Just letting everyone know....
That I won't be on for this next week or so. We're going to Jamaica! And I really don't have anything else to say, so I'm just going to post something I wrote. Enjoy!
Blind Colors
“What's it look like?”
I knew he was studying something by the way he had gone quiet. He was an art major. It was burned into his head.
“Oh, uh,” he searched for the words to tell me, but he wasn't really a word person. Visuals, showing, was what he did.
I reached out next to me, searching for his shoulder, and he found me. He dragged me into his lap like he had always done, like when he was reading me, his baby sister, the picture books whose pictures I had forgotten.
“It's like, purple with more red to it, with black gradation over the edge so that it makes it more round on one side and-”he paused. “Do you see what I'm saying?”
“Nope. It's pitch black and I can see absolutely nothing that you're talking about.”
I could sense one of his glares coming on.
“What do you mean by red? And purple? I can't picture that.”
“Oh.”He had forgotten again. I knew that really, it was tragic. I had been an artist, almost as good as Jeff even. But then with one slip, one second of losing my balance, I was plunged into complete and utter darkness, with memory loss on top of the blindness.
Well, it wasn't actually memory loss, not the amnesia that everyone else thought of. Because me, well, the only thing I couldn't remember was color. The names, sure. I knew that chartreuse was supposed to be sort of a green color, but however hard I tried, I couldn't imagine what it might look like.
And yeah, sure, I was devastated when I realized. But really, all I could do was deal with it. Really, it had hit Jeff the hardest. He was the one that had taught me how to paint, how to wield a color and make it so magnificent that no one within staring distance could stop looking at it. He was the one who had supported me in my dreams of becoming an illustrator, and someday, making my own picture books. After the accident, Jeff had convinced Mom and Dad to get me one of those special recorders, the kind that typed out whatever you said into it. He had said that if I couldn't paint, then I could at least write.
But he always forgot that I couldn't even remember the colors. I hated having to remind him. So maybe it was partly my fault that it took him a long time to realize....
“Well,”he finally spoke after a long pause, “red, is this really bright, vibrant thing. It's like, heat and burning, but not fire. It's something that gets into the back of your eyelids when the sun's really bright and stays there for hours. It's what people use when they want something to be noticed, but in the strangest way, when you know what you're doing, it'll establish a background.”
I nodded. There was a vague idea in my mind that seemed similar to that, but I couldn't be sure it was what he was talking about. But right now, it didn't matter.
“And blue is almost the opposite of red. It's cool, like the ocean, and numbing. When you use the right shade, it looks like silk, and it can be mesmerizing. It's something that you can sink into, and be comfortable with. And it's calming, like the rhythm of water, and on a painting, it has these amazing effects.”
I could feel him starting to use his hand motions, and I smiled with my eyes closed and sank back to rest against him. One of his arms stopped and curled around me, supporting me.
“Then purple is just a mix of those two. They're both strong colors, but together, they mellow out just a bit, like now that they're one, they can rest a part of themselves, and they don't have to worry about being the best, because the red brings out the best parts of the blue, and the blue brings out the best parts of the red. But they can't be just themselves when they're together, because then they'd overpower each other, like they were both fighting. They have to strike a balance between the two of them, and then,”he let out a short, quiet snort, meant to be a chuckle, “well, it's no wonder purple was used for royalty.”
“Hmmmm.”I don't know what else to say. I'm completely and utterly blown away, so much that I can't get a single, actual word shoved through my mouth. He's an idiot! Yeah, I've known before now, but with this, it's just become painfully clear, because, you see, he thinks he can't write.
And what was that? I want to ask him. But I know he'll just go, huh?, and deny anything I try to push on him. And I know it won't be any use, but I still can't help hoping that someday he'll wake up with that little itch to write again.
Because it breaks my heart that when I lost my sight and colors, he lost his words that flowed so beautifully when he wrote them down.
(Note: Comments are welcome!)
Blind Colors
“What's it look like?”
I knew he was studying something by the way he had gone quiet. He was an art major. It was burned into his head.
“Oh, uh,” he searched for the words to tell me, but he wasn't really a word person. Visuals, showing, was what he did.
I reached out next to me, searching for his shoulder, and he found me. He dragged me into his lap like he had always done, like when he was reading me, his baby sister, the picture books whose pictures I had forgotten.
“It's like, purple with more red to it, with black gradation over the edge so that it makes it more round on one side and-”he paused. “Do you see what I'm saying?”
“Nope. It's pitch black and I can see absolutely nothing that you're talking about.”
I could sense one of his glares coming on.
“What do you mean by red? And purple? I can't picture that.”
“Oh.”He had forgotten again. I knew that really, it was tragic. I had been an artist, almost as good as Jeff even. But then with one slip, one second of losing my balance, I was plunged into complete and utter darkness, with memory loss on top of the blindness.
Well, it wasn't actually memory loss, not the amnesia that everyone else thought of. Because me, well, the only thing I couldn't remember was color. The names, sure. I knew that chartreuse was supposed to be sort of a green color, but however hard I tried, I couldn't imagine what it might look like.
And yeah, sure, I was devastated when I realized. But really, all I could do was deal with it. Really, it had hit Jeff the hardest. He was the one that had taught me how to paint, how to wield a color and make it so magnificent that no one within staring distance could stop looking at it. He was the one who had supported me in my dreams of becoming an illustrator, and someday, making my own picture books. After the accident, Jeff had convinced Mom and Dad to get me one of those special recorders, the kind that typed out whatever you said into it. He had said that if I couldn't paint, then I could at least write.
But he always forgot that I couldn't even remember the colors. I hated having to remind him. So maybe it was partly my fault that it took him a long time to realize....
“Well,”he finally spoke after a long pause, “red, is this really bright, vibrant thing. It's like, heat and burning, but not fire. It's something that gets into the back of your eyelids when the sun's really bright and stays there for hours. It's what people use when they want something to be noticed, but in the strangest way, when you know what you're doing, it'll establish a background.”
I nodded. There was a vague idea in my mind that seemed similar to that, but I couldn't be sure it was what he was talking about. But right now, it didn't matter.
“And blue is almost the opposite of red. It's cool, like the ocean, and numbing. When you use the right shade, it looks like silk, and it can be mesmerizing. It's something that you can sink into, and be comfortable with. And it's calming, like the rhythm of water, and on a painting, it has these amazing effects.”
I could feel him starting to use his hand motions, and I smiled with my eyes closed and sank back to rest against him. One of his arms stopped and curled around me, supporting me.
“Then purple is just a mix of those two. They're both strong colors, but together, they mellow out just a bit, like now that they're one, they can rest a part of themselves, and they don't have to worry about being the best, because the red brings out the best parts of the blue, and the blue brings out the best parts of the red. But they can't be just themselves when they're together, because then they'd overpower each other, like they were both fighting. They have to strike a balance between the two of them, and then,”he let out a short, quiet snort, meant to be a chuckle, “well, it's no wonder purple was used for royalty.”
“Hmmmm.”I don't know what else to say. I'm completely and utterly blown away, so much that I can't get a single, actual word shoved through my mouth. He's an idiot! Yeah, I've known before now, but with this, it's just become painfully clear, because, you see, he thinks he can't write.
And what was that? I want to ask him. But I know he'll just go, huh?, and deny anything I try to push on him. And I know it won't be any use, but I still can't help hoping that someday he'll wake up with that little itch to write again.
Because it breaks my heart that when I lost my sight and colors, he lost his words that flowed so beautifully when he wrote them down.
(Note: Comments are welcome!)