I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
My teacher was staring me down, well, staring me up, actually- she was a petite woman. She was slightly plump and it wouldn’t take a genius to tell she was slightly old. She had wrinkled, saggy and extremely fair skin, which made the freckles on her skin stand out. Despite her age, her hair was dark and thick. Her eyes were a deep brown that was glaring at me with an unwavering, piercing gaze. Usually, when a new student joins a school, you’d think your teacher would be sweet, ask you about yourself and maybe show you your way around. But this one of those unusual circumstances I was not-so blessed to be in. My focus shifted back to her when she slowly started to circle me, like a vulture stalking its prey. I started to panic slightly, not knowing how to react to this. I mean, you can’t blame me, a child shouldn’t have to go through this type of trauma. I looked up at the students of my new class, all of them not even paying attention to my nearing death, as if this happens on a regular basis. Some even wore bored or annoyed looks. A girl at the front let out a frustrated sigh.
“Can’t you just get over with traumatising the poor girl already?!”she said, impatient. I can’t tell whose side she’s on.
“Zip it, Pedro!”the teacher barked from behind me, making me jump.
“That’s not even my name.”she retorted, but the teacher ignored her.
“I would ask you for your name, but I’ll forget anyway.”she said, finally coming to stop in front of me. She finished as she straightened her back, as much as she could anyway, hands clasped together. “I am Ms.Davis, I’ll be teaching you chemistry and that’s really all you should know.”
“And that she is still a ‘Ms.’ because she has no chemistry.”someone at the back snickered. In one swift motion, she turned on heel and glared at boy, but he seemed unfazed. She turned back to me and eyed me for another minute or two before waving me off. I made my way to the back of the class and took a seat.
* * *
The name’s Violet, like the colour- which is pretty ironic because I can’t see violet. If you couldn’t tell, I am colourblind. You’re probably thinking of a black and white movie, but that type of colour blindness is very rare. I have tritanopia- I won’t bore you with all the science, but it basically means I can only see shades of red, blue, grey and black. Over the years, I’ve learnt to tell when something is actually red, or I’m just seeing it that way. It’s almost like I’m a true American- forever seeing American colours. Or like I have a permanent photo filter in my eyes. My friends in San Jose used to say I wasn’t missing out on much- that colours like yellow are gross. But it isn’t until you’re deprived of something like colours, you’d do anything to see them, even if it’s just a glimpse. Now you’re probably thinking, ‘Why don’t you just use those fancy glasses that are for the colourblind?’. I actually did consider this for long time, but then I figured it would make me feel out of place. That I need to go out of my way to see what others can see so easily. That something is genuinely wrong with me. And when almost half people you meet are telling you that, you wouldn’t want to prove them right.
* * *
It’s not like I wanted to leave my old school and come to Redwood High, but I didn’t have a choice- my dad got a job transfer and we had to move to Cupernito, a small city in California. Besides that, my grandmother had recently just passed away, so we had to be here to take care of my grandfather. In my entire family, I was probably closest to my grandmother, mainly for the reason she was colour blind as well, only she had protanopia- where she can see a few shades that I can’t like yellow and purple. For some reason, it made us closer. She’d tell me about the world through her eyes and I’d tell her about the world through mine. We were like pieces of a puzzle- together, the world would look normal. It was because of her, that I could see much more than what meets my eyes. But now, I can’t help but feel alone all over again, like I lost a few pieces of my puzzle.
