42Colors and the Shades in Between
LOVE IS COLORBLIND.
So the poster on the white wall says. There it is for everyone to see - in big, bold, black letters set on a bright yellow background.
"Right," said a voice pulled with sarcasm.
I looked at the woman sitting three feet away, a violet-eyed exotic-looking brunette. She was staring at the lone poster inside the room.
"What has become of the world when you can't sit in a clinic without these in-your-face declarations about love?"
"My thoughts exactly. Man and his four-letter words," the woman remarked with levity.
"Just yesterday, I saw a car bumper sticker that says 'Love makes the world go round'."
"I know. Makes you wonder what ever happened to money." She shook her head.
I hid my smile. " I take it you don't agree that love is colorblind."
"Love isn't blind nor colorblind at all," she replied matter-of-factly.
"Hmmm, love at first sight then?"
"Nah, more like love at first bite," she answered with a naughty grin.
I grinned right back. "Do you believe in love?"
"Depends on what time of the day it is." She looked at me, her eyes beaming. "But the concept has merits," she added.
"I'm talking to a closet romantic then."
"Guilty as charged. How about you?"
"I believe in love. I just don't go around looking for the object of it."
"Good for you!" She said then looked away. "So what brings you here?"
"Just a routine check-up. You?"
"A routine check-up as well."
She had such beautiful eyes I couldn't resist asking her about them. "Mind if I ask what's wrong with your eyes?"
"I'm colorblind," she admitted in an almost-buoyant tone as if her condition is as ordinary as stomachache.
"Me too." I volunteered the information like I would about my achievements. I was excited to know we had something in common. There wasn't any need for me to tell her I'm also having my eyes checked for astigmatism.
"I'm blue-violet colorblind. You?"
"Red-green colorblind," I remarked then added, "Hey, this is a one-in-a-million occurrence… two individuals with rare eye limitations in the same room at a precise moment in time," I said in wonder knowing that her condition was even more rare than mine.
"Yeah. Coincidence huh?"
"Or destiny." The look she gave me was loaded. I can only hope mine told her as much.
"Are you always this…" I could tell her mind was frantically searching for a diplomatic word to use.
"Cheesy?" I supplied. And by the twinkle in her eyes I knew I had hit the jackpot.
"I was going to say dramatic." She looked away unsuccessfully hiding her amusement.
"What's life without drama?"
"Indeed."
"I'm Yevgeny." It's time that we move on from being complete strangers to acquaintances. There's something about this woman. I want to know her better.
Much to my chagrin, her only response was - "Nice to meet you Yevgeny." Well, at least it came with a candied smile.
"It's a pleasure waiting for the ophthalmologist with you miss…" I was never one for subtlety.
"Sorry, I don't tell my name to strangers."
"Okay, you just tell them about your views on love. My mom taught me not to talk to strangers. Yours taught you it's okay as long as you don't tell them your name?"
"Yeah, something like that. Nothing personal." Her dimples peeped at me. Heck, I wasn't even trying to be funny!
"Maybe at the end of this conversation, I'll be worthy enough to know your name."
"Maybe, we'll see…"
I looked back at the piece of cardboard that started this conversation. This woman is intriguing.
"So what do you do for a living Yev?"
The kid in me thought it wasn't fair that she wouldn't tell her name when she's clearly comfortable making nicknames out of mine. The man in me, however, was thinking about other matters while surreptitiously observing her lovely form nearby.
"I'm a professional race car driver," I proudly declared.
"That's a job? I thought racing is under the category of hobby not work. You know, boys and their toys…"
I was slow to react. I could only raise an eyebrow. What's with this woman?
"I must say that it's cool though, especially for a red-green colorblind," she added.
I don't know if she was being sincere or was only trying to irritate me. So I just mumbled a feeble "Yeah."
"Does your eye condition bother you in your work?"
I wished she'd drop the subject. "Not really. Speed is speed regardless of disability."
"You're probably used to noticing subtle differences with the traffic lights huh?"
