green and gray

Green and gray.

There was always something comforting about green and gray.

Maybe because they're the colors I associate with my escape.

My freedom.

I was fourteen, and I got out. By some grace of god Helena was letting me go. Maybe because the sight of me was just too painful, for reasons I wouldn't understand until much later. But whatever it was, those simple colors represented freedom.

And when I got there I was again enveloped in peaceful greens and grays. Surrounded by the rich fullness of the foliage in New England. The tranquility of a fall day and the freshness of the fall air. And even the days of grayness and the stark white of winters will forever remain dear to me.

It is there that I stepped out of the shadow of the Cassadines.

Alexis Davis was born from greens and grays.

*********

I am dressed in green and gray the first time I see New York City. I had been buried head first in a novel for most of the train ride, but glanced up briefly and was awestruck by the majesty of the city appearing through the windows.

I had never seen anything like it.

And the train stopped and the girls in green and gray went to the surface, and I felt the energy. The pulsing life and excitement rushing under my feet, up through the soles of my shoes into my legs until I couldn't stop smiling.

It was a new freedom.

And someone grabbed my hand and off we went. And we ran, most un-ladylike in our gray and green, so as not to miss anything. Our only engagement for the day was the afternoon performance at Carnegie. And I wondered how much I could see.

The greens and grays of New England gave way to the brilliant grays of cement and commerce and adventure, punctured with the smallest hints of green that seem to fit perfectly.

*********

Later, I collapsed into the padded seat of the music hall, wanting to be anywhere but inside. But it was the tradeoff. And the lights dimmed, and I heard the others whisper about sneaking off. The music began.

And they slipped off. I know they did. But I didn't. I couldn't.

And I smoothed my gray and green down and was transfixed. In the darkness and coolness of the hall, I found another freedom.

The freedom of beauty. The freedom of art. The freedom to enjoy it.

And I thought about the journey that had brought me so far to the darkened theatre. The things I'd hid, the people and things I'd lost and left behind. And the tears splashed onto my green and gray, but not tears of desperation.

Tears of joy.

Tears of freedom.

Tears of change.

*********

Alexis Davis was born of greens and grays.

From the staid plaid of the kilt I wore, and the lush nature of New Hampshire, and hard and fast pace of New York.

My escape.

My freedom.

*finis*

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