Indeterminate Color
When the ambulance took away my dad, I hid on my parents’ bed and turned the channel to Turner Classic Movies. This was the best room in the house for watching TV on hot summer afternoons. It was the only TV in the house that had a remote control. The basement stayed cool. The room was quiet. No one bothered me. The black and white Hollywood films with soft focus and film noir shadows were an odd choice for a third grader. But my whole life felt like an odd choice. Above the bed, a tiny window near the ceiling was the only source of natural light. If I climbed onto the headboard, I could just about peek into the rose beds lining the southern exposure of the house. But I didn’t want to look out that window. So I stared instead at the TV. The plots of those old movies required full attention. Without special effects or plausible green screens, the movies depended on witty banter, meaningful looks, and conflicts that usually went over my head. Still, I tuned in. Perhaps it was ...