The Cedarville Review 2018

42 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW Nonfiction by Angel Grubbs HOPE IS THE COLOR ORANGE The 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 toAceHardware 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. —