Color-Blind

by Daya Daniels

  When I stepped inside my apartment, I smelled her before she opened her mouth.

  “Who was that, Vi?” She asked curtly.

  “Oh, you didn’t see?” I joked.

  “Yeah.,” She huffed. “I couldn’t really see anything. Just a truck and a very big man, with a thick black hoodie over his head.”

  I sighed and plopped down on the leather couch to remove my shoes.

  “His name is Elijah.”

  “Elijah what?”

  “Elijah…I don’t know.” I said slumping against the back of the sofa laughing.

  “Violet, you’re drunk. You promised me you wouldn’t drink tonight.”

  I belted out a laugh.

  “You said scout’s honor.”

  “Well, I meant it at-the-time. I’m twenty-nine years old Brooke, not five!”

  “You know Vi, maybe you could act your age. Kyle went to pick you up and you were nowhere to be found. You don’t answer your phone, which I’ve set to ring numerous times. Ana there said she saw you leave with some kid.

  “Then you come home an hour late with a strange man, after getting in his truck who doesn’t have a last name and who currently also doesn’t have a face.”

  “Tell Kyle I’m sorry but stop talking to me like I’m a child.”

  She huffed. “I know you don’t want to accept the limitations of your blindness, Violet but it is reality.

  “You say it as though I don’t know, Brookie.”

  “You do some dangerous shit, Vi. Sometimes I think maybe you want to be injured or raped or murdered!”

  “Maybe I do.” I muttered under my breath.

  She angrily fiddled with the buckles on my strappy shoes.

  “He was nice.” I whispered.

  “Was he?” She asked with an edge of dry amusement to her voice.

  “I like him.” I giggled. “I don’t know why but I like him.”

  She helped me to stand. I threw my arm over her shoulder as we stumbled down the long hallway. When we reached my bedroom, I slipped out of my clothes and under the covers, willing sleep to take me away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elijah

  Each morning when I awoke, I went for a long run along the shoreline of the beach. At that time, there was never a soul in sight. I loved the sensation of the frigid water against the soles of my bare feet and the cold breeze on my face. The sun would peek over the edge of the horizon, turning the sky various shades of orange and pink and then soon it would rise fully. White clouds would suddenly appear just behind the massive formation of Haystack Rock as the seagulls circled the massive formation overhead.

  Cannon Beach was located on the spectacular Oregon Coast. It was a lazy, seaside town that was originally named after a small iron cannon that came ashore from a shipwrecked U.S. Navy Schooner, The Shark.

  I’d lived in here all my life, only leaving to attend school in New York at Columbia University for way too many years. There were few residents here. It was mainly full of tourists throughout the year that visited for the natural beauty of the place. Usually, they stayed in the inns and small bed and breakfasts that were owned by locals.

  It was a five-minute run from where I lived to the beach. The large house I lived in was on a dead-end street in Tolovana Park. I bought it eight years ago for the view when I first moved back to Cannon Beach. I was thirty-six years old. I lived alone, now in a house that was always quiet. So still, that you were surrounded by nothing but your thoughts. Those were the hardest days. My younger brother Asher, lived nearby and my parents were also not too far away.

  I kept to myself in Cannon Beach. I rarely ventured outside during the day. I spent most of my time tending to my patients. I also worked as a perimeter security guard two nights a week at U.S Bank on Hemlock Street to keep myself busy.

  I flipped open my calendar for today which was full of names and telephone numbers, bobbing my head to Keane’s song Again And Again that sounded from the iPod dock that sat on the corner of my desk. Each hour-long session would keep me occupied from the morning until late in the afternoon. I sat in my office, which had a clear view of the beach. Sometimes, I’d sit here for hours and watch the small waves lap against the shore line. I took a deep breath as I relaxed in my leather chair, squeezing a stress ball in one hand. The small malleable toy, helped with the muscles in my right hand but not so much with the stress.

  I picked up the telephone and started dialing.

  Violet

  “Violet.” A familiar deep voice sounded through the intercom.

  I pushed the button. “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, hey sweetie. We’re outside.”

  “I’ll unlock the door.”

  I left my studio and headed downstairs to meet them. They’d let themselves in. Before I rounded the corner to the den, I smelled melon. It was an awful scent that my stepmother Fiona wore it. I was usually nauseous in her presence. The smell of melon probably had little to do with it.

  “Vi.” My dad said, stepping towards me and giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Oh good, you’re clothed.” Fiona muttered under her breath.

  I ignored her with a roll of my eyes.

  “How are you sweet pea?” My dad asked.

  “Fiona.” I greeted looking in the direction of her last remark.

  “Violet.” She said simply as I heard her rummaging around in the kitchen.

  “Please let’s sit down, Dad.” I gestured towards the sofas.

  My dad took a deep breath as he settled into the soft leather across from me.

  James John Sawyer was the love of my life. I worshipped him. He raised me on his own when my mother left us shortly after I was born. He was a young man then who didn’t come from much and was a hardworking contractor now and had been for the last twenty-five years. He’d started a construction company with my uncle, which quickly took off building residential and commercial buildings throughout Portland. Because of him I grew up wealthy, never needing for much of anything.

