This is a nonfiction short I wrote as part of a collection of shorts concerning my home. This piece specifically addresses how to fix something that doesn\u27t seem blatantly broken, but something is definitely wrong. I play with concepts of a the color orange as hope but come to realize orange can mean more than just hope, and life can be as complex as colors

Grubbs, Angel S

English

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Cedarville ReviewVolume 18 Article 144-12-2018Hope Is the Color OrangeAngel S. GrubbsCedarville University, agrubbs@cedarville.eduDigitalCommons@Cedarville provides a publication platform for fully open access journals, whichmeans that all articles are available on the Internet to all users immediately upon publication.However, the opinions and sentiments expressed by the authors of articles published in our journalsdo not necessarily indicate the endorsement or reflect the views of DigitalCommons@Cedarville,the Centennial Library, or Cedarville University and its employees. The authors are solelyresponsible for the content of their work. Please address questions to dc@cedarville.edu.Recommended CitationGrubbs, Angel S. (2018) "Hope Is the Color Orange," Cedarville Review: Vol. 18 , Article 14.Available at: https://digitalcommons.cedarville.edu/cedarvillereview/vol18/iss1/14Hope Is the Color OrangeBrowse the contents of this issue of Cedarville Review.Please see the Editors' Foreword - A Christian Response to Art and Literature: A Very Short Guide to Imagesand TextsDescription (Optional)This is a nonfiction short I wrote as part of a collection of shorts concerning my home. This piece specificallyaddresses how to fix something that doesn't seem blatantly broken, but something is definitely wrong. I playwith concepts of a the color orange as hope but come to realize orange can mean more than just hope, and lifecan be as complex as colors.Creative Commons LicenseThis work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 4.0License.About the Contributor (Optional)I'm a Junior English major at Cedarville University pursuing a minor in Creative Writing. I'm interested inaccurately portraying the world, primarily through human interaction and the tension that occurs. I hope toaccurately portray both the major and minor themes of life, as a Christian author who wants to make good artwhile maintaining my world view. I adamantly believe it can be done, and I hope my work is found to bethought-provoking, beautiful, and truthful.Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.cedarville.edu/cedarvillereviewPart of the Nonfiction CommonsThis nonfiction is available in Cedarville Review: https://digitalcommons.cedarville.edu/cedarvillereview/vol18/iss1/1442 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEWNonfiction by Angel GrubbsHOPE IS THE COLOR ORANGEThe room feels dark somehow. The walls are yellow and the ceiling is laced with golden Christmas lights, but, rather than invigorate me, the yellow drains and leaves me more hopeless than if the walls were gray and molding. With gray and molding, I would have something definite to fix. I could see the problem. I could grab sponges and soap to scrub away whatever it is that’s so intangibly yet inextricably wrong. I could feel the sweat and suds mix and drip down my arms. Once scrubbed clean, I’d go to Ace Hardware and buy orange paint, more particularly “Tangerine” or “Mango” paint. And my excited mind would wander to how orange reminds people of fruits and citrus. Of poppies and peaches. Of fat, juicy pumpkins waiting to be picked for the sacred tradition of carving Jack-O-Lanterns. Orange forces attention, it beckons hard work. Orange bounces and dazzles. —PROSE  43Yet, sitting here on my sheet-less bed, surrounded by Alice Cooper music folios, organic bananas, dried carnations, and an old pot from my ex roommate’s historical ceramics class, I’m reminded of how yellow should do the same as orange. How Christmas lights should dance on the walls, not remind me of the butterflies pinned to the corkboard of a sociopathic middle schooler’s science project. No. Orange wouldn’t dazzle in this room. I would paint Mango and the walls would give me off-pitch cars’ horns in Chicago. The kind when coffee has run cold, and secondhand smoke pairs with hoarse swearing voices to pollute the air. Tangerine would be dirty traffic cones, stagnant and filthy. Orange, on these walls, would be realizing Monarch butterflies are poisonous, not just pretty.  And I sit here and wish I knew where I’m supposed to scrub.

Hope Is the Color Orange

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Hope Is the Color Orange

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