Why I Cannot Wear Green, 54 Years Later

How 2 words changed my affection for the color green

With just two words, a girl I barely knew in the 8th grade made me abandon my favorite color for the last 54 years.

Wearing bell bottoms with a fancy shirt and scarf was about as fashion-forward as you could get in 1971. I was reluctantly making my way through the 8th grade, green my favorite color. I loved wearing green, seeing fields of green, hiking through forests of green leafy trees, my green pants striped vertically. My green satin shirt was smooth, shiny, and fit my adolescent body perfectly, the buttons clasping tightly around my thin wrists. The top two buttons, undone at my neck, framed my green scarf in perfect symmetry, held together with a gold ring.

An image of the author as a young teen, pixelated and toned using Adobe Photoshop.

I had a huge crush on a girl named Maria* who I remember was from Venezuela. Maria and I were in Chess Club together but I was so shy that I thought I would never have the chance to talk with her, or to sit across the table for a chess match. I tried to catch her eye with an occasional glance but that never worked.

The Junior High School was 2 stories and a basement with classrooms on the perimeter of an Auditorium where the assemblies and class dances were held. I remember the dances well since I was always on the sidelines, sitting in a creaky wooden folding chair, watching all the “cool” people dance. I was the epitome of a wallflower to my friends.

The Junior High School today - photo from Google Streetview. The basement classrooms at the lowest level, just above the grass.

The basement had a few rooms for Shop and other classes, connected by a long hallway, the fluorescents and cool gray walls always moody, the lights creating pools of brightness in the otherwise mundane underbelly of the building. Unlike the wood floors of the classroom levels, the concrete floor was solid and unforgiving, with a spot of water leading to bruised bones for the clumsy at heart.

I could barely see the female form coming towards me. There were only two of us in the hallway and as she emerged from the darkness, Maria was directly in front of me. As the distance closed between us, I scanned the floor to secure my footing, taking measured steps. The next few seconds seemed like hours as I got up my courage to say “Hi Maria” in my most optimistic tone of voice. She slowed her stride, and looked at me, her beautiful brown eyes piercing the darkness, just a couple seconds of connection before she replied loudly “Hey spinach!” as we passed. Only the empty hallway now lay in front of me now, her words echoing through my brain, as I felt the blood drain from my body, my fragile 14 year old ego shattered to the core.

I stopped wearing green that day. I stopped wearing green for the next 54 years of my life. I still have a negotiated relationship with the color green. Even today, wearing green is a willful act that reminds me of that fateful day in Junior High.

*Name changed to protect the guilty.