Days of Color and Warm Milk

I was three years old, and my family lived in San Antonio. In the mornings I went to Rainbow Hills School, and my whole class was working on the biggest picture I had ever seen. My teacher had to push all of our tables together to hold it, when she rolled it out each day. At the end of the year, she hung it up, and it stretched across two walls.

My friend Maria and I worked together on the left side of the picture. Her long black braid pooled on the paper as she leaned forward to fill a small flower with bright orange. I picked up magenta and colored a larger flower above it. I started at the outside edge, slowly, making sure that the color stayed on the petal and not the leaves around it, my strokes getting faster and darker as I worked my way to the middle of the flower.

When coloring time was over, the teacher had us put up the crayons and go outside for lunch. I picked up the My Little Pony lunch box sitting in my cubby on the way out the door. Maria and I ran to the back of the playground to claim our favorite spot, the dark green picnic table by the fence. There was a big tree on the other side of the fence and its shadow fell across our table.

Peanut butter and banana on white bread bread, a bunch of grapes, and a Nutty Bar were nestled in my pink lunch box, next to a thermos of water. Maria opened up her box, pulling out tamales in a plastic container and some other food that I didn't recognize. She tipped her purple thermos toward me, so I could see the frothy, white milk inside. 

That night when mom was packing my lunch, I asked her if I could have milk. "I didn't think you liked milk," she replied, "and besides, it would be hot by the time you got to drink it." 

"But I will like it. Maria had some in her lunch today, and it was still cold. Please?" 

The next day I colored tree trunks. Coloring time was short because we had a fire safety presentation from Joey's dad and then we went outside to see the fire truck. While I was standing in line for my turn to sit in the driver's seat, I counted the folds in the yellow hose. The firemen that came with Joey's dad stayed during lunch to answer questions. Maria and I sat at our green picnic table and I whispered to her that I had milk too.

My nose crinkled at the sour smell when I unscrewed the cap on my thermos. One small sip was enough. The milk was hot and the taste matched the smell.

The next year we moved to Florida. The first day of kindergarten at my new school, I sat in the cafeteria that smelled like macaroni and cheese and looked at the stark, white walls and tables. One hundred kids were in the room, but the only noises were forks and spoons scraping on white plastic plates, because we weren't allowed to talk. A teacher walked next to my lunch table, holding a big basket, and passed out warm cartons of milk. I opened mine and the smell reminded me of that day at Rainbow Hills. I thought about Maria sitting on the dark green picnic table under the tree, and I wondered how she kept her milk so cold.


The Red Dress Club: Remember Kindergarten. Mine your memories and write about the earliest grade you can recall. What was special? What was ordinary? 


Constructive Criticism is welcome!

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