To Be Different
I blinked and looked around. The glasses were in my hand, but I didn’t believe it. There are no glasses, I told myself. They shouldn’t exist.
But there they were. Resting in my hand.
This isn’t happening . . . This isn’t happening . . .
Oh, but it was. Everyone around me was grey. They had grey clothes, grey skin, and grey personalities. But that didn’t surprise me. I had known that.
But I wasn’t pink.
My whole life I had thought I was pink. I had known it! When I asked others, they told me I was pink. They said my clothes were a lovely shade of pink, my hair was a hot and spicy pink, and my dreams, they were as pink as the clouds of a sunset.
I had no idea.
Where did these glasses come from? I don’t remember putting them on! But I suppose I’ve had them on for longer than I can remember. It’s no wonder I’ve been getting strange looks from people. I’ve been acting pink. I’ve been thinking pink. I’ve been dressing pink.
But then he showed up. In his little brown book, he had the stories of so many people who wore glasses. Purple people. Orange people. Red people.
I tried to laugh with him, but he just looked at me. He said I had on glasses too. He said they were pink.
But I didn’t believe him. I argued with him. I debated with him. I reasoned with him. But he insisted, so I doubted myself.
Later, on the bus ride home, I looked around. I touched my pink dress with my rosy pink hands. Impossible.
Very slowly, I reached my hands to my face. To my horror, there was something there.
A pair of glasses was resting on my head. I carefully pulled them off.
I blinked and looked around. The glasses were in my hand, but I didn’t believe it. There are no glasses, I told myself. They shouldn’t exist.
But there they were. Resting in my hand. And I wasn’t pink.
I was grey. Just like everybody else.