white waiting room.

Her father walked in, eyes red. Cheeks wet from tears that were no longer there.

She knew.

She wanted to see her, but she was told she couldn’t. She looked up at her father, the question showing on her face, but no, nothing was found on her body.

Nora longed for the solace of holding the precious gem that reminded her so dearly of her mother. She could so vividly remember the brightest teal as if it were in front of her.

Yet, to this day, it was never found, despite everyone searching tirelessly at the scene.

Nora spent countless years replaying this moment. It was a thought constantly flickering, restless and unending. She could never quite put her finger on it.

Knock knock.

Two gentle thuds on the front door.

She refocused, the world snapping briefly back into clarity, noticing the milky film layer in her teacup, knowing now that it must be cold already.

How long had it been?

How much time had passed?

More importantly...

Who could it be?

Nora opened the door with urgency, yet there was nobody in sight. No trace of steps on the stairs, no hurried steps heard rushing away.

She looked around in confusion until she saw a tiny, tattered box placed on her welcome mat.

Picking it up in a suspicious motion, she noticed its odd appearance compared to a standard delivery box. Almost as if it were custom-made.

The box was black.

And the velvet pouch inside it was black.

She hated black. The absence of color.

It just didn’t sit well with her. Nor did the primary colors—too straightforward and not enough character.

Green would have been her first choice as a young girl.

Then she discovered what was her color.

It was vivid. Exciting. Uncommon—like her. Like her mother.

A perfect mix of calmness, like the color blue, and the freshness of green. A hue sitting, cuddled perfectly between cyan and green.

Mom and Dad.

That was her.

As she untied the lace cord from the pouch’s delicate bow, she heard the clang of metal and stone coming from within.

A prank, perhaps.

A mislabeled package, maybe.

She cautiously reached in with her left hand, greeted by the cold metal chain and smooth, polished stone. A few ripples bumped her thumb. Scratches on the surface.

She began twirling the object in her hand.

Like the white rabbit down the hole and into Wonderland, she was immediately taken back to the day she fell from the branch.

The smell.

The warmth.

Mom.

Clenching her hand tightly, she finally pulled the object from the pouch.

As tears fell down her cheeks, little droplets staining the box, she whispered,

“Thank you, Mom. That’s my favorite color.”