Colours

f o u r

Time went by and the season gradually changed and that's when you realized it's been two months since you spoke to him. After that disastrous conversation by the elevator, he didn't make any other attempts to talk to you, thank god, kept to himself. It was surprisingly easy avoiding each other, much too easy.

Just like you predicted, the gossip moved on and you were nothing but a past topic. But you haven't moved on. You were still in this weird limbo of feeling out of place. All of the things that once brought you excitement brought tainted memories instead.

You bagged up all of your colourful outfits and donated them and used that as an excuse to go shopping for more suitable clothes. The women at the store had no problem styling you, using you as an opportunity to make some money but it was a win win situation so you didn't mind.

You looked up from your place on the floor, at your closet that was now a dark palette of blacks, a physical manifestation of your true inner self. You got up and closed the doors and crawled into bed, throwing the blanket over your head. Your small cocoon kept you safe from the world as a memory you thought had been buried came rushing back:

A little girl sat on a lonely bench, unnoticed in a busy mall, clutching a doll to her chest. She waited and waited for her mother to come back, watching the different crowds that went by and how the people grew less and less.

Soon, it was dark. "The mall is closing," a guard said as he looked at her with worry. "Where are you parents?"

The little girl shrugged her shoulders and continued clutching her doll, unsure of why she was sitting there alone, too young to know she had been abandoned.

The guard held out his hand and she followed to a small office and then the people in uniforms came. Cops. As they processed all the paperwork, she overheard them say something about bright colours.

She looked down at her black leotard, if she was wearing something bright would her mother have found her?

As the little girl grew within the foster system, she realized her mom didn't leave her because she couldn't find her. She left because she didn't want to be a mother anymore.

Hot tears escaped your eyes. People thought you wrote bright colours because you were weird. Truly, you wished it was that because the real reason made you look so pathetic. It was because the little girl inside of you stupidly thought that if she wore bright colours, she could be a lighthouse and people wouldn't abandon her again.

But it happened once more and to that thought, you fell asleep, a temporary relief from the burden of being awake.

An annoying knocking sound pulled you from your deep sleep. You squinted at the clock and saw you had somehow slept for a day and a half. Fighting the grogginess and all around icky feeling of being asleep for a while, you walked to your door and looked through the peephole.

It was a man you didn't recognize. "Can I help you?" you shouted through the door.

"Uh Hi! I'm {his name}, your new neighbour. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself, apologize in advance for any noises as I am going to be renovating."

You didn't know what to say. "Okay."

"It's kinda weird talking through the door. I would love to place a face to that lovely voice."

Lovely? Your voice sounded like a forty year old man. "Give me a few minutes to get ready."

"Okay, I'll be back in 15."

You heard his footsteps retreat and you sagged against the door. You were not up for visitors but you also didn't want to make a rude impression on your new neighbour.