Hodgson 1

Jessica Hodgson jhodgs22@uwo.ca

250563501519-319-3452

“Red is My Favourite Colour”

Hera is my mother, but I haven’t called her that in three years. I was an infant

when Hera was 23; she was a secretary working in our neighbour’s chiropractic office.They were also sleeping together. One day, a woman came in. The woman had told Hera

about how she had hurt her back travelling. Hera took the woman’s cheque and said shecouldn’t wait to travel. The woman saw the baby photo in the corner of Hera’s desk and

told her, “Oh honey, you’re going to be here for a long time.”

***

This room is a pale yellow cube. The psychology textbooks look like cook books.They are neatly squeezed together inside a white wooden bookshelf. I am sitting on the

couch; my phone rests on a white side table by my arm. Hannah grabs a paper pad. I raisemy eyes and say, “I guess I want to talk about Hera today.”

“Okay, has anything happened?” Hannah’s voice is like a cat’s purr.“Not really.” I push air out of my nose, “Well she has been texting me, and she

called really late on Thursday.”“Alright.” She says, as she scribbles on her notepad. The feeling of sweat

collecting on the small of my back makes me sit upright. I still can’t open my mouth tosay it. Hannah asks, “What did you want to tell me about her?”

“When I was 14 she accused me of sleeping with my step-dad, Adam.” My headis hot, and the scribbles sound like a nail digging in cement.

***

I don’t live in Regina anymore, but Hera tells me that guests who eat here still

comment on the walls- the kitchen is bright orange-red. Hera leans on the table, pressingher thumb on its edge. Her other hand caresses the bottom of an empty wine glass. Her

ring finger is bare.“Vegas was a hoot. The girls asked about you.” She smiles thinly and spins

around towards the faux-marble counters. Hera has thick Spanish locks, but now Rogue-like strands of grey appear near her brow. She has milky skin like her biological father-

he put her up for adoption when she was a baby.Hera raises one of her tinted eyebrows higher than the other, “Did you finish this

one?” she asks, as she holds up a Yellowtail bottle, shaking it at me.“I don’t like Australian.”

“Ah, it’s cheap.” Her small forearms pops open another one. “You know I metsomeone there.” She pauses, her eyes look up to the Jeremiah lighting, and she giggles as

she takes the first sip from her second bottle, “he had a...um... a um, you know, a thingdown there.”

 

  Hodgson 2

“A what?”She looks at me with her black eyes, “He had a piercing... On his penis.”

“Oh.”“Isn’t that neat?” Hera sets the cup down and takes her glasses out of their case.

She licks her thumb as she turns each page in her leather bound calendar notebook. Hersilver watch occasionally clangs on the table.

“I was wondering if you could help me with my deposit.” I say, as I sit acrossfrom her.

“What now? Money for what?”“For Calgary, there is a fee to transfer credits over there.”

“Well how much?”“120 dollars or so.”

“Hm. I’ll think about it.”“Well, we kind of talked about it before and it’s due kinda soon.”

“Aren’t you working?”“Yeah, but I need to pay for my phone bill too, I can’t do both.”

“Okay but ask Adam if I can’t.”

***

The walls are exposed brick and it always smells like hot chocolate. All the wallsare thin, the house was built years ago, and mold is in the basement where the previous

owners tried to add extra room. This is my third home. Hera comes upstairs with yellowcleaning gloves and a red pail. I can see her through a rectangle of stained glass.

She approaches me at the dinner table and extends her hand, “I found these in the bathroom. I thought I said I didn’t want you looking like a miserable girl.” She saunters

to the kitchen a couple meters away. I put my arm on the chair as I turn towards her.“They’re just spacers.” She marches forward, pulls back my hair, and grabs my

ear. “Are these bigger than before?”“Not by much.”

She turns around and throws the old pair in the compost. “Do not buy anymore.”“I like them.”

“Why? They smell like skunks. No one will want to kiss you there.” She pulls offthe gloves and tosses them in the sink. She rubs St. Ives lotion between her fingers and

twists her wedding band so the diamond is centered.“You know, we are the same. I don’t like misunderstanding you. I don’t like this

trend, like you’re some goth. I don’t get it.” She begins to storm upstairs, but slowsdown. The steps are short, separated, and held together by a questionable iron railing.

***

Hannah looks up from her notes and asks, “You and your step-father- Adam,

right? Were you two close?”“He’s my dad.”

“How did that make you feel then?”“I don’t remember anymore.”

 

  Hodgson 3

“Hm. Did your mother have many partners?”“Um. What’s many?”

***

We had a “white room” once, in my second home. Hera’s china sat in an old casewith a drawer under it, full of her adoptive mother Violet’s spoons. Violet’s love seat and

spinning wheel were also in this room, by the window wall. I never met her though; shedied when Hera was 16.

“He’s so handsome isn’t he?” She asks me, as she holds a picture of her adoptivefather. I call him Grandpa K. Hera touches his chin in the photograph, taken when he was

a boy in Norway.“I just love these pictures.” She says as she sets down the portrait next to other old

 photos, some taken more than a century ago. There are no photos of our family in thisroom. Sitting here, you wouldn’t know four children lived in this house, a big enough

house for a room used only for special occasions. We were rarely allowed in here.“How come we didn’t go with you?”

“Well, Norway is expensive, but Adam and I plan to take you girls soon.” Sherubs my back and smiles. I look up at my mother’s face. She has perfect teeth.

***

Hannah asks, “Tell me about these texts.”

“Can I just read them?”“Sure.”

I pick up my phone and scroll down to Hera’s conversation. I say quietly, “Twoweeks ago she said, ‘I want to support you. Help. I can’t even send you a card, as you

won’t share where you live or your life. I want to be fair (financially) between mydaughters too.’”

I look up from my phone. “I told her we could Skype about it.”“Did you?” Hannah asks.

“She never called.”

***

By the time Hera was 30, she had travelled around the world. She is 44 now, andseems to never age. But out of all her photos, my favourite one now sits in her own

office. Adam took the picture years ago, when they were on their honeymoon in Hawaii.Hera’s lips are bright red, and her arms shine like a canvas painted with concealer. Seven

 parrots grip their talons along her arms and shoulders, and one is perched on her head.After it was printed, Hera had placed the photo in a fire-red frame, and tried to send it to

that woman, old now, and maybe still childless.