Red

A red mark appeared on the palm of my left hand. I tried to wash it off, to scrub it away, bleach it out, anything, but couldn’t seem to get rid of it. At work on my cigarette break I stared at it and smoked with my other hand. Where had it come from? Was Jesus’ face to be found in there somewhere if I turned it round and round? How long would it plague me for?

I studied it closely for weeks. It was impossible to tell whether it was on top of the skin, like a stain, or underneath, like a tattoo I hadn’t asked or paid for. I held my hand up to the light, shut one eye and examined the mark at an angle. Was it permanent? How did it get there? I wasn’t concerned by its random appearance – there was no way I was going to a damn doctor – but as I examined it for longer and longer stretches of time it seemed to strain my mind with endless questions.

Sarah took my hand and looked it over. “Hey cool, turmeric?” she asked, but turmeric stains an orangey-yellow.

"It ain't cool - it's bugging me," I told her. She screwed up her face as if to say 'whinging bastard!'

“Beetroot maybe?” Any beetroot would have been washed away from all the hand washing I was doing. Plus, I hadn’t been handling large amounts of root veg. It baffled all who saw it. We went round in circles, as was usually the case with Sarah. She taunted me; I could rely on her for that, listing all the negatives associated with red: "Blood? Danger? The devil!" It produced no pain, no ache, nothing.

"Don't try and freak me out cuz you know it'll work!" I warned her.

She laughed, ahead of her own joke: "You've been caught red-handed! Ha ha ha!" and so on.

We associate the colour red with many things; roses and blood, victory and defeat (red lights!), tomato ketchup and big, bright lips, to name only a few. To me, red says daring, but this mark meant puzzlement. Perhaps I should have thought about consulting a colour technician and not a doctor? To write to Dulex with a list of questions. Should I have asked them what the meaning of this particular hue was? Was it the colour upsetting me somehow, and not the fact it appeared to be a permanent mark?

Red confuses. It suggests two things at once. The hidden meanings behind this colour are endless. Do we need to be confused any further than we already are? I say no. Existence is confusion - so many choices, so many words to speak, things to see and do, and people to meet. They banned teachers from marking in red pen because it appears negative. A red carpet doesn't necessarily have anything to do with communists. Courtly love and seeing red are right at opposite ends and should never meet. Red balloons, red tape, little red books, and cheap red journals. Everything is red! It's seeped in and jumbled up the whole world whilst we weren't looking - my palm a prime example. We must do something about it.

"It could be a sign of Christ," Mike joked. "You had any nine inch nails through your palm of late?"

"Nope." He grabbed my hand again.

"You should take it on the road man. Charge people to touch your hand. I reckon you'd make more money than the Turin Shroud!"

"Probably," I laughed the idea through.

"I can see the signs under lights already: 'Uncrucified man with hand of Christ.'" He looked upwards and pulled his hands apart, like in the movies. "Roll up! Roll up! Come see the amazing, the surreal, the ancient hand. Hand. Hand. Hand. Right here, ladies and gentlemen. Come inside, ten pounds admission for this one-off freak of nature!"

"A freak show, hey?" I folded my arms away and tried to look as unimpressed as possible. "No thanks."

"Good money - I'll be your manager. We'll take it to fuckin' L.A dude! We’ll go national, then international."

"I'll pass. Thanks though mate."

"I dunno dude," he retracted into seriousness. "I can't think what it could be."

       The bafflement spun round and round like a roundabout; steady and sure as your Grandma puts in a spin every now and then. It could continue for as long as I let it continue. Eventually it must stop - it must cease to become a bother. No need to worry, I was constantly assured by a small legion of friends-turned-amateur-doctors. It was then that I gave up thinking about it; I'd given it plenty of thought and time already. Eventually I forgot all about it, and it disappeared. Isn’t that always the way? Thinking about the mark kept the mark there! Once out of sight and out of mind it faded away, one can only presume. Did it vanish overnight in the most fitting end to this saga of confusion? Then again, maybe not. There are many unanswered questions in this life - some trivial and unnecessary, and some of the utmost and significant importance. Which one the red mark was will never be answered, I'm sure of it. Let's agree it was nothing more than a temporary phase in a longer episode.