Orange

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Oran-gu-glad to see me?

Everywhere I looked, orange. Hats, shirts, blouses, shorts, shoes, thon..well, you get the idea. Hey, it's summer. Yellow, white, lime, orange; brighter, lighter, friendlier color combos are de-rigueur looks for the season. Generally, I tend to eschew the trend, as I am woefully without trend, but that's another story.

Orange, the color, reminds me of orange, the flavor. My brother, the older, developed quite an obsession for many things orange flavored. During one fateful summer, the frightfully uncheerful one had an experience with orange I'll never forget.

OB played baseball. During a good part of our childhood, we bounced around quite a bit. No matter where we were living during the spring and summer, he managed to get on a team. I think for a time, he was pretty good. I never actually saw him play.

In addition to playing ball, OB ran scams. He had more scams than Charles Ponzi. He was small time and it was mostly *chump change* but certainly enough to keep him in orange; Hi-C, popsicles, Freeze-pops, soda, all treats mom never bought, yet never questioned why there were in the house. My brother hoarded and lorded over these treats and consumed them all with gluttonous glee.

One game day, OB donned his uniform, hours before game time. We'd had one of our usual encounters, sending me to my room, wishing he would just leave already. He did eventually, leave, after ingesting, what I can only presume was four gallons of Hi-C, three orange popsicles, and at lease one Freeze-pop, judging by the trash he'd left in the kitchen. Knowing him, like I did, he likely had taken a Freeze-pop or two with him to the field.

After he left, I cleaned the kitchen and retired to the living room to watch television. About an hour later, I heard him run and then trip up the steps. He was yelling, cursing, crying, vomiting and more.

OB had orangery colored fluids emitting from seemingly every pore and orifice. He was one big orangery glob of soiled. He bounded the door, slammed into the bathroom and launched himself into the tub, snatching off uniform, socks, shoes and such all along the way.

Eventually, his stomach settled. Supremely unsettled long afterwards, he begged me to help him clean.

The uniform was never the same.

It took me a long, long time to even look at the color orange, let alone, eat or drink anything even mimicking orange.