The color of gay is rainbow, but for me also the deep brown of my sister’s hair, the smooth chocolate of her eyes which gleam when she smiles. The pale of her face when she is called “the gay one” by those who should have loved her better. She has been painted how she is in all her magnificence and I have no misgivings. She loves the way I love and I see no difference, though others do. I know acrylics, how they can be piled up in layers to hide what’s underneath, but the shades below can never be erased.