I almost lost my balance as I stumbled over something, probably a rock. Its only then that I realise I’ve drifted away from the cafeteria, lost in my own thoughts. I stop walking and pause to look at my surroundings. Well, this is a nice place to get lost. The grass under my feet was soft and lush blue, tickling my ankles a I took small steps. There was just one tree, but it was huge- its branches spread out widely, as if embracing the gentle breeze and the warmth of the sun. They were filled with dull, grey leaves and the flowers were a deep red. But the contrast was too much, and I quickly learnt that the leaves were actually green and the flowers purple- but of course my eyes would mix them up. I crouched down under the tree, seeking its shade from the bright rays sunshine. I played with the grass for a while, random thoughts crossing my mind, until I reached into my bag and took out my sketchbook. My mom always said that everyone has their own way of expressing themselves. For her, its writing- she’d write beautiful poems about the rivers, trees, sometimes even me. For me, its always been art. My mom would tell me I’d spend hours looking at famous art pieces that were her desktop screen savers when I was little. That was also when they found out about my colourblindness. Since then, I’ve been an easy target to pick on. Vaguely, I remember kindergarten, how the other kids would make fun of me for colouring the oranges blue and people’s skin green. From there, it just went downhill, people coming up with new ways to pick on me. ‘She’s Violet but she can’t even see it!’, they used to say. I guess that’s why I decided to keep it to myself.
“Hey you’re the chemistry girl, right?”
I looked up to see a girl who was a pretty tall, fair skin, short and, judging by the shade of grey, blond hair. Her eyes were the only part of her that I could see it as it was- a bright, electric blue. I recognise her from Ms.Demon- I mean Ms.Davis’s class.
I rolled my eyes at her reference.
“Yes. How did you find this place?” I questioned. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.
“It’s not like its a secret garden or something. It’s in broad daylight.”she said, motioning around herself. She eyed my sketchbook, before her face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“You can draw?”she said excitedly as she snatched it away from my grasp. I reached back for it, but she only moved it further away.
“Well-“I started, but was interrupted.
“You CAN draw!”she answered herself and started flipping the pages furiously, so much that I was scared for my pages. The pages were moving so fast that there was literally a breeze filling our hair and faces. Her eyes were so wide, it looked like they could pop out of they sockets any moment. Then the rambling started.
‘Wow, these are really detailed and the shading! Oh my….these colours are honestly really unique. I mean LOOK! I would have NEVER, in my life thought that purple and yellow would blend in well, but obviously your judgement was better ‘cus you probably- do you like yellow?”
“Actually, I-”I started, but was interrupted again.
“Who am I kidding, of course you like yellow, it’s all over place! And with purple! Wow….I’m just speechless!” If only she was, If only. “Who is that?”she pointed to a sketch of my mom.
“Well, that’s my mo-“I was cut off again, making her think the unthinkable.
“Mona?! The lunch lady? I mean, I know you two knew each other, but you’re that close? But she looks so…pretty in this,I….it just….can’t be! Well, Mona must be one lucky bug to get a sketch of her drawn, and really well too.”
“No, not-”
“Ya, I know, ‘lucky bug’ does sound weird. Maybe like…lucky charm? No, that would spoil the cereal for me. Honesty, I got nothing else with lucky.”
“How do yo-”
“Draw?! Oh no, I don’t draw, I mean, you do. Why would you think I can draw well?”She questioned, giving me a weird look. You’d think it would be the other way around. “You should see my drawings, they’re hilarious. They’d make a baby’s scribble look like a masterpiece.”
“No, not draw. Stop trying to finish my se-”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was- wait I’m not trying to finish your lunch. You’re not even eating! Why would you say something like-”
“HEY!”I raised my voice, successfully closing her mouth. I looked at her in bewilderment.
“How did you not get the last one? I meant sentences. Yes, I can draw, no I-I-uh…don’t…um don’t like yellow, that’s my MOM, not Mona- I didn’t even know we had a lunch lady.”I finished, stopping to take a breath. She looked at me for a second before saying, “Are you seriously panting?” Out of everything I just said, she only processed that..wow.
“Hey, excuse me for not having as much experience as you.”I mumbled to myself, but she heard it and smiled. For some reason, it was kind of contagious.
“Eve.”she said, holding out her hand.
“Violet.”I replied, taking it. Her hand dropped to her side as her jaw dropped, her chin practically sweeping the floor.
“I should have know!”she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Why would you like yellow when you’re Violet. I mean, not saying you literally are, but…” No one was saying that. After a while, my ears tuned out, not really missing out much.
