Orange

Moira froze halfway through unlacing her right boot, the leather slick with water from the rain.

A single leaf hung pasted to her combat boot’s thick heel. She almost hadn’t seen it as the leaf, small and spotted, was nearly the same shade as the boot’s light brown finish.

Nearly. The leaf’s thick veins had a strong orange tint to them and it had been the orange that caught her eye.

Moira scowled at the leaf for a moment before abandoning her laces. She ripped the thing off her heel and stalked over to the large kitchen garbage can, the plastic aglets of her shoelaces skittering left and right on the tiles. The leaf’s wet tips clung to her hand like a temporary tattoo, but Moira managed to smear the whole of the leaf on the inside of the garbage can. She slammed the can lid shut to hide it from view.

Sulking, she backtracked to the garage door, forming big, gross, muddy footprints in the center of the kitchen. Dad would yell at her for it later, but at the moment, Moira didn’t care. She finished unlacing her boots, kicked them off, and hurried to the front window.

To her relief, the trees and their leaves still stood tall, hosting rich, green foliage. There was no hint of orange... or at least, not from this window. Not yet. September was still a week away, and even then, nature might not betray her immediately. Summer might hold on a little longer.

But the breeze was a sign. There’s a breeze in summer, too, Moira told herself, but there was a difference between a summer breeze and a fall breeze. Her skin knew the difference. Even with the light rain, Moira could feel the coming of the autumn season through the thin fabric of her rain jacket--a crisp cold, but not quite the type that chilled her to the bone.

No. This was the type of breeze that made her feel sick to her stomach. The fall air was a warning of what was to come. Moira accepted that, but she still prayed for more time. She had hoped the leaves wouldn’t attack her so quickly.

No such luck. Somehow, the fact that it was only one made it worse. A single leaf, but many more would follow. Orange veins would lead the charge--a bright and overpowering color that would take her lovely green landscape by storm, washing it away until next year.

She understood it was inevitable. Summer lost like it did every cycle. Soon, all the trees in Moira’s neighborhood would look like they were wearing large orange sweaters. Next, all the students in her school would pull their sweaters out of storage, happy to snuggle into them as the cold breezes picked up. Orange pumpkins would crop up on doorsteps. Moira would grit her teeth and deal, like any good soldier, but as October came, the leaves would abandon the treetops and take over her sidewalks, too. Orange above her and below her and orange all around her. Nothing would be left untouched by the color orange, and as always, it would be too bright for Moira to ignore.

Hanging up her rain jacket, Moira retreated to her room.

The forest green walls--walls she’d painted herself--were comforting. Her white curtains billowed in the gusts from her standing fan.

It was still warm enough for her fan. Moira smiled at that thought. Fall hadn’t launched its full attack yet.

She flopped onto her unmade bed, relishing the thin sheets. Much better than a quilt, she thought, but she couldn’t quite make herself believe it. So much better.

She fell asleep, and when she awoke, every inch of her was freezing.

“No,” she moaned, but just like with the breeze, her skin knew the reality. Fall had launched its attack while she slept. Moira’s fan still whirred on full blast and she was forced, heavy hearted, to click it off. She pulled her sheets up around her, but the cold seemed to seep straight through them, just like the wind had with her rain jacket.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. Moira tried to wind herself in tighter, but her toes were like icicles. A creepy chill waltzed up her back. A sliver of her right thigh hung exposed and the sheets didn’t seem to cover it, no matter how hard she yanked and rolled the folds.

Finally, she admitted defeat. The battle was lost. Fall was here, and orange had won. The tears beginning to fall, Moira got up, spread her closet doors, and grabbed her quilt from the top shelf.

The giant blanket unfolded as she pulled it to her. Bright, warm and undeniable orange assaulted her and she wrapped it around her shoulders, trailing it like a cape as she crawled back into bed.

Her breathing shallow, Moira ran her cold thumb--already warming--against a cloth insert just within one corner of the blanket. She didn’t need to read it to know what it said.

A quilt for Moira. Her favorite color is as bright as her soul. I feel blessed to share my love of orange with her. Forever and always, Grandma.

With a small gasp, Moira balled up the corner of the quilt. She sniffed it and it still smelled like Grandma.

Moira pressed the orange fabric to her cheek and cried.

It was going to be a long autumn.