  “I read the article in the Rolling Stone magazine, Violet.”

  “What did you think?” I asked bouncing in place.

  “I thought it was good but all the sex talk, Violet. I don’t think that needed to be in there. You were supposed to be talking about art.” James pointed out.

  “Sorry, Dad.” I mumbled, sensing the discomfort in his tone.

  “Here, James.” Fiona said. I could hear the jangle of the spoon in his tea cup the peppermint aroma that wafted by.

  “Your work Violet is just amazing.” James complimented.

  When I was seven, my uncle David’s girlfriend at the time bought me an art set for my birthday. She was new to the family and no one had told her I was blind. She thought she was bringing a gift for a normal seven-year old girl. My dad snatched it away from me and told me they’d get me something else in its place. I insisted that I wanted to keep it. Later that evening when everyone was gone, James and I separated the colors of the paints. He explained to me what colors were and which and the best ones to mix together and it all began. I’ve been hooked ever since then.

  Fiona settled in the seat next to him across from me. “I love what you’ve done with the place, Violet.” She said as the scent of her cheap melon mist, nearly murdered my sense of smell.

  “Thanks.”

  My beloved stepmother was always commenting about things she knew I couldn’t see. The best way to deal with her was to ignore her. I had been for the last three years. To me, she didn’t exist.

  “How was Santa Barbara?” I asked.

  “It was good. I’m an old man now, not one for partying, just relaxing.”

  I laughed. “Dad, you’re not old.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I am. You’re just being nice.”

  Fiona let out a small grunt. I don’t know why James insisted on bringing her here with him. I always felt like the time I spent with him was our time. Surely, she could’ve stayed at home.

  “You’re working
on your next collection?” He asked.

  “Yes. It will be sculptures.”

  “Ahh, back to your roots, huh.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, Dad. I want to do something different.”

  There was a long silence as they both sipped their tea.

  “I love to paint but for me there is something about sculpting. You’re making an exact likeness of something. I get to feel the shapes and textures in my hands. It’s just not the same as painting. It’s different.”

  “Violet, you love what you do. You always have. I’m confident that you’ll wow everyone, as you always do.”

  “Have you started working, Fiona?” I pursed my lips in her direction.

  “Violet.” James warned.

  Fiona stood and stomped away. I struggled to hold in my snicker. As long as I’d known Fiona, she never had a job. She had quite a comfortable life, living off my dad’s hard earned money, which I myself stopped accepting when I was eighteen. To make matters worse, Fiona was only five years older than me, which meant that my father had nearly thirty years on her. The whole arrangement made me want to hurl. I’m sure she smelled money the second she met him.

  “Violet, please don’t do this. You know I love her.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” I whispered, hanging my head low.

  “I’m sorry, Fiona!” I shouted immediately, not meaning one word of it.

  James made a long sigh, while the teaspoon in his cup clanked around.

  “I wish you’d soften, Violet. I don’t know what’s made you this way.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m fine Dad, really.”

  “You’re not fine, Violet.” He said softly.

  “Dad, how can you say that?” I asked in an offended tone. “I have defied the odds of what everyone thought I’d be…just some helpless blind girl.

  “I’m educated. I’m successful. I’m wealthy. They tell me I’m pretty. I have you and Brooke. That’s all I need.

  “I’m fine!” I said loudly giving him a huge grin.

  “What about love, Violet?” James breathed out.

  I scoffed. “Love, Dad?” I asked with a twisted face. “Look at where love got you.

  “The first time, stuck with a blind baby to take care of on your own.

  “The second time, stuck with a woman half your age who mooches off you.”

  “Violet.”

  “Dad, it’s the truth.” I said softly. “I’m not sure I believe in love Dad, not that kind anyway.”

  “Never mind, Violet. I wanted to come here and have a nice conversation with you. I didn’t come here to argue.”

  I hated upsetting my father.

  James set his cup of tea down. “Have you thought about the surgery?”

  I sighed. “It won’t work, Dad. I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment.”

  “So, you’d rather not try then? Is that what you are saying, Violet?”

  “No, Dad. I’m saying that this is who I am. I’m blind.”

  “Violet, I don’t understand you sometimes. If there’s something that can help or a solution, then why not at least consider it? It could change your whole life.”

  That was the problem.

  “Dr. Randall can help. He’s a top surgeon for your condition.”

  Dr. Timothy Randall was a world-renowned ophthalmologist at the University of Oregon. His team of surgeons proposed on more than one occasion to correct my eyesight. I was told that there was a ninety- eight percent of it failing and damaging not only the internal structure of my eyes but also leaving the surface of my eyes damaged. The blood vessels in my eye had stopped growing from the retina into the back of my eyes. Scar tissue then developed, pulling the retina loose from the inner surface of the eye causing retinal detachment. It was possible that if after the surgery failed my eyes would never the look the same. I also still wouldn’t be able to see.

  So, then I’d be ugly and blind.

