Trees Can Be Blue

By: Hector Vance

                I liked the blue crayon.

I always liked the blue crayon.

                They would say to me, “I love your drawings, Hector,” and “you’re very good at drawings, Hector,” and “why don’t you make more drawings, Hector.” And I would smile and look at my feet, pleased with myself.

                And then they would add, “But, dear child, why don’t you find another color? The ground is not blue. People are not blue. Trees are not blue. “

                … I would shrug

“See, trees are green and sometimes yellow and when it gets cold outside, trees can even be red. But trees are not blue.”

                                “But I like blue…”

                “Yes Hector, we all have our favorite colors. But in no place that I’ve visited, can the trees be blue.”

                She would smile at my ignorance.

                                Trees can be blue

                                In the places I visit, tress can be whatever the freaking color I want them to be.

They didn’t know that when I closed my eyes I didn’t see the dark undersides of my eyelids, but instead was teleported into a new world; that each time the night came I could once again go back to the freedom of life.

That my brain was a sponge, not a filter. That I did not edit through life or sift past people, simply because they didn’t fit a mold; maybe that’s why kids are so happy…

That when I needed to clean my room, each toy would come back to life as they marched into their bins.

That doing my chores was a game.

That grownups were boring.

That each dollar was another ticket to heaven- an opportunity with endless options, weather I would get a soda, a candy or some cheap item at the dollar store.

That each night I would lie awake in my bed and dream of new worlds and soldiers and things that didn’t have boundaries or rules- but blue trees.

And I would smile at the grownup’s ignorance.

As I grew, I realized- much to my own distaste- they were right.

The darkness that enfolded my eyes, were just my eyelids. I realized that I had to filter through people and that I hated cleaning my room. And that I hated doing my chores and the grownups, they weren’t half bad.

And trees were not blue…

Here amongst adults and school and the real world the trees were not blue.

                               

                                Blue trees, can you imagine?

                                                How could I have been so ignorant?