Hodgson 1 Jessica Hodgson jhodgs22@uwo.

ca 250563501 519-319-3452 Red is My Favourite Colour Hera is my mother, but I havent called her that in three years. I was an infant when Hera was 23; she was a secretary working in our neighbours 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 womans cheque and said she couldnt wait to travel. The woman saw the baby photo in the corner of Heras desk and told her, Oh honey, youre 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 raise my eyes and say, I guess I want to talk about Hera today. Okay, has anything happened? Hannahs voice is like a cats 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 cant open my mouth to say 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 head is hot, and the scribbles sound like a nail digging in cement. *** I dont 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, pressing her 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 Roguelike strands of grey appear near her brow. She has milky skin like her biological fatherhe 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 dont like Australian. Ah, its cheap. Her small forearms pops open another one. You know I met someone 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 thing down there.

Hodgson 2 A what? She looks at me with her black eyes, He had a piercing... On his penis. Oh. Isnt 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. Her silver watch occasionally clangs on the table. I was wondering if you could help me with my deposit. I say, as I sit across from 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. Ill think about it. Well, we kind of talked about it before and its due kinda soon. Arent you working? Yeah, but I need to pay for my phone bill too, I cant do both. Okay but ask Adam if I cant. *** The walls are exposed brick and it always smells like hot chocolate. All the walls are 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 yellow cleaning 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 didnt 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. Theyre 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 off the 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 dont like misunderstanding you. I dont like this trend, like youre some goth. I dont get it. She begins to storm upstairs, but slows down. 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? Hes my dad. How did that make you feel then? I dont remember anymore.

Hodgson 3 Hm. Did your mother have many partners? Um. Whats many? *** We had a white room once, in my second home. Heras china sat in an old case with a drawer under it, full of her adoptive mother Violets spoons. Violets love seat and spinning wheel were also in this room, by the window wall. I never met her though; she died when Hera was 16. Hes so handsome isnt he? She asks me, as she holds a picture of her adoptive father. 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 this room. Sitting here, you wouldnt 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 didnt go with you? Well, Norway is expensive, but Adam and I plan to take you girls soon. She rubs my back and smiles. I look up at my mothers 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 Heras conversation. I say quietly, Two weeks ago she said, I want to support you. Help. I cant even send you a card, as you wont share where you live or your life. I want to be fair (financially) between my daughters 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, and seems 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. Heras 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.