Yellow (editing)

Before the Beginning

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This book is dedicated to anybody who feels out of place, is out of place, or wishes they could be just like the others. This is for the people who think they are missing out and the people who wish they could miss out. This is for the people who wish they were extraordinary, and the people who wish they weren't so much. This goes out to the people who don't know who they are, and the people who know who they are - this book goes out to everyone.

Why?

Because you're worth it.

And you can create a masterpiece (it's guaranteed).

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YELLOW

Around the first month of my sixth year, I realized that I was unimaginably different from the majority of society.

        And it wasn't because I had twenty-seven toes, or that I was two-thirds llama or anything bizarre and stupid like that. 

My parents were the kind of parents that were incredibly social and about as popular as you could get among their group of 30-50 year olds, and that meant we (all three of us) would bolt to any gathering without hesitation. So, when the Castellanos invited us over to their house for Christmas dinner, we walked in the freezing Toronto wind and snow to get there. Well, because it was what we did. We went to other people's candle infused, air-conditioned houses and stayed there because we sure as hell didn't like ours.  

        I grabbed onto my dad's felt and rubber-lined glove, and he straightened my itchy hat that was beginning to slip off of my silky hair and onto the ground. My mom and dad talked the whole way there, but I kept my mouth closed because the wind was blowing right in our faces, and I had to prove to the rest of the world that I indeed could survive the bitterest Canadian winter - and choking on a snowflake would most definitely not be a heroic way for a six year old boy to die.

        I wanted to prove a lot of things, now that I think about it.

My dad carefully and cautiously guided me on the streets, holding me close to him, so close that I could feel his thunderous voice echoing throughout his whole body when he continued his chat with mom.

        "How are you feeling, Finnegan?" Mom asked, and I could smell her disgusting yet comforting tangerine scented lotion as she stroked my half-frozen cheek.

        "I'm cold."

        "I know. Only a few more blocks."

        "Will they have toys?"

        "They'll have lots of toys, but be..." she trailed off, waiting for me to finished the rest of the sentence, like we always did.

        "Respectful, joyful, and not a big fat handful." A smile formed on my lips but I quickly closed my mouth again; because of the snowflakes, of course.

When we had supposedly reached the front of the Castellanos' house, dad picked me up swiftly (he was not strong, so it was strange how he could pick me up with such ease) and straightened my glasses that were slipping off the end of my nose. My mom fixed my hair.

        "Hi! Hi! Welcome in, please, come in!" A very excited woman said to us, her Italian accent making me start to laugh, forcing dad to set me down on the ground. It took me a while to get my footing again.