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my eyes and look at the floor.
    “What is it
about fall that draws you to it?”
    “I like to
watch the leaves change color, I sit on my kitchen counter and watch every day as
the leaves go from a vibrant green, through yellow, and then to a deep orange.”
    “Do you like
the color orange?”
    “Yeah, I do.
My life is so colorless. I like to pretend that I’m submerged in brightness.
But most times it’s only for a few seconds before I’m reminded how black my
life really is.” I let my chin fall to my chest, weighed by the truth of my own
drab words.
    “What’s your
favorite color? I love green; I find it very serene and peaceful.”
    I look at
Dominic and notice he’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a green, button-down
long-sleeved shirt.
    “Purple.
When I was a kid I wanted a purple room. My mom and dad loved me so much that
they painted my bedroom four different shades of purple. They did it when I was
at school one day, and when I came home they pretended that they’d had a normal
day. When I went into my room I screamed and started crying, I was so happy.”
    “How old
were you?”
    “I was
twelve. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I wasn’t allowed to sleep in
there for a couple of nights, until the smell was gone, but it’s stayed that
color to this very day. Well, I assume it’s still four shades of purple. I haven’t
been to my parents’ house in…” I trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
    “Tell me
about your best friends.”
    “I don’t
have any.”
    Dominic
stares into my eyes, knits his eyebrows together and tilts his head to the
side. “I find that quite difficult to believe, Allyn. You have a very pleasant,
easy personality. Why don’t you have any best friends?”
    “I don’t
have friends at all.”
    “Well, that
definitely can’t be true,” he says as he uncrosses and re-crosses his legs.
    “I can’t be
around people. They scare me. And the friends I did have left me when I…”
    “When you what?”
    “When I
couldn’t be what they wanted.”
    “And what
did they want?” he asks, shifting his weight again.
    “They wanted
me to be normal.”
    “What makes
you think that you’re not normal?”
    “I should be
over what happened to me.”
    “According
to who?”
    “Well it’s
been almost three years. And I saw those girls on TV, that after only four
months they were able to tell their story. It’s been three years and I still can’t
get those moments out of my head.” I stand and start pacing just inside the
door.
    “Allyn,”
Dominic calls to me. I look over and he’s standing, too. “Allyn,” he says again,
as I continue walking back and forth in a vain attempt to ease my frustration.
    Three damn
years and my mind won’t move past it.
    Why?
    “Allyn!” he
says forcefully, dragging my attention back to him.
    “Yeah?”
    “There’s no
right or wrong here. There are no hard and fast rules about how long it takes
to heal. Comparing yourself to someone else, regardless of the situation, is
useless and wrong. Every situation is unique. But I suspect you already know
this. And I also suspect that your environment is the one thing you can
control, so you keep yourself locked away for your own peace of mind.”
    I stop
pacing, and turn to look at Dominic.
    Are his
words true?
    Am I so
broken that the only way I can exist is to stay hidden away in my home?
    Can I choose to overcome the pain and learn to face the catastrophic event that took place
that overcast day?
    “I want color
in my life again,” I say in a tiny whisper.
    “I didn’t
hear you,” Dominic says as he takes a step closer to the screen door, turns his
head and angles it toward the door so he can hear me better.
    “I want to be
able to see more than just beige, Dominic. I want my purple back. I want the
bright orange for inspiration. I don’t