All the Goldfish

Orange

Can I tell you something?

Orange is the blandest color of all, it's my favorite color, it just falls into place. It's so ugly and boring, if I was a color I'd be orange.

Can I tell you something else?

I like to hang off the edge of my bed and close my eyes and pretend I'm floating. I like to pretend that the room is filling up with water and I'm just in a fish bowl. I'm orange, I'm a goldfish, sometimes it tires me out because no one wants to look at me in the store. Nobody wants to take me home and stare into my tiny eyes, I'm just an orange blob of existence.

Coincidentally that's exactly what I'm doing now, hanging off the edge staring at a small red stain in the sea of white. I threw a Crayola marker at the wall when I was five because I felt like it. It's the tiniest mark, nobody knows it's there, but I always find my eyes are drawn to it. My habit of searching for meaning behind it always lies in these moments. The moments when my mind opens up and dives into the mysterious realm of thought. It's like the dark web for your mind.

I always try to create a story around that red mark, like maybe it had other marks around it, then one day they all left. They left the tiny red mark all alone to wander endlessly on my white wall. To hide behind a bookshelf or a desk, to hide from the girl with hazel green eyes. She's a worthless twat who curls up into a blanket indulging in the lives of fictional characters. Indulging in any life, but always avoiding her own.

She's not interesting, she doesn't come from a crazy life, she's not rich, not poor. She never suffered through severe trauma, she's not model pretty, but she's not ugly. She's just bland, bland name, bland eyes, bland hair, bland everything. Mei, who names their child Mei? Why not Jessie or Luna or August? I'm just Mei, Mei with the the eyes that swim around the room like a fish in a bowl. Always in circles, every crack and every crevasse, every inch of the room, every inch of the people.

I sighed a long and extended sigh and flung my hands out dramatically, no purpose for it. Things to do, I thought, no work today, no school, not anything. I haven't left this room for two days, other than to get food and to take a shower. If I was going to die it certainly wouldn't be from starving and you would never catch me in a casket with bad hygiene. I smirked, I'll time my death and spray an extra bit if perfume on before. Bury me in this baggy t-shirt and these slightly uncomfortable shorts. I'll wear obnoxious pink flip-flops and get a tramp stamp the day before. If I die when im eighty I'll be the flashiest damn old woman you ever did see.
I rolled over on my bed, a little too far and I slipped off hitting my head hard on the floor. "Owww," I groaned in pain and pouted, the universe out to get me the first thing in the morning.

I heard the light click of my mother's heels as she made her way towards my door. She barged in and looked at me, I was sprawled out on the floor with my hand on my forehead propping myself awkwardly on my elbow. She laughed and put her hands on her hips.

"You okay?" She said through a giggle, I frowned at her.

"Don't laugh at me mother, I have brain damage and short term memory now sprinkled with a bit of a cracked skull." I groaned again, she raised her eyebrow.

"Sprinkled? you making a dish out of pain?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." I shrugged and pushed myself to my feet, "what's it to you?"

"Maybe I don't want my daughter having the gourmet slice of life, maybe be carful. How'd you get there anyway?" She chuckled adjusting her dress. It was a floral design, she could pull off any color with any type of clothing. She found a way to make everything look good, I did not inherit that.

"I fell off my bed like a loser," I rolled my eyes and sat on my bed.

"Like a loser? Funny, don't you do everything 'like a loser.'"

"Let me have my stupid little saying mom," I frowned, "I'm a fu- fricken loser."

"Hey! You almost said that swear," she laughed, "what'd I tell you about saying fuck."

"I don't fucking know," I laughed and raised my hands in defense waiting for that cold parenting slap. She didn't slap me, thank God, her slaps her so bad. She shook hurt head and sat next to me.

"You're somethin' else Mei, did you know that?"

"Duh, I have to live in the body of this proclaimed 'something else.'" I laid back and let out an exaggerated sigh. She laid back with me and we watched my ceiling fan turn slowly. It's moments like these that I'm sure of who I am, whether that's the bland Goldfish or the "somethin' else." I just wish I was always this sure.