A color my father insisted upon. White, so clean and pristine. Like walking into a room with fresh, clean sheets free of any stains. No one would ever guess how quickly you had to wash blood off that white color to make sure it didn’t set into the fabric. Or how many times we’d had to clean that fabric to make sure it was white enough for the next event. White. It was our show color. And there I stood, donning it again just like he would have wanted.
