Black, White and Shades of Gray
It was the kind of summer where you opened all of the windows with the unlikely hope of catching a breeze. Dust was everywhere - choking my lungs, clogging my pores, filling the air. The sun dried and cracked the soil, browned the grass, burnt my shoulders, chapped my lips. At night the world turned into a different place, a cool, damp place. A place where the moon cast a cold white light over everything, making long shadows in the grass.
I was lying with my back pressed against the dirt uncomfortably. Through the awning of oak branches I could just glimpse the stars pulsating in a stark contrast to the flat darkness of the clear sky. IN the flickering light of the campfire one moment I could see the faces of people chatting, laughing and in the next moment they became indistinct outlines. I closed my eyes and the menagerie of voiced became hushed compared to the overwhelming melody of insects hidden among the grasses and ferns.
I heard someone sit next to me, and I glanced up at him. He sat with his knees against the chest, facing the fire. I could see his profile illuminated in the light - the loose dark hair, the tanned skin, the hooked nose. He was wearing a red shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee. He didn’t say anything, so I listened to the conversations around me. After a while he murmured:
“The stars are pretty.”
“Mmmm,” I agreed, opening my eyes to look at him. He turned back to the campfire, watching as someone rotated a marshmallow over the flames. He looked down at me. My hands propped up my head, my tangled hair spread out against against the ground like a fan. My legs were covered with mud and my shirt had a hole in it next to the hip, but I was too tired to care.
“I love the dark,” he whispered. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
He paused, thinking about the answer. Someone tossed a bucket of water over the fire. Smoke mushroomed out and quickly spread throughout the clearing making everything hazy.
“It’s the only time I know I see the world as everyone else.”
“What’s it like? Being colorblind?” I whispered. He didn’t answer for a while, so I studied the clump of wilted wildflowers next to my elbow, the daddy long-legs meandering through the tall grass.
“It’s like the whole world’s in on a secret but you. And you know all of the names of the colors - red, blue, purple, but the names don’t mean anything to you. You can look at a shirt and think ‘oh, that’s orange’ but it might be yellow or green. I can’t even imagine what colors look like, because to me it’s just black, white and shades of gray.”
And as the smoke cleared I could see the white moon, the straggly black tree branches grasping at the sky and the gray clouds, everything coming into focus all at once.
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haley lemieux is a sophomore in high school and she works as a swim instructor (but doesn't do much else). she lives in suburban maryland and is in an educational system tailored towards people who cannot spell 'trees'. she has a deep love for books, television and politics. travelling is her only viable ambition and she has absolutely no idea what she want to do with her life.