1 The Myth of My Mom The computer screen glowed in my dark bedroom like a moon Mom was late logging on to video-conference with me My mom was totally into ancient civilizations Mayans Incans Egyptians Greeks Romans She even liked Vikings Her latest expedition had taken her to the jungles of South America She had told me that in the jungle nothing dries that everything stays wet She said even the moonlight felt damp on her skin as if she had been bathing in milk I counted out six gel pens and formed a rainbow of color on my desk My notebook was opened to a crisp white page marked with pale blue lines I uncapped the purple pen and held it loosely in my hand The inky tip bled onto the paper paper leaving tiny purple stains Purple was a serious color It was the color of royalty the anchor of the rainbow that held the other colors up in the sky Steadfast and reliable purple didn’t fool around
Dad once told me that NASA had spent years trying to make a pen with ink that flowed in zero gravity The Russians took two seconds to figure out the problem They called it the pencil I’m not sure if that story was really true but I thought it was funny I also realized that if I were on an expedition in a steamy jungle where the ink never dried all my notes on every wing beat or tiger prowl or bird squawk would end up as a smeared mess So I had loaded up on colored pencils In defense of NASA pencil sharpeners are nonexistent when you are knee-deep in the starry sky What if one day I dropped the sharpener in the undergrowth of the Amazon floor or it floated away in the black pit of outer space It would be pretty much impossible to find a pencil sharpener in the deserts of Luxor So I practiced sharpening my colored pencils with a Swiss Army knife that I found buried in the junk drawer next to the phone in the kitchen But I’d never used the knife before so I cut my thumb and left an incriminating incriminating trail of blood drops all over the pile of Chinese take out menus crammed inside of the drawer Dad confiscated the knife I had Dad to thank for the jumbo pack of colored pens that were now laid out before me on my desk I liked to record my observations in vibrant color All scientists scientists need a thing a specialty they can talk about like an expert Mom’s thing was dead people and no not creepy zombie dead people but ancient dead civilizations and their dried-up bones She was an anthropologist Since I couldn’t excavate my bedroom floor my specialty was colors at least
for now I liked linking colors to emotions and situations Purple I realized was also the color of patience Sitting at my desk I imagined breathing out a calm plume of purple air Since I was still developing my color theories I was in the observation stage collecting and sifting through the facts that would form my hypothesis The beginning of anything was always bright and shiny like a brand-new copper penny Copper the color of hope The computer screen flickered Butterflies flapped in my stomach brushing their fiery wings inside my body I practically practically felt them crawling up my throat Suddenly Mom’s face popped up on the screen Her nose was peeling from the relentless South American sun Her hair was a long tangle of chestnut waves that caressed her bare shoulders She was wearing a filthy sweat-stained tank top Mom Maya It’s so good to see you My heart raced I inched closer to the screen and rested my hand on the monitor This was our window Mom once read me a bedtime story all the way from Brazil She called it our midnight read Past explorers never experienced the instant thrill of an Internet connection Their families back home had to wait months to receive letters scribbled in pencil Graphite was the color of loneliness You look great How’s the dig going
I could hear strange insects screeching from the darkness over Mom’s shoulders Soooo much better than I expected But how are you How’s school Her smile widened the whites of her eyes shining in the darkness Good I guess I tapped my pen on the page Studying hard She arched an eyebrow Especially science science My assistants must love all the sciences Yes Mom We’re studying the ecosystem of the bay and I did my report on mollusks Dad and I dug for clams I sighed Can I hear about the expedition now I suppose digging is a family trait she said with a giggle As a respected anthropologist Mom saved giddiness for special occasions usually when a shard of bone or bit of broken clay pot had been extracted from the dirt Exhumation Exhumation was the scientific term a splinter pulled out of the past Tell me I begged You found something didn’t you I quickly wrote Mom found something in the rain forest across my notebook page I can never fool you Are you going to tell me or what I’ve heard that keeping a kid in suspense stunts her growth She stood and now only her tanned arms and muddy cargo cargo pants were visible One second she said And then she stepped out of the camera’s view
