How many colors does it take to make a rainbow? Looking back down into my palm, I slowly counted out the colors That I had on hand.

    “Red, Green, Black… Brown,” I counted slowly under my breath, struggling to place the name of the last color. Completely forgetting the purpose of the original exercise, I began to scrawl out a giant arc along the soft blue wall, being careful to avoid the small spots of rust dotted along. The huepen left hazy marks of a beautiful verdant maroon, in a giant arc along the wall, lighting up the front door in a soft phosphorescence. I scrutinized ahead for a time proud of the work done and how smooth the arc was, even considering the condition of my canvas. As I wrote my long marks along the wall, I couldn’t help but feel wonder at the foreignness of my creation. I had seen art under the pipes, beautiful graffiti on the gandagi pipes and above the Swells, but my creation was more genuine and homely, personal and lovely, though I didn’t have the words to express it.

Stepping back from my close scrutinization, I stood back and stared wide eyed, drinking in as much detail as I could. Overall, the rainbow looked to me like the masterpiece I knew it was. I moved forward again and began to draw the rainbow bleed red and brown, bringing down the nurturing showers. It fell onto the houses and floors of the InnerRing, but in their greed and excess, let it pour down to the humble and thankful gangadi who drink from the pouring rivers of the swells and pipes with thanks.

I walked over to one of the larger rust  spots on the wall and put my eye through the hole to peer down at the roaring swells. I ran back and forth from my rainbow and my peering spot, being careful not to forget the image of the sprays of murk from the pipes and swells. I took great care in properly arcing the sprays and onto the smiling gangadi on the pipes. I also drew myself and my mom, standing and splaying our distals to their full reach, intertwined with each others and the pipes. I smiled at the thought of us holding distals with our neighbors. Why haven't I seen any of my neighbors' dist?

My thought were interrupted as I heard the door opening.

“Mommy!” I said, running up without a thought, almost poking her with my dist.

“Stop!” She spun me around quickly, narrowly avoiding my outstretched dist, “The hell are you doing with that!” She said as she quickly shut the door and stared at me, scared and angry. I couldn’t meet her eyes as she tightly squeezed my dist with one of her hands and scrutinized me, looking for an answer.

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“I was gonna surprise you mom, I wanted…” What did I want? I looked back at the wall where it was drawn, she did the same, following my eyes. I looked back up at her and smiled, pointing at the wall as she still looked.

“Rainbows don’t make rain,” was my only answer. She looked down from the wall at me, staring with curiosity and apathy both. I looked away from her quickly and stared at my art. How stupid was I to think rainbows rained? To think my art offered anything. I started to tear as I looked at it, but struggled, afraid mom would get mad. After looking down at my feet and struggling not to cry I looked up to the the noises my mom was making. Dropping her gray clasp-bag, she opened it and pulled out some papers. She looked down and started writing, sometimes pausing and looking up silently and thinking. I sat down and watched, waiting for my turn.

She paused for longer, looking up then her eyes drifted towards me, sitting in the corner of the room facing her. “When’s your birthday?” she asked, looking down at me then back at her sheet again, pen hovering.

Pausing and surprised, I straightened my back and said in a clear voice, “It’s today”, she looked up, eyes widened and surprised. I smiled and said, “That's why I drew you a present for when you got home!” I said and smiled, but then quickly looking down again, scared about her reaction would be to such a terrible present.

Waving her hand at me and holding her head with the other, she tightly closed her eyes, “Shut up, I don’t care, all I asked for was your birthday,” she said strained. After waiting and realizing I wasn’t talking she got back to her work. I waited and patiently watched, swaying and sometimes just messing with my bare feet. I sat and boredly waited, but was careful not to make noise or move too much. When Mom gets mad it really hurts.

After a time, she began to put the papers back into her clasp-bag. It was maddeningly slow. I rocked back and forth as she got up and stretched. She began moving to my room, but the looked back at me as I began to get up and told me to stay put. I stayed standing as she when rifling through my things and fit clothes and my special gloves and shoes into her clasp-bag. I kept getting on my tippy toes and peered into the bag, worried at what she was taking.

She walked back over to me, “Put on your gloves and shoes, we’re going out”. I complied and  carefully put on my heavy boots and tight gloves. Once I put them on, their metal exterior constricted and tightened around my hands, and poked tightly into my distal shutes, closing the folds. I quickly scurried up after I was done and followed mom out the door.