A Yellow November

It was November; wintertime. A dead, muffled stint for most living things. Not much movement but the brown weeds on the valley’s hills, and the ocean beneath them. It wasn’t so much the weather that embodied this silent three months, but the colors. There were shades of greys, blues, browns, even dull yellows. Every day the hills were woken with reds, or perhaps purples, but then waxy yellows started in early morning, blending into another light grey. 

The yellow was May Hopkins’ favorite color. Mostly because of its rarity, but also because it reminded her of something a long time ago. Some sort of dusty field she grew up in, or of that matter. Every morning she would wake up early, before the sun rose, to see the yellows.

This was how the fourth of November began. 

May struggled to throw her wool blankets off of herself. The thin lining was rather a warm reminder of the harsh and bare chill of outside. Still, her routine was necessary, she had it for a very viable reason. Drearily, May fumbled for her robe and slippers, wrapping the cloth tightly around herself. Even in the darkness, she could begin to hear the geese calling to her. 

May boiled water for coffee, and started toast. May’s kitchen was more of a disaster than a functioning room. Nothing was in the right places, her last maid had noticed this much, but May didn’t think much of it; just little inconveniences. For instance, the stove was opposite the pots, it was difficult to reach the bread cabinet because the kitchen island was too close to the sinks, and so on. May had come accustomed to her way about things. 

May sat slowly down on her lawn chair, the breeze whipping across her half frozen face, just in time for the show to begin. 

The Hopkins Manor overlooked a great portion of the Atlantic Ocean and rested upon the valley hills of Worton, Connecticut. The building itself wasn’t much of a manor, than a large sea shack, placed precariously on a rocky cliff.  The property had originally belonged to May Hopkins’ great Uncle, Hubert Hopkins. With his passing, it was left to May’s mother, who had given it to May about 25 years ago. With the transference of the generational home, the manor still looked as if it were from the 1800s, and it was, really. May nor her mother had troubled themselves with redecorating, and so the abode looked identical to how it was when it belonged to Hubert. The family room was lighted with wide windows that stretched down to the floor, and dusty victorian furniture was strewn about a gaudy chandelier. The room had clearly been built for entertainment. 

The house itself was built for vacation, never did any of the Hopkins picture May, a 71 year old woman, living alone in the maid’s corders. May was a minor disgrace to her family. It had never been Annie Hopkins’ intention for May to live in the manor. She had left it to her daughter as a hope for fertility, perhaps she would meet a lone fisherman to spend her days with. May despised the idea of marriage; it had always seemed so outrageously permanent. Too longlasting a decision.  

May had only gotten to know very few men personally. But she left them all for the same reason: they never quite understood who she was, deep inside. May was quiet, and men often took advantage of that. She soon got tired of their badgering opinions and confidence. By the time she was 30, she had given up on finding a husband. Her mother, however, had never stopped. 

It wasn’t always men who didn’t quite get May. She had always felt an outsider. Her career, school-especially school, parties-it was like she was invisible, and yet everybody knew to avoid her. 

The sun had fully risin, and the water bellow the house was now shimmering, clearly moving in big beautiful waves. 

Huh. May was thinking hard now. No. No-she was sure of it. She hadn’t always felt alone. This gut slinging feeling hadn’t always occupied her stomach. It had been the summer of seventh grade, 1958. It had been late June-maybe early July, when she had met Jackie. The girl had been taller than her, and looked much older. 

May was starting to remember now; she had completely forgotten those months.

Jackie had skinny, long legs. She was a natural runner, placed 3rd in the region. Her hair was thick, and an almost wavy copper. When she ran it wasn’t just her legs moving, in was like her whole being was freeing something inside of her. 

Jackie was pretty too. All the boys in her class liked her. And all the girls were jealous; they hated Jackie, but May was different. Jackie was cool, and May was...undefined. She wasn’t the smart one, nor the popular one-she wasn’t even the nerdy kid in the back, May had always just been...May. 

It had been early afternoon when Jackie and May first made contact. May remembered now as if it were last week. She had been riding her new bicycle home, after getting milk from the nieghborhood market. It had been a beautiful summer day, without a cloud in the sky. In fact, May had been admiring this, when she rode directly into Jackie Peterson. May had been thrown off in the collision, rather spooked than injured. She had had no idea what hit her-or rather who she had hit. Jackie calmly wiped off the dirt from her cardigan, looking thoroughly frazzled. 

“Damn,” Jackie swung a hand down to May, offering to help her up. May gulped, taking her dirt-crusted nicety. 

“Sorry…” May tried, and Jackie smirked-her lips curling up effortlessly, seamlessly.

