The clickety clack sound my heels made on the tiled mall floor reverberated in the near empty space. No different than any other Sunday morning. I predictably grabbed a coffee in the food court before any stores opened for business. The quiet would not last long; it would soon turn into a busy beehive of consumerism.
Michael, my best friend, joined me there, the finest company a girl could have. Welcomed conversation over a “one milk one sugar”. Which oftentimes quelled the noise within my head. He lifted the paper cup up to his mouth still too hot to drink, and said “What do you have planned for me today?”
“Michael, we should find you some new clothes. I love you but all you wear is the color grey.” My eyes fixated on the steam billowing out the top of his cup.
“Nothing wrong with grey, don’t you like it?” His silly tone quickly breaking my train of thought. “Matilda, look in the stores. Everything for men is either navy, grey or black.”
If a soul should be wearing this lifeless color it should be myself. Depression accompanied me wherever I went. An unwanted third wheel, raining all over my self-confidence. Dirtying all desire for my own happiness.
Michael though, was as beautiful as any fella could be. His color is more responsible with tones of nurturing and love aspects added to it. His brightness illuminates so differently than the rest. He lives his life from his own viewpoint rather than doing what others think he should. He brings fuchsia to my cinereal beinghood. Exhaling of passion and courage, he fills my lungs with hope.
Such a playful color, fuchsia. Pairing so brilliantly with grey. These clothes could never define him. I know now he need not change a thing.