* * *
For the next few days, Eve and I were hanging out together, as much as we could anyway. Our schedules didn’t really match that much, just a few periods and lunch. She gave me a tour of the school, because I keep getting lost, introduced me to different teachers and showed me how to open my locker if I forget my my combination. She is extremely sneaky, talkative and, well, a good friend. I took her to my house the other day, and she got along with my mom so well, you’d think they were best friends for years- it was freaky. Now that I think of it, they are pretty similar- both insanely childish. I keep asking myself if I should tell her about my colour blindness, because I know by now that she wouldn’t tell anyone or make fun of me. But for some reason, I can’t help but feel she’d treat me differently.
* * *
It was a boring Monday morning and we were on our way to our classes, just stopping by our lockers to shove our things in, when suddenly, my door slammed shut. I jumped back and let out a small yelp. When I turned to see my shut locker door, I was met with the longest, brightest red nails I have ever seen. I turned to see three girls I swear I mistook for barbies. Whoa…want a little face with all that makeup? She took her hand of my locker and put it on her hip. The three of them stood in a dead straight line, heads tilted to the same side, red lips twisted into sickly sweet smiles. It reminded me of candy, not the candies which are actually good, but the ones which look good but are really disgusting on the inside. Little did I know, that they were exactly the same.
“Hey.”they drawled out in unison, making me wonder if they rehearsed this.
“You must be new here.” I simply nodded.
“I’m Jasmine but you can call me Jaz-”the one on the right started.
“I’m Jennifer but you can call me Jen-”the one on the left continued, when Eve scoffed.
“I’m Jessica but you can call me Jes-”the one in the middle finished. Jes, Jen… yeah, that’s not confusing at all.
Before I could reply, even react, Eve beat me to it.
“Yeah, I’m Eve and this is Vi”, she said as she motioned to herself, then me. She had a smile plastered on her face, but I could tell it was fake.
“And we bid you goodbye.”she did a little wave with her fingers before grabbing my sleeve and dragging me away from Jes, Je- the 3 J’s.
“Whoa, what was that all about?” I queried, crossing my arms over my chest, successfully stopping her from dragging me like a forgotten mop or something. She looked behind me to see if anyone was there before letting out a breath. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “I’m sorry, its just…you don’t know those guys like I do. Sure, they may seem sweet, but they’re not. Trust me. In the 5 years that I’ve been here, I’ve seen it happen way too often. Someone new, make them feel good, welcomed and then ruin their entire life. And you wouldn’t want to know how.”she elaborated, averting her eyes at the last sentence. Her soft gaze hardened and she gripped her bag straps tightly. Her eyes were shifting back and forth, as if reminiscing something. I dropped my hands to my sides.
“And…it happened to you?”I questioned softly. She looked at me, before turning her head and looking away altogether.
“Well… yeah. I guess so.”she mumbled softly. I tried to give her a comforting smile and nodded my head.
“Its okay, it…happens.”I said awkwardly. She sighed before running her hands through her hair.
“Jen and I, we were best friends in 4th grade, did everything together and everything. Even our families were close. But then in 5th, Jessica came and changed…everything.”
I gave her a sympathetic look. She sucked in a breath. Feigning a smile, she said, “But that happened a long time ago. I just wanted to warn you. I’m fine now.” Her words sounded unsure and I could see right through her lie. But I left it, not wanting to press for details and just nodded.
* * *
The paintbrush swirled around, creating streaks of grey. My hand moved on its own accord, my mind elsewhere. My thoughts slowly diverted back to this week…
I was in a hurry, mostly to go to the art room after lunch so I quickly made my way through the cafeteria. Maybe if I was thinking straight, I would have noticed the bright blue, 3-inch heel in my way.
There was all the courses- corn and cheese salad, meatballs and spaghetti, freezing cold chocolate milk and a little bit of ketchup and pepper. But sadly, no, they weren’t in my tray, but everywhere else- the floor, my clothes, you name it. Laughter echoed through the cafeteria as people snapped pictures, took videos. After slipping on my spaghetti a few times, I stumbled in to the girls restroom.
