Selected Piece - Essay

by - Ava Weinbrenn, United Kingdom

Yellow.
The street was yellow.
It hadn’t been yellow in the morning. It had been grey and white and all of the colours that a street is. I walk down that street at seven twenty, every morning. I walk up that same street at around six fifteen, every evening.
I had just gotten off the bus, on that very street, and something was different. It wasn’t grey or white or any of the colours that a street should be.
It was yellow.
Rows and rows of yellow ribbons. Standing to attention and tied to the metal gate on the street. On the street I walk up and down. Every single day.
Yellow.
It was amazing. It was spectacular, stirring, terrifying.
Terrifying.
Because the first thought that should have come to mind is, ‘Someone’s looking out for them.’
What I thought instead was, ‘I wonder how long those will stay up for.’
One sentence. Nine words.
I walked down that street the next morning. Just a normal walk. A normal walk that I do every morning at seven twenty.
But it was different this time.
Because I was blinded by the yellow. Blinded by the sea of ribbons, without a single break in the line. Not even one ribbon had been untied, or taken off, or cut.
I don’t know why I was so surprised. I mean, when you leave something downstairs on the kitchen table overnight, it’s usually still there when you come down for breakfast the next morning. Right?
But a part of me, a huge part of me, had believed that they would be gone. Torn off, dispersed of, by the next morning. Twelve hours.
You can do a lot in twelve hours. You can watch Avengers: Endgame four times. The average person can read one or two books. You could even assemble about four sofas, if you wanted to. The point is, there’s a lot you can do in twelve hours.
But someone didn’t do what I’d thought they’d do.
Someone didn’t decide to untie a hundred ribbons in their twelve hours. Someone was given twelve hours and they could do whatever they wanted with them. They could have watched Avengers: Endgame four times, they could have assembled four sofas. They could have untied one hundred ribbons. But they didn’t. No one did.
I went back the next day, and the next, each day more and more surprised by the lack of action by people. I didn’t understand. I saw it happening on the news, heard it on social media. People did things like that. So why was my street still yellow?
Eventually, I stopped thinking about it. I stopped constantly playing a guessing game in my head, about whether or not it would still be yellow when I turned the corner. I just accepted.
My street was yellow.
I love the colour yellow.
One month, two months, five months go by, and my street is still yellow. Then one day, I got on the bus, and look out the window as we were driving.
There was yellow somewhere else too.
Someone else’s street, a street that they might walk up and down every morning and evening, was yellow. I was shocked.
A few weeks later, I looked out the window again, and this time, I only saw a bit of yellow. But I also saw two people. Two people tying ribbons to a metal gate on the side of another street.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to get off the bus and go over to them. Have a conversation. Tell them about my street. But I just stared.
I mean, what would I say? Thank you? That doesn’t sound right. They hadn’t actually made a difference in the grand scheme of things. They had made a difference to my life, given me a new perspective, but the person next to me on the bus probably hadn’t even noticed. I guess I could tell them about my street, but I don’t see what difference it could make. I’m only 15. Nothing I could say would account for the hole I didn’t even know I had inside me being filled. For the fact that these two people, and probably others, are helping people like me feel safer, feel seen and heard. So I just stared.
It’s been a lot more than twelve hours now. But my street is still yellow. I think it might stay yellow forever. I think my new favourite colour might be yellow. No one took use of that time back then, and no one has now. I don’t think anyone ever will.