“Oh don’t worry. Well, your mum will kill you,” May and Jackie looked begrudgingly down at the broken bicycle. “Maybe worry a little.” The two girls laughed nervously. 

The brand new Tracker bike had a split hub, and a twisted chain. “Hey, I know-come over to my house, I’ll take the bike, and you can say your letting me borrow it. My Dad’s a mechanic, he can fix everything!” May sighed, relieved, and sore. 

May’s bicycle was fixed and ready in two weeks. In the fortnight, May and Jackie had become fast friends. Jackie was the only person who’d ever  invited May to a sleepover, let alone the only friend May’d made in years. 

Jackie was new, and exciting; May would ride her bicycle to her house every afternoon, and stay till supper. Jackie was something special to May, of course, Jackie had her choice of friends, boys, she had opportunities. But of all her choices, Jackie chose May-and May felt exceptionally un-ordinary, for the first time in her life.

May would remember that feeling. She longed for it, even now as she sat in the gleaming morning, she felt undone, incomplete. She craved for the feeling of wholeness.

It had been Jackie’s 13th birthday when something seriously went wrong. Naturally, May had been invited, they had spent weeks preparing-Jackie wanted to have everything perfect, and pink. The napkins had to be pink, the balloons, the cake, even the pool floats. May had dutifully sluethed to find everything that would make Jackie’s party perfect. She had even bought Jackie the perfect gift: a pair of Nike sneakers-the coolest gift there was, May even considered keeping the shoes, but she knew that they would look better on Jackie. 

When May finally arrived at the party, she everything was ready. Jackie was beaming. Nearly the entire town showed up, the Peterson’s pool was so crowded that when May jumped in, she was thrown underwater. She started to panic, everyone was so loud, it was like the entire world pulsed with noise-she just wanted everything to freeze. May had no idea where Jackie was, she had somehow immersed herself into the buzz. May needed air-she couldn’t breathe. Frantically, May gulped water, forcing herself upward. She couldn’t herself-she started gasping for air, coughing and spatting in all directions.  

May vomited.

In a pool with probably 4 or 5 dozen people, May vomited. The contents of her stomach were revealed and dispersed into the waters. The worst thing was-everyone knew. It only took one little eight year old screaming, and the entire party high-tailed for the stairs. May was left, wide eyed, sitting in a murky pool of her own vomit. 

May scrambled to the edge of the pool, suddenly self conscious. She ran out of the yard, and fought to put on her dress. She hadn’t even wished Jackie a happy birthday-she couldn’t let anyone know it was her that had thrown up in the pool.

Three weeks later, Jackie moved to Tiberon, California. May hadn’t spoken to her since the party-but she was horrified to find that Jackie was moving. “Was this because of herself?” May thought contemptuously. 

The last time May saw Jackie was at the nieghborhood park. The park was littered with cigarettes, and small children, and it smelled like someone’s burnt grill, but it was common grounds for most kids. 

Jackie’s face was red, almost as if she had been crying-or angry, at least, it was visible she was emotional. 

“May!” Jackie’s voice quivered, unsteadily.

“Ummm, er… Jackie, I-” 

“You better close you’re mouth before anything else comes out!” Jackie laughed. Was this a joke? May didn’t find anything funny about it-was Jackie really laughing about what happened?

“I ruined your party.” May said stubbornly.

“Well...yes, but that’s not what matters. I’m going across the country tomorrow, May. Aren’t you gonna miss me?” Her voice was steadier now, almost normal. 

May wanted to scream. She wanted to tell the whole world, “Of course I’m gonna miss you, Jackie Peterson-I love you!” And May really did. She loved the way Jackie danced when she was happy, and she loved the way her hair blew off her face when she ran. May loved how Jackie was the kindest person she had every known, but most of all, May loved how her heart fluttered whenever she was with Jackie. 

But May never said those words.

May smiled slowly, softly, “yes.” Slowly, almost unconsciously, Jackie started to smile, but Jackie wasn’t looking at May.

“Look!” Jackie pointed to the setting sun. It was a yellow sun, a hazy, dust ridden color. Jackie and May sat down on the curb of the street, each gazing up at the sky. 

May didn’t know how long she sat there, it was dark, and much too late to be up. Reluctantly, she left Jackie, and rode back home. 

That night was the last time May saw Jackie. 

May got up from her lawn chair. A day’s work stood in front of her, challenged her. It was time to stop duelling on the past. The sun had reached it’s arms up above her. May sighed, remembering wasn’t going to do her any favors. The old woman shut herself inside her house once more, trying her hardest to forget.