It didn’t stop there. It continued in all my classes, every period. On the P.E field, in the locker rooms, the hallways, the classes. There were chits in my locker, post-its on my back. I don’t exactly know how it escalated so quickly, one day I was just another girl and the next, I’m a common target. Is this how people feel, getting bullied? Not knowing why you’re getting so much hate, because you swear you didn’t do anything to deserve it. Or just because you don’t seem to fit in, that’s something to be hated on for? The paintbrush slipped from my hand and fell, but I didn’t bother to pick it up. I wasn’t clueless. I knew that the 3J’s were obviously causing this, probably using their influence on people to make them bully me. But what I really didn’t understand, was why they would even think to do such a thing. I let out a sigh, looking at my grey-streaked canvas. I didn’t exactly tell Eve, just covered up my stains or bruises with a lie, but I don’t know how much good that did. Besides, she didn’t seem to notice. She seemed pretty distant, barely exchanging a few words before hurrying off. She wasn’t like her usual talkative, perky self. I reached down, picking up my paintbrush and resuming my work. But for once, it didn’t seem to make me feel any better.
* * *
“That’s beautiful.” My art teacher, Mrs.Pam, said from behind me as I began to fill in the leaves of the tree with a deep shade of red. I was trying to sketch the huge tree in the garden behind the cafeteria, the place where I first met Eve.
“That? Beautiful? That sketch is so inaccurate and the colours are all over the place.”
I turned to see Jennifer (does Jen ring a bell?) with a disgusted look on her face. I tried my best not to react to the last part of the sentence.
“A sketch doesn’t have to be accurate and well, you can’t exactly...blame her.”Mrs. Pam replied.
‘What do you mean?”Jennifer asked, confused.
My eyes widened, releasing where this was going. When I first joined, the school mentioned that it was compulsory to inform them of any physical or mental differences. Of course, my mom openly agreed, saying that how I see shouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of. The school argued when they found out, saying that it wouldn’t be practical to take art. But after a lot of protesting, pleading, even threatening at one point, they gave in. So naturally, the entire staff knows, and the only teacher who hasn’t been treating me like an 80-year-old grandma is Ms.Davis. So I can never get genuine feedback on anything, and I don’t think these teachers realise it, but the world isn’t going to ‘go easy’ on me just because I’m colourblind. But apparently, the 3J’s aren’t going to be like my teachers.
“She’s colourblind.”Mrs. Pam said, almost as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But she had no idea how much that sentence would worsen high school for me.
Heads whipped around in the classroom, eyes widening, jaws dropping. People started to whisper to each other, before it grew louder, allowing me to catch a few words, but I wish I didn’t. They were fingers pointing, people starting to notice my clothing, my art, trying to link my colourblindness with everything. Maybe I was just imagining, but I felt as if they started inching away from me, distancing themselves as much as they can, as if I had a deathly, contagious disease. The only person who didn’t move was Mrs.Pam, who stared wide-eyed, her hand over her mouth, just realising what she did. My vision started to go blurry as my eyes were filling up with tears. I looked down, not wanting to let anyone see me like this. My hair covered my face, as I stared at my grey shoes. As much as I wanted to stay rooted to my spot, I grabbed my bag, my canvas toppling, and left.
* * *
You know in those high school movies, where the popular girls are extremely pretty but extremely dumb as well? Yeah, in Redwood High, it is exactly like that.
“So do you see all black?” That’s not colourblindness, that’s blindness.
“No, she has titanopia.”
“Don’t be silly, that’s the watch company.” Suddenly, Jessica gasped.
“Are you telling me can’t see the colour of your shoes, or clothes? Your gold jewellery? Or you’re nails? Are you telling me you don’t know which colour you’r-”
I cut her off by slamming my locker door shut.
“I wasn’t telling you anything, nor am I going to tell you anything!”I snapped, irritated.
It’s been going on like this ever since art. They’ve been following me around and bombarding me with questions which make absolutely no sense.
“Yeah, you don’t need to say anything, ‘cus no-one wants to hear anything from you.” In an instant, their fake smiles wiped off their faces, showing scowls underneath, directed towards me.
“You’re clearly missing out on so much in life-”Jessica started.
