Daisy

Thursday, October 14

"Isn't that butterfly pretty?" I ask James, as a blue and black butterfly flutters by. We are in the grass field in school, leaning against a large tree. It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining but there are just enough clouds to block out the heat, providing the perfect weather. Even if the sun had been overbearing, the tree would've been enough shade. I love butterflies, and this is a rare time I got to see a blue one. Usually they are yellow or orange and black at most.

"I don't know, is it?" he replies, and I start to question his taste. Maybe he just doesn't like insects all too much, but even so, can't he at least tell that the colours are pretty? I thought he had an eye for these kinds of things, from the way he picked the necklace for his girlfriend. I thought he liked blue, since the quartz on it was a purplish blue.

"Yea, it's beautiful. The pattern on the wings...The colours of the butterfly...The shade of blue matches perfectly with the black," I say. Honestly, I am spewing a bunch of rubbish. Black goes with any colour. But I really want him to see and recognise the beauty of this butterfly. I feel like I have to prove it to him.

"Really? I can't tell," he says nonchalantly. I look at him in surprise, confused. Didn't I explain it to him? What does he mean?

"You...can't?"

"I can't see colours. To me, everything is in black and white,"

When he said that, there was a sudden vision. It was like I suddenly took only one step closer, but moved a thousand. I saw him, kneeling in shallow, black water. There was no light. Only him completely bound by golden chains. I knew. He doesn't have to lay it out for me. I know. He isn't colorblind. He is broken.

"Oh, James," I cry. He is a cheerful, bright boy that lights up the entire room with his smile. But... Why hadn't I looked past it? I hadn't realised that it was a mask, covering up all of it deep inside, concealing his pain and his brokenness.

Before I knew it, I had embraced him in a hug. Tears pouring down my face.

"It must have been so hard...so so hard. I'm here for you, okay?"

"Okay"

Tears fall like rain, starting with the first few drops before tumbling down. Pelting. Pouring. I can't tell whose tears are whose anymore. But it doesn't matter. All I want to do is run into the pitch-black darkness and pull and tug at those golden chains until they break. No matter the cost, no matter the price.

No matter what it takes.

James

Yea, everything lost its colour long ago. I thought it was normal. I thought I was born with it. This is the reality for me. In pre-school, when the teachers pointed out the different colours I seemed to be the only one left confused. So most teachers assumed I am just colourblind. When I was a kid, I fought violently, remembering that I had seen colours before, and I told them so. None of them believed me, and labelled me as colourblind anyway. Soon, I did too, thinking that the colours I once saw were all part of a dream.

All I see are different shades of grey and white. Like the olden TV screen or the olden pictures. Black and white. Colourless. But it is strange to me, since people say that black and white are colours, but they still tell me I am colourblind. I disagree with the term colour blind, I still see colours, just only two. Black and white. Well, three, if you count in grey. I wondered what it was like for others, seeing the sky which was supposed to be blue and seeing the sun which was supposed to be yellow. I wondered if I would understand the saying that sunny days were good days better, if I could see the colours. I never understood the fascination of rainbows, they all looked like a scale of black and white.

When I saw Daisy I was happy, because her eyes and her hair are the darkest shade on the scale; black. Meaning that I know what colour her eyes and hair are, I don't have to think so much about it. And I don't have to spend the time wishing I could see the colour of her hair or her eyes. Wishing I could see the colours of her clothes is enough effort.

Her arms wrap around me, embracing me into a tight hug. She does it so naturally, out of her instinct. Caring for others is built into her system. That is what drew me to her. I hear her sniffing, and feel my shoulder become wet.

"It must have been so hard. I'm here for you, okay?" How strange. Hot tears land on her shoulder. Am I...crying? Tears flow freely, as if escaping and running from a cage. As if a bird is set free after being captive for so long.

"Okay," I choke on my tears. "Okay." It has been so long since I last cried. Was it normal for my eyes to start burning and for me to start hiccupping? Was it normal for my nose to start running endlessly like it'll never stop? Was it normal for me to cry so much that I couldn't breathe anymore?

When I start to calm down, my swollen eyes find the sky. Was it always this blue? It's... beautiful. Then my eyes find hers, and I realise I have been wrong. Her eyes are brown.

I was so upset when her eyes appeared to be black again. Now I wish that I could see them for a little while longer, and I wish that the sky would fill with blue again.

I am upset, pining to see colour again, now that I know I am not colour blind. That glimpse of colour keeps me yearning for more.

But at least, instead of chasing after nothing, stumbling in the darkness, at least, I'm now running after a small glimpse of light.

Magical light that I never thought I would see.