Written by Nuraina | @heyainaaa
It was another usual Tuesday for me. My days were always dull, clouded by an unknown, bright abyss that was the only thing that filled my vision. I could hear other people’s eyes on me as I tapped my way down the hallway, passing by the other students. It was easy now navigating through the labyrinth halls of my school after coming to Brookfields High for three years. However, the uneasy feeling from the people’s stares never quite faded in those years. The uneasiness told me what they were thinking, “What’s a blind kid like me going to a normal school with them?”
I managed to enrol in this school through the recommendation from my blind grandfather. He was one of the most highly respected headmasters of the school back in 1992. Despite the image of Brookfields High being one of the elite schools in the country with excellent non-disabled students, my grandfather thought it was time for a change. “A new era shall be born,” he said. I thought the old man was just crazy saying those words in one of my weekly visits to his hospital room, while we played his favourite game of chess. None of us really won as we didn’t know where our chess pieces should go. We just moved it around the board and laughed it out in the end.
In English class, Mrs. Aria led the class with another chapter of Pride and Prejudice. Her voice rang across the room as she read each line out loud while my mind drifted towards something else. My fingers ran over the raised dots on the pages absentmindedly while trying to decipher a rushed dialogue happening outside the window. My ears were focused on the sweet voice of a girl. Though, I was sitting at the opposite side of the classroom near the back door. The pair giggled.
Thump.
My mind and gaze snapped to attention to the direction of the sound. It was Mrs. Aria shutting her book with her fingers. “Right,” she started, sitting crossed legged on her desk. “I’m going to give you an assignment,” the class groaned. “Don’t worry, it’s just a short one. You will have to present your favourite colour in class next week.”
Was she joking?
“Dismiss.” She said, simply. With that, everyone got up and walked out of class. I waited until the groaning and whispering faded for a chance to approach Mrs. Aria’s desk.
“Ahh, Thomas, how can I help you?”
“Mrs Aria,” I nervously said. “About the assignment. I think– Well I don’t… understand how to do it.”
“All you have to do is talk about your favourite colour.” she said simply. “Is there something wrong?”
“Well, the thing is… I’m blind. I don’t think I have a favourite colour.” I explained.
She let out a small laugh. “Thomas, you’re not really thinking. This assignment is a test, to see if all of you can tap into the creative mind that you have yet to explore. You have potential, Thomas. I have read your essays and I know that you can see this assignment in a new light. I believe in you, good luck.”
Every night, I sat in front of my Braille Sense and Braille Display which helps people like me to take notes. In simpler words, it’s a keyboard for blind people. Thank goodness for technology. The match in my mind has yet struck the surface igniting the words for the coming presentation. On Saturday morning, feeling defeated to write anything, my mom thought it was a good idea to pay my grandfather a visit again at the hospital.
***
“Ahh is that Tommy I hear?” my grandfather said as I scanned my way into the door of his room with my cane.
“Hey there grandpa.” I said as I felt for a chair next to his bed and sat down. I knew the curtain was drawn open as I could feel the afternoon heat on my skin from the sun through the window.
“So, tell me, how’s your week been Tommy?” my grandfather said coarsely.
I sat there for a moment, with the assignment lingering in my head since I woke up.
“What’s wrong Tommy?”
“I have this assignment to do where I have to present my favourite colour.” I told him.
“Mrs. Aria has her way of being creative, I see. But what’s the problem?” he asked.
“Grandpa, I can’t see. How could I possibly have a favourite colour when the only colour I know is white. And I hate white. I wish I could see other colours.” I groaned and crossed my arms, sinking back into the chair.
My grandfather laughed. “Well, I know what my favourite colour is.” I made a disapproving face even though he couldn’t see but I’m sure he could sense it. “The colour is quite sweet, a bit bitter and cool. I can feel it when I taste the dark chocolate your mother loves to bring me. I’m guessing you have some in your pocket.”
I could feel him smirking. I took out the chocolate bar and handed it to him. He immediately tore it open and took a bite out of it.
“Mmmm…” he said, chewing and swallowing. “Tommy,” he started again. “You have a favourite colour, but you just don’t know it because you can’t see it. You have felt it though,” he paused and coughed out a harsh and heavy cough. I instinctively got up to fetch a glass of water, but he stopped me with a light tap on my arm, signalling me to sit back down and that he was fine. “I like the colour of the sun. It’s very warm when it hits my face in the afternoon from the window. The kind of warmth I wish my eyes to see. I love the colour of the clouds when it rains. The sound of the soft thunder and the dewy yet calming smell, telling me it’s darker yet more peaceful than the colour of the sun. People like us, Tommy. We name our colours differently because we experience it differently.”
– THE END –