“and how do you..like..live with yourself. Don’t you ever want to see more?”Jennifer continued.
“You’ll never be like any one of us, you’ll never fit in, I feel bad for you, really.”Jasmine finished, her expression saying anything but. At first, I knew what they were trying to do, make me feel bad for myself. So I didn’t immediately take the bait.
“Your mom probably tells you that you that you can do whatever you dream of, but not everything is for you, you know. So, just give up on becoming an artist, you’re just not capable.” One of them said, making me freeze in my spot.
“And just because the teachers are sweet to you here ‘cus of your colour blindness, doesn’t mean we’re going to be. You need to be reminded that you’re not special. No one would want to be friends with someone who can’t even tell them their hair colour. And to support you on your dreams of art- it won’t work out.”
“You’re kind of like the freak of the school. This place is for people who are normal. So you should just leave.” With that, they left. I blinked once, twice. They weren’t even intimidating, just plain stupid. But the more I thought about it, I began to realise something- they were right.
* * *
This isn’t exactly new to me, it’s new happened before. I wish I could say that I’m used to it, that their words don’t get to me. I leaned against the tree bark, knowing that I can be left alone here. It was as if their words were itching their way into my head, urging me to acknowledge them, believe them. I let out a sigh, wishing my self-doubt to go along with it. It isn’t uncommon for teenagers to doubt themselves, to depend on society to know who they are. But when society doesn’t accept you, when they get blinded by a small imperfection, you tend to wrap a blindfold around your own eyes and fill your head with more and more mental blocks.
* * *
My eyes flew open for the hundredth time, unable to take the noise. I charged to my bedroom door and yanked it open.
“What do you want mom?!”I screamed, beyond frustrated with her childish nature. She’s been knocking on my door ever since I got home from school, persistent on knowing why I was looking down. Hence, I figured it would be her, but apparently I was wrong. I looked up to a familiar pair of blue eyes.
‘Who let you in?”I blurted out, not thinking about coming off as impolite. She let out a loose laugh.
“Your mom. She even gave me one of her cookies, they’re delicious.” I turned to glare at my mom on the stairs, who shrugged, pointing at my door and laughing evilly. I narrowed my eyes at her, sending her scurrying up the stairs. I turned back to see that Eve wasn’t there, she was already in my room, running around like there’s no tomorrow.
“You’ve already seen my room before.”I said, rolling my eyes, a faint smile playing at my lips. She stopped, sat down on my chair, crossed her legs, straightened her back, before slouching again and complaining about the back rest, and then said, “We need to talk.” in a thick, british accent. I held back another eye roll and sat across from her on my bed. Eve’s been missing this entire week of school. She was out of station. And it’s great because it was the best week of high school. Note the sarcasm.
“How’s school?”Eve questioned, her face completely blank, unreadable. I sucked in a breadth before telling her everything, no point in beating around the bush.
“And so the 3J’s kept following me arou-”
“I-I’m sorry.”She stuttered, cutting me off.
“For what?”
She looked at me, and I could be wrong, but I thought I saw...guilt, embedded in the blue of her eyes.
“It’s my fault”
I shaked my head.
“Why would it be yo-”
“When you asked me if the 3J’s ruined my life before, they didn’t directly make fun of me. Every time I talked to someone new, or even helped them pick up their books, they would target them. So I have no choice but to voluntarily isolate myself. Because if I didn’t then…”She trailed off. My eyes widened, realisation hitting me in the face. Eve didn’t talk to me, kept avoiding me not because she had a problem with me. But because it’s happened before, because they make her feel like it’s her fault. I shaked my head. They didn’t want to hurt me, they wanted to hurt Eve. It was wrong. I clenched my fists. I looked up to see Eve hurt, tears pooling in her eyes, so I changed the topic quickly. But as I went on, she didn’t repel away from me or even react at all when I told her of my colourblindness. She just smiled. Before I could ask her, she beat me to it.
“I know.” she replied simply.
“H-how?” I stuttered.
“It was kind of obvious. I mean, how you’d hesitate when I even mentioned colours or how you’d take your own sweet time in taking in something’s appearance, studying it. I thought it was just your artist nature at first, but there was more to it. I can read you so easily, Vi, you’re like an open book.”
