Monday's Not Coming

Well, sometimes the people we love the most can hurt us the most.

Rumors are born with legs that can run a mile in less than a minute. Rumors eat up dreams without condiments. Rumors do not have expiration dates. Rumors can be deadly. Rumors can get you killed.

So remember, Sweet Pea, just 'cause someone got a roof, don't make it a home" -Janet (Ma)

I know what you’re thinking. How can a whole person, a kid, disappear and no one say a word? Like if the sun just up and left one day, you’d think someone would sound an alarm, right? But Ma used to say, not everyone circles the same sun. I never knew what she meant by that until Monday went missing.

If Monday were a color, she'd be red. Crisp, striking, vivid you couldn't miss her - a bull's-eye in the room, a crackling flame. I saw so much red that it blinded me to any flags" -Claudia

There is a calm in the chaos that most folks don’t see.

Like the color pink, someone always sees the story different. Some see rose and magenta, and other see coral and salmon. When at the end of the day, it’s just regular old pink.

This is the story of how my best friend disappeared. How nobody noticed she was gone except me. And how nobody cared until they found her . . . one year later.

If Mrs. Charles were a color, she'd be yellow - bright, cheerful, golden rays of sunshine. A ripe banana, a fresh highlighter, sweet like pineapples, tart like lemons, you could lose her in a field of dandelions. One drop of her coloring could turn plain buttercream frosting into the sweetest Easter cake. But one drop of another color could spoil her brightness. Leave her out in the heat too long and her banana peel would start to rot. The tip of her highlighter blackens with wear. The prickling of her pineapple skin sometimes leaves her impossible to open. And dandelions are nothing but pretty weeds." -Claudia

But Ma says everyone deserves forgiveness. That's why if Ma was a color, she'd be pink with her sweetness. A tender flower, a bubbly pop of chewing gum, two scoops of strawberry ice cream. Silly in her girly ways, her color deepens with love, until she glows fuchsia - bright and bold, unstoppable. But when she is not fed the riches that life promises, Ma pales, reaming but a tint above white, a color aching in want." -Claudia

Monday worried she'd know about my problem if I got too close to her. But when you're always cold, it's easy to be drawn to the sun" -Claudia

But when help isn't invited, it ain't nothing but an unwanted houseguest.

In this life, you don’t always get what you want, but you must dance through it,

If Daddy was a color, he would be a forest green—thick, lush, calm, whispering refreshing wisdom only few could hear. If Michael was a color, he would be bark brown—cocoa, mocha, chocolate, the color of earth. Quiet, supportive, but strong. A softness that love grows from. Together, they are the tree I lean on when I’m weary. The tree I swing from. The tree of life when surrounded by death.

You only get one shot at your kids, so you need to hit the bull’s-eye.

Kids tend to forget their roots. But roots are always the first to carry you back home.

Geometric and psychedelic shapes, mosaics, and mandalas...There is a certain calm in the chaos that most folks don't see" -Claudia

How can a whole person, a kid, disappear and no one say a word? Like, if the sun just up and left one day, you'd think someone would sound an alarm, right? But Ma used to say, not everyone circles the same sun. I never knew what she meant by that until Monday went missing" -Claudia

I think it boils down to one question: who’s really responsible for your well-being—your family, the government, or your community?

She didn't see the thorns sticking out of her sweet actions. Not like I did" -Claudia

Music got a funny way of reminding you of what you thought you lost.

I love the dusty particles a fresh colored pencil leaves behind with the first stroke, the sound it makes kissing the page when I'm done filling in voids. That first spot of rich color on a crisp white page, the start of something new." -Claudia

Mondays are the best days! Like, aren’t you excited about the start of a new week? It’s like a new chapter in a book.

But you did save her, Claudia! You saved her from that house for years and you didn't even know it.

Can I tell you a secret? I knew she was dead. I just hoped she'd be in the trunk of a car, chopped up, and buried somewhere. Not in a freezer, hiding in plain sight. That aggravated the pain felt by anyone who ever laid eyes on her. Once red, she became a starless sky, an endless midnight, a hole in the universe swallowing up the world, leaving everyone blind. Onyx, ebony, jet black. A part of me was glad Monday wasn't named Friday. It would've been too tragic.

If Monday were a color, she’d be red. Crisp, striking, vivid, you couldn’t miss her—a bull’s-eye in the room, a crackling flame. I saw so much red that it blinded me to any flags.

If I was a color, I would be white, vast in my blankness. Pure, whole, virginal, predictable. Boring. The colors thrown at me didn't bleed into my canvas and leave a mark. The colors washed out with nothing but water. That's what made this story so hard to remember. It's hard facing a mirror and seeing all you are made of and all you couldn't absorb.