  “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

  James’ large hand settled over mine, softly patting it. “Please consider it, Vi.

  “Fiona and I are going to look around the studio, then we’re going to head out.”

  “Okay, I have a few phone calls to make anyhow.”

  He placed a kiss on my cheek. “I love you sweet pea.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  I listened to their footsteps leave the den.

  Elijah

  “Our relationship is a partnership.” I held the receiver to my ear, as I gazed out the window.

  “Yes, Dr. Griffon.”

  “I’m here to help you. So, what we will do over the next few weeks, is identify the triggers that worsen your symptoms.”

  “I understand.” Embry Walker on the other end of the line said.

  “I want you to write them down, then we’ll speak again in three days. If there is an emergency, please call me anytime.”

  “Yes, okay.”

  “But for now, please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  She sniffled. “Okay, bye Dr. Griffon.”

  “You enjoy the rest of your day.”

  I ended the phone call, stretched my legs out and suddenly found myself chuckling at the thought of Violet. I couldn’t stop thinking about Violet. It was the sound of her voice and her wild spirit that had me fascinated.

  I was certain a woman like her was used to wielding control over all the men in her life. I didn’t think that would fit in with who I was.

  “Dr. Griffon.” I answered when the telephone rang.

  The voice on the other end took a deep breath and sniffled.

  I was used to tears. It was a part of my job. I wanted to understand and help people. I had an extensive list of patients that I’d been treating for the last eight years. After I’d decided to work from home, most of them stayed with me, much to my surprise. The majority of my patients found our conversations over the phone instead of in person more convenient since they could reach out to me at any time and steal an hour away just to talk.

  If patients needed immediate overnight treatment, my old college friend and colleague, Dr. Thomas Leonard, would take care of them at a private facility we can together outside of Portland. The two of us in collaboration with another college friend Ali Pultey, a life coach who was also psych major, took care of patients throughout the Portland area.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes.” He said in a low voice.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Talk to me.” I urged easing back in my chair.

  Violet

  “We found a new space, Vi.” Brooke informed me as she approached where I stood.

  I was in the middle of putting finishing touches on the edges of a painting I’d almost finished.

  Look After You by The Fray sounds through the large room, bouncing off the walls.

  “You smell freshly fucked.” I said dryly.

  “Vi.” Brooke hissed, whacking me in the shoulder.

  “Well, you do.”

  “Hello, Kyle.” I mumbled, glancing over my shoulder before he could speak.

  “Hi, Vi.” He responded without much emotion in his voice.

  “I’m really sorry about the other night. I know Brooke probably told you but I thought I’d apologize directly myself.”

  “It’s okay, Vi.” He responded. “I was just really worried about you.”

  I chuckled. “I was fine. I met someone.”

  “Chew toy number two?” He asked casually, his voice lifting an octave with the last word.

  “Kyle.” Brooke whisper-yelled in a warning.

  I shrugged the dig off with a chuckle and continued to work.“Maybe but for the record, I don’t set out to chew anything.”

  “Vi, Jared loves you.” He declared.

  Jared was Kyle’s best friend which at times made things…awkward.

  “Kyle, do you really want to get it in the middle of that because it’s unwise.” I suggested.

&nb
sp; His footsteps inched closer until the floor creaked just behind me.

  “I’m quite certain your bestie will bounce back with one of the numerous women he was fucking behind my back.” I snapped.

  He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know that Vi and he didn’t tell me.”

  “Exactly, so stay out of it.”

  “I’m just trying to help, Vi. When I saw him later that day, he said you threw him out of your house after you both had just, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Vi.” Brooke whispered.

  “What Kyle? Can you not say the words? It’s all over you and it’s all over Brooke…but you can’t say it?” I chuckled, feeling the wet paint between my fingers.

  Still, he didn’t speak.

  “Fuck, Kyle. The word is fuck. We fucked and then I asked him to leave.”

  “Vi.” Brooke repeated.

  “No, Brooke. I’m tired of this. Everyone always feels sorry for Jared.

  “Why does no one ever feel sorry for me?”

  “Trust me, we all feel sorry for you Vi.” Kyle mumbled under his breath.

  Instantly, my ears heated. “Fuck you.” I said tossing the jar of paint in my hand in his direction.

  “This jacket is leather! What. The. Fuck!” He roared.

  The paint tin hit the floor and bounced off someplace with a few dings.

  “Vi, stop!” Brooke yelled as I reached for another open tin and threw it in Kyle’s direction.

  “You’re fucking crazy, Vi!”

  I rushed over to where Kyle’s voice was coming from and knocked over something, likely one of the easels. It clattered to the ground falling in my path. My toes were soaked in the paint that now slicked the floor.

  “Vi, stop!” Brooke continued to yell, grappling for my arm.

  I grabbed on to Kyle’s jacket, that was covered in liquid. He yanked his arm away from me, swearing. Brooke and I fell to the floor in a heap. I flailed my arms scrambling to get up and fell again, slipping in the acrylic paint, slamming my elbow against the hardwood floor beneath us.

  “Just leave, Kyle!” Brooke shrieked.