STRINGS of COLOR Read Online Free Page B

listening to Jonathan talk about life in that mansion he grew up in and about the high-priced schools that he attended; I remember how I felt when I finally hung up. I felt like I was the rich one. I was the one that had something beyond what money could buy—love."
    "I never thought about how priceless that word is, until now. You listen to someone who has spent his whole life without it and suddenly you come to understand it's real value. People work their entire lives to give their families money or leave them with valuable possessions, and yet one of the most precious gifts each one of us can offer to another human being—is love. It doesn't cost a thing but when it's not there, you know it. You can feel it. We tend to never see love for all the lasting possibilities it represents."
    "Jonathan no doubt, has his stories of how rough his childhood had been and I have my own. You see; I was often referred to as the 'green-eyed' girl growing up. Black people didn't like the lightness of my skin, the properness in my voice, and the hazel color of my hair. White people didn't like the fact that my skin had a tan better than theirs."
    "Mother had it the worst, I imagine. People were always staring at her. Wondering what she was doing with a white baby. Before I could barely say my ABC's, I could tell you that I was a person, a person to be judged by the color of her conduct and actions. I was proud of my complexion, my hair, and even my voice."
    "Of course, none of my stories include trust funds from super-rich grandparents, fancy luxury cars, or free apartments for that matter. In fact, I had only possessed one new thing in my life until now."
    Simone looked down at her ring.
    "That one thing, I would never trade for any of the loveless things Jonathan had received. You see; my one thing came from the heart of a woman who loved me with all of hers."
    "I received it when I was nine years old after Mother and I had decided to take a stroll down what she called the 'streets filled with bright lights and fancy clothes' that neither of us could afford. We had come past this one music store. There in the middle of their huge window display, my eyes lingered on a bright and shiny red guitar. The strings, I was convinced, were made out of gold. Man that thing was beautiful. It was at that moment that I realized what I wanted to do with my life."
    "Boy, I must have talked about that guitar for what seemed like months. Downright drove my dear mother crazy I'm sure, but I just couldn't get it out of my mind. It was like a burning in my heart. I would sneak by there after school and beg the sales clerk to let me hold it."
    "I wanted to sing like the lady I often heard Mother listening to. Mother would sit in her room with the lights out listening to Jazzmyne as she blew smooth as silk lyrics through the speakers. Even in the dark, I could see her tears but I never said a word."
    "I use to try to envision myself as Jazzmyne. I would picture myself up on the stage with thousands of people below and there they would be, her and Mother. Who knew that crazy dream, as I called it back then, would be part of my reality today. True, there is no stage, no thousands of people sitting below listening to me sing—but they are here."
    "I can't even get my mind wrapped around that fact right now."
    "But I do remember the day my mother came home with that guitar. We shared tears of joy together and tears of a dream becoming a reality."
    "I remember telling her that day that I would put it to good use. I would become something special. You know what she told me? She said that I didn't need a guitar to become something special. No, she said, that was already in my voice."
    "That was the day that I, at nine years old, came to know what the love of a mother was."
    So now, how am I supposed to call someone else—Mother?
    Simone felt the tears flow down her cheeks. She reached into her guitar case and pulled out a CD with Jazzmyne's picture on the