"What do you think of when you see the color blue?"
That's the writing prompt for our English journal entry. As soon as it leaves Mrs. Hummel's lips, a million voices fill my ears.
"The ocean."
"The sky."
"Some kid's eye after I beat him up."
"My bedroom wall."
"Kool-Aid."
"The horrible sweater my grandmother knit me for my birthday."
All these other people's opinions keep me from thinking of my own. My thoughts are already drowning in a sea of conversation.
Mrs. Hummel raps her fist against the whiteboard. "So you now all have your answers. Get out your notebooks and write!"
Zippers unzipping and backpacks opening fill my ears this time around. Leaning down over my chair, I grab my green notebook from my tote. The corners of the front page are fraying, and there are small rips on the edges. Nevertheless, it's held up well.
I open up to a clear page and grab a blue ballpoint pen from my pencil case. I stare down at the lined paper.
Nothing comes to mind easily. I could be completely unoriginal and talk about water and the sky like my other classmates. I could also think of something that sounds more philosophical, but would it have any emotional connection? Probably not.
I doodle little squigglies, circles, and stars on the corner of my paper. While everyone around me is furiously writing, I'm just sitting around, waiting for some idea to come to me. As I watch the blue ink from my pen flow onto the paper, I'm suddenly reminded of a distant memory.
My hands shake a little as I write down the first words.
Blue may remind some people of the ocean. It may remind some people of the sky. A blue Popsicle is wonderful on a hot day, while a blue blanket may keep someone warm on a winter day. Thousands of things are blue; from cups to houses, but one memory sticks out to me the most when I see the color blue.
When I was five, I remember loving almost everything. Life was simple and easy.
There's a community pool about five blocks from my house, and my mom and I used to walk there every Saturday. I'd skip down the sidewalk in my pink bathing suit, with my goggles in tow.
Mom would read a Nora Roberts novel while I swam. The pool turned into my kingdom. It was my favorite place in the whole wide world. I played games, jumped off the deep end, and learned water tricks. However, there was one thing that I did in that pool that delighted me more than anything.
I would get on the shallower side of the pool, put my goggles on, take a deep breath, and then go underwater.
I could see the whole pool from my special spot. Everything was magical. Underwater, everything moved in slow motion. Baby blue was everywhere; even the swimming bodies looked blue. Sunshine would beam down on the water, and the pool literally looked like it was glowing.
I guess you could say it was my simple pleasure. I'd do it multiple times, just using a couple seconds to breathe. Sometimes I still go to the pool and do the same thing I did when I was five.
To answer the question, I think of my childhood when I see blue. I think of that perfect moment when I'm sure nothing will go wrong. I'm queen of the world - or at least, queen of the pool. I feel awakened, rejuvenated, amazed, and so many other things. I realize simple moments shouldn't be taken for granted. When I see blue, I feel like a kid again.