“Vi?” I questioned. She just shrugged.
“But that’s kind of exactly what I came to talk to you about. I hear-”
“Hold one.” I said, the gears turning in my head. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into telling me. I wanted to hear it from you, because you would want to say it, not from three girls who think too much of themselves.” I smiled at her respect for my privacy, but it vanished as quickly as it came. Eve noticed instantly.
“What’s wrong?” she questioned.
“I don’t know” I sighed, flopping back onto my bed. “Maybe they’re right, Eve. I’m missing out on so much.”
“And who are they to tell you that?”
“Jennifer is an artist.”
“Barely.”she mumbled.
“She is. And an artist is made of their expressions, expressions through colours. A singer is nothing without their voice, so an artist is nothing without their colours. So I am nothing without mine.” I tore my gaze away from the ceiling fan to Eve, to find her shaking her head.
“That’s like saying an athlete is nothing without their legs, but there are so many athletes in wheelchairs right now, after losing their legs…” she trailed off. My eyes widened as I processed her words.
“Sorry this isn’t really my forte.” That made me laugh.
“What I’m trying-” she started
“But failing miserably.” I finished for her. She gave me a look before continuing.
“to say, is that if every single artist sees everything the same, then their way of expressions are going to blend together, they’ll all be the same. But you’re expressions, your way of seeing things, is different, unique. An artist can be made of their expressions but not what they use to express it, not colours. A true artist can create something beautiful without having to rely on colours, just what they see. That’s not only a true artist, but an artist that’s true to themselves.”
I was about to say something, before she cut me off.
“I know that you didn’t tell anyone because you don’t want to be treated differently. But, Vi, think about it. You want others to accept you, but how can that happen when you don’t accept yourself?”
She questioned, her words hanging in the air. I blinked once, twice. The more I thought about her words, I began to realise something- she’s right.
* * *
I layed on my bed, processing everything. I need to stop looking at myself with a doubtful expression, with wavering confidence. If I accept myself, it wouldn’t even matter if others do or don’t. I mean, they’ll always be people who will have a problem with me, but I shouldn’t let that get to me. I should stop thinking of my colour blindness as a weakness, but as something unique. Maybe it may be an obstacle as an artist, but I shouldn’t let that crush my dreams. Even in her sick, twisted example, Eve’s right. Maybe it may even be an advantage in my career. But either way I shouldn’t have to change who I am or what I see to be accepted, or to fit in. I smiled. I used to think that when you’re deprived of something, you’ll always have that urge to know, to see what it is, but in reality, when you’re deprived of something, you learn to appreciate what you do have even more. I looked at Eve, who had a proud smile on her face, finally saying something of some sense. I heard a sniffle at my door, making me whip my head towards that direction. I saw my mom leaning against the door frame, wiping at her now red eyes.
“That was beautiful, Eve, I don’t..how do you…”she sniffed, wiping at her tears, overdramatic. I smile awkwardly at Eve, who looks stunned to the core. I turned to my mom and shoved a cookie in her mouth before pushing her out the the door. I look back at Eve, who, to put in simple terms, looks like a tomato. Her face was bright red and her mouth clamped shut, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
“So you obviously have something to ask m-”I was cut off.
“Oh thank goodness, I don’t think I could’ve holded up for any longer.” she breathed out, the colour returning to her face. Then the rambling started.
“So how does it work? What colours do you see, is it violet, ‘cus you’re Violet, but I’m not saying you can’t be called Violet, just because…”
I tuned out after that, figuring she’ll probably answer her own questions anyway.
* * *
The next day, people started apologizing for bullying me before, and even though I knew they weren’t genuine and just out of pity, I accepted them because I’m nice…..and Eve kept sending me death glares. I kind of felt like a finished puzzle, having finally found the lost pieces of myself. I felt pretty confident, walking through the corridors with my head held high….that is, until I saw Ms.Davis, who was tapping her foot impatiently, giving me a glare that made me want to run for the hills….
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