Akira’s emotions are a kaleidoscope as we tumble through the days.
This morning she was pink hearts, donning the pink wig and a smile as we met friends for breakfast and she ordered chocolate chip waffles with extra whipped cream. She held my hand under the table and laughed uproariously at a friend’s story about the kindergartners he teaches.
After breakfast we were riding in a cab to the farmers market when she became red triangles, filled with rage and sharp edges. The driver cut off a van and she screamed at him for putting our lives in danger. He sped up through a yellow light and she called him names, threatening to sue him if anything happened to her. I tipped extra.
At the farmers market she became crystal blue tear drops. She felt bad for the man she had screamed at. Should she call the dispatch to apologize? She was just worried he was going to get into an accident. He had a photo of children tucked into his visor. What would happen to those children if he died? I held her hand as she picked out bright red tomatoes and bananas that were her favorite shade of green. We sampled cheeses and plums, and she apologized for being so needy. I rubbed circles in the palm of her hand until her tears dried.
The cab ride to the doctor’s office was a pregnant pause as she stared out the window, her leg bouncing nervously but her face a blank slate.
There is a whisper of pink in her cheeks as she checks in with the familiar receptionist, a faint blue in her eyes as we wait for her name to be called. I see the green stars as she walks down the hallway in a daze, her face sickly as she takes a seat in the chair opposite the doctor’s desk. She asks me to hold her hand; the coolness of mine soothes her.
And then, as he reads results from various tests and explains what they mean, she is sunshine. Bright, sunny, optimistic. For the first time in months, she has been given hope. Shining, yellow hope.