Grayscale

-Chapter 10-

Twirling the pen in my hand, I stare at frustration at the lined paper in front of me, aqua lines streaking across a white plain. I can’t get anything to come out of my head, but it’s not like my head is devoid of knowledge, or a vaporous cloud. In fact, my brain is whirring with random facts, but not the kind I need. Right now, I am supposed to write something, anything, that is meaningful to me. Sierra especially told me to write down anything that upset me. At least, I think that’s what she said before she ran away to do Sierra activities.

Sighing, I start writing words down. I will get nowhere if I keep staring at the paper. Prejudice. Hate. Racism. Racism! 

I wish racism wasn’t in society. I wish it wasn’t a word at all, some random made-up blabber, as strange sounding as the word “komfigus” because there would be no need to describe this hatred if only it did not exist. I stare at the drying, black ink, contrasting with vibrancy to the stark, white paper. 

I wish Karen wasn’t so obsessed with popularity, that she wouldn’t tell me everyday, “you’re no one till you’re talked about”. Is that why she parties all the time, and looks for attention? If so, she has succeeded because she is popular. But, she is not happy or satisfied. I wonder if she’ll ever be satisfied, or happy. I doubt it. How can you be happy when people are talking about you?

Then, I write down the most troubling thought of all. I wish that people didn’t have to think that they need to follow what’s “in season” to be cool. Don’t they tell us to be unique and creative? Then why, tell me why, when I look at a crowd, everyone looks identical? I wish I could be like Sierra, not caring what other people think, living a life that is colorful instead of a boring one. I wish I, and the world, weren’t so grayscale. 

* * * 

I arrive at Sierra’s house. She is standing on the porch, holding a lantern, and grinning like a madman. When I reach her, I can feel her bubbling with glee and anticipation, the emotions pouring out of her. Her eyes blend in with the velvet night, eyes twinkling as bright as the stars tonight.

 “Marley Aspen!” Sierra says.

 “Hey. I brought my paper.” Proudly, I show her the one pager that took me so long to write.

Sierra laughs. “That,” she says, “is incredibly short.” She fingers a thick stack of paper in her hand, flipping through it. “This is what you actually want to do.”

 “What? I could barely write anything. How do you expect me to do that?”

Sierra laughs. “I don’t. But come on, tonight is going to be unforgettable. We might as well start now.”

“Where are we going?” I ask Sierra as she pushes ahead of me, her lamp flickering weakly.

Sierra halts, looking around the area. Looking ahead, she stares at an object and smiles, satisfied. I follow her gaze to the tree, the one we raced to in the rain. Without her saying anything, I know we are where she intends us to be. “I, Sierra Ryder, will read to you, Marley Aspen, tonight on May third, twenty fifteen.”

Listening intently, I sit down on the ground. The rain-soaked day floods into my memories, and I wistfully remember how much fun I had that day.

“Before I read you anything,” Sierra says, “I have to tell you something since you’re sober now. Remember last week?”

Groaning, I cover my face. “Please, stop.” I still get voicemails from Natalie telling me how much fun she had. Karen also forced me to clean up the house with her since she said I was part of the crime. And I didn’t really remember what happened that night, but it must’ve not been good because I still get weird looks from a couple in school. I had to tell Mom and Dad that my pounding hangover was a sickness from hiking at three in the morning.