Throwback Thursday: A Patoum

Purple Hydrangeas

Her hand is cold and wet from holding his drink for so long.
The smell of rum and Coke normally bothers her but the light watering into the room distracts her.
She wants to say something to him about how pretty the purple hydrangeas grow this time of year.
She reads his face carefully as he scrunches up his nose, struggling to knot his black tie.

The smell of rum and Coke normally bothers her but the light watering into the room distracts her.
She knows for certain not to mention the flowers; it would only lead to an argument.
She reads his face carefully as he scrunches up his nose, struggling to knot his black tie.
He always tells her not to wear purple around him; it’s a color of death in his family.

She knows for certain not to mention the flowers; it would only lead to an argument.
It’s her favorite color; it’s also her only salvation from his controlling ways.
He always tells her not to wear purple around him; it’s a color of death in his family.
She read in Reader’s Digest that purple, like a hue of lavender, gives off an aura of calm.


It’s her favorite color; it’s also her only salvation from his controlling ways.
In secret, she wears a shade of purple or a shade close enough to it, to rebel against him.
She read in Reader’s Digest that purple, like a hue of lavender, gives off an aura of calm.
She wears a bra with little polka dots of it here and there, a charm bracelet with a tiny heart of amethyst.


In secret, she wears a shade of purple or a shade close enough to it, to rebel against him.
He turns to her and tells her “that’s a nice dress, you look good in red”, and leaves the room.
She wears a bra with little polka dots of it here and there, a charm bracelet with a tiny heart of amethyst.
The near empty nail polish bottle hidden in the back of the drawer is like her soothing friend.


He turns to her and tells her “that’s a nice dress, you look good in red” and leaves the room.
She puts one leg up at a time on the dresser, painting her toenails as if it’s some sort of military tactic.
The near empty nail polish bottle hidden in the back of the drawer is like her soothing friend.
She admires the purple sheen on her toes, quickly pulls dark stockings over her legs and joins him outside.

 

She puts one leg up at a time on the dresser, painting her toenails as if it’s some sort of military tactic.
She wants to say something to him about how pretty the purple hydrangeas grow this time of year.
She admires the purple sheen on her toes, quickly pulls dark stockings over her legs and joins him outside.
Her hand is cold and wet from holding his drink for so long.

-Amelia Badri