Throughout life we have certain experiences that stick with us, like stepping on freshly chewed gum on the sidewalk. They backpack through our lives with us; we can’t get rid of them. We see certain memories in the simplest of things, whether it be an object, a phrase, or a color. I see memories in colors, a new color for every memory that made an imprint on me. My leg had a burning sensation beyond belief; it was as if I lathered up in oil and layed out on a hot summer’s day. All I saw was red, so much red. The red I saw was not just your typical red, though, it was the kind you would see on the newly browning fall leaves that had been stomped on time after time. However, I have to explain how I got myself to this position.

It had been so incredibly hot, it had felt as if there was a magnifying glass under the sun as it beamed down on our school playground. The metal was so very hot that I swore I saw it start to melt a little, or that might’ve been my third grader eyes playing games on me again. The denim of my blue jeans clung to me legs insulating as if it were an attic. I had made my own bed by wearing blue skinny jeans when it was summer, so I knew I had to lay in the hot sweaty bed no matter how much I hadn’t wanted to at the time. I wouldn’t have had to wear jeans in hot whether if my sisters hadn’t made me feel so self conscious, though. The early mornings interaction crept slowly into mind and I relived it.

“Oh, little brother, where are you?” My two two older sisters shrieked as I sat down stairs nibbling on my dry CoCoa Puffs. I was ready to jump up and sprint up the stairs before my sisters would bound into the kitchen, but my thought had been too late to catch up with reality. My sisters had already made their way to me. Knowing of what was to come I quickly tucked my legs under my butt out of shame. Lavender filled my mind as I thought of the embarrassing things about to come out of their mouths.

“There you are little brother!” The two said in unison. 
My face got hot and red as I replied, “I am not your little brother. I am your sister!”

 My eldest sister stepped up to bat with her bat in hand and took her best swing at me, “How could you be our sister if you have such hairy legs? You must be a boy if you have hair legs like that.”

That sentence broke into my mind like a thief and stole my mind for the rest of the day.  The high pitched whistle notifying me that my class was heading back in knocked me out of my day dream and kicked me back into reality. Yellow soon blurred this mornings lavender with sweat and sluggish feelings, and walked me back to my classroom as I sat down in my seat. The day seemed to crawl by slowly as I did my school work and waited for the bell to ring. There were only ten tremendously long minutes left in my school day when an idea hit me. An awfully wonderful idea, or so I thought. I decided tonight, me being the mature third grader that I was, was going to shave her legs.

I rode the bus home with a halo of green triumph in my mind because I was so happy to have finally gotten my sisters off my back. I waltzed into my house with a skip in my step and slugged my black and fuschia Jansport backpack into my kitchen. My mother, as per usual, greeted me with a loving smile and open arms.  I walked into her warm embrace and sat down to watch an episode of Zoey 101 before taking my homework head-on. Mesmerized by the dramatics of Zoey 101, I forgot all about my incredible plan. I jumped up in panic and glanced at the clock and was amazed that I had sat through three whole episodes of Zoey 101! I sprinted to my bookbag, as if it were a life preserver in an ocean of madness. I whipped my pencil out and put my nose to the grindstone and worked hard.

As I shut my notebook my mindset had changed; just a second ago I felt as though my idea was the key to my problem, but I didn’t stop to think that it could cause another problem. The adrenaline that was running through my body had vanished like a magician making a rabbit disappear. The fear of making parents upset with me had twisted my stomach as though it were a pretzel that you can buy at the mall. I tried to talk myself down from the ledge of anxiety that I had felt at the time, but to my dismay I only seemed to have jumped off and forgotten my parachute. Fear seemed to have been yelling in my ear, because all I could think of were the “what ifs”. All of sudden my sisters mean words and let downs came flooding into my mind like water of a hawaiian waterfall. Then I knew what I needed to do.

I strutted up my wooden stairs with determination in one hand and my nerves in the other. I made my way into the bathroom and I felt my nerves start to go into overdrive as soon as my feet hit the cold tiled floor. I warmed up some water and put it into my hot pink Sunset Slush plastic cup, and I grabbed some bath soap. I quickly and quietly made my way down my echo filled hallway and wrapped my fingers around my turquoise cotton towel. As I poured the lavender bath soap into my dry hands my stomach began to lurch. I felt as if I were at the top of a rollercoaster and soon going head first down. The time was now; it was an end of an era of being made fun of. I dipped the lavender disposable razor I found in a pack of five and dipped it in the hot water. The blade screamed as it ran up my leg, it hurt but I have never felt so proud. I kept going and continued up my leg once more. The razor slipped and I had a streak of red going down my leg; I had a long cut running longitudinally down my leg. The cut seemed to be as deep as the ocean, but I wouldn’t know. The blood seemed to keep coming no matter what, like a dripping faucet a never ending flow. I wasn’t about to back down, not now. I was determined, so I took the razor back in hand as though it were my sword in battle and continued on. There we a lot of knicks going up and down my leg, so I decided to go to my mom with my tail between my legs. I had accepted defeat; everything I tried to get my sisters to stop making fun of me hadn’t worked. I’ll have a permanent reminder of their making fun everyday. My mother gasped when she saw my leg; something out of a horror movie. She spoke words as comforting as a dancing fire in the frigid winter. My mother tenderly took my leg and blotted my cuts with tiny alcohol prep pads before she put bandaids on. The stinging felt like the time I was walking along the tan sands of Florida, and a jellyfish had washed up on shore and stung me. There was a throbbing in my leg as if it had its own heartbeat. The pain dwelled down as did the pain of my sisters words. After seeing the marks that they had made on me literally, my sisters agreed to stop. The red stayed in my mind, as a reminder of my defeat, but the color took on a new form as a moment of change as well.