TRUE COLORS, by C. M. WestIt was her eyes that got me. Just past the West Oakland station, I always watched the graffiti wall for anything new as the BART train ripped by. It was only a brief glimpse, but I saw 911 had thrown a new piece up, another stenciled portrait of a missing teen girl; with a halo of dark curls, this one had soulful light blue eyes set in a dark, mixed-race face. 911 spray-painted portraits of missing kids on walls throughout San Francisco, Oakland, San Jose, and Berkeley. It broke my heart whenever I saw them.
I didn’t have kids, but I hoped someday I’d meet the right woman and would start a family. I imagined losing a child would be torture that would drive anyone mad. 911’s portraits kept those kids’ faces from being forgotten.
Back in my teens, I’d had my run a