"I don't drive on streets, only on race tracks… you know, for everyone's safety." Why can't I make myself glare at her?
"Oh okay. You got a good outlet of your pent-up energy for day-to-day driving."
I nodded then asked, "How about you? What do you do?"
"I work for an art gallery," she said calmly. Seeing my disbelieving look made her say, "not bad for a blue-violet colorblind huh?"
"Yeah. It's funny how fate led us to careers where color matters."
"You appreciate things better when you can't fully appreciate them," she said.
I nodded in acquiescence. I know what she meant and how she felt.
We've been waiting for the eye specialist for over fifteen minutes now. I wish he'd come much later. I got a challenge sitting close to me.
"So how did you find out you're colorblind?"
Her lips danced in amusement as she answered me. "Mismatched socks and avant-garde color schemes for a kindergartner."
"You were into the arts since you were young then?"
"Yes, pretty much. I like to draw. And to capture reality perfectly needs colors. Therein lies the problem," she told me wistfully.
"You've come a long way."
"I guess so. People like us see the world differently. Without choice."
"I know. I learned about my condition when I was already fifteen. I needed glasses then thinking I was myopic. It turned out I got photophobia on top of being colorblind."
"Quite a shock huh?"
"Pretty much. No wonder my dates gave me funny looks every time I came to visit. I thought they just wanted more chocolates rather than flowers."
Her chuckles reminded me of the soothing sounds of chimes mildly swaying in the breeze.
"You've clearly gone beyond your boundaries. A testament to the limitations of physical conditions and the unlimited potential of the mind and heart," she said.
"You're absolutely right. Life is great though sometimes you feel like you've been given your favorite ice cream with a toothpick for a spoon."
She smiled then looked at her watch. The flower arrangement on the receptionist's table caught my eyes.
"Those flowers - "
"Yes?"
"Their color is the same as your eyes," I mused.
She smiled and said, "I'll take your word for it."
I wanted to kick myself for that slip. She couldn't tell the difference between blue, violet and the shades in between. Or even worse, she couldn't see those colors at all.
"Your eyes have this beautiful shade of violet." I'm humbled by my own lack of tact.
"So I've been told dozens of times. Thanks," she smiled warmly.
I can't make up my mind - to flirt or not to flirt outrageously while I still have the time.
She looked at her left wrist again. The ringing of her mobile phone disturbed the comfortable hum of silence of a room with only two occupants. She got the thing from her handbag and talked to the caller.
Being the gentleman that I am, I didn't attempt to eavesdrop. Instead, I was busy imagining what a pair we'd make and whether or not genetics will be on our side. Can two uncommon traits cancel each other out?
The phone call ended.
"I need to go, got something important to take care of," she explained. "It's been lovely talking with you Yevgeny." She shook my hand daintily.
"The pleasure's all mine," I replied while frantically thinking of a suave way to find out her name.
She had a soft grip. Her hand belongs in mine.
She stood up and moved towards the door. She looked back and waved goodbye before going out of the room and out of my life.
I told myself I'd see her again. Somehow. Then I felt something in my hand.
On a small piece of white paper, written with blue ink was a 7-digit number.
I laughed out loud. She's one very interesting woman.
I may not know her name but I sure got her number.
Her mother should have taught her how to properly behave with strangers. I'm glad she didn't.
"Where's Love?" The receptionist asked as she hurriedly got out of the adjoining room.
"Beg your pardon," I retorted.
"The woman waiting here with you, where is she?"
"Oh her. She said something important came up so she had to leave. Maybe she'll come back this afternoon." Brilliant idea! I could wait for her.
"Okay. The doctor will be with you shortly."
I nodded. "The woman? Her name is Love?"
"Yes, short for Lovella." The receptionist smiled then proceeded to make her phone call.
Now I know the label of a particular brand of beauty, wit, and charm. I can get addicted if I don't watch myself.
So her name is Lovella. Love for short.
Love….
I looked at the white wall once again.
Funny… the poster was right after all.
Love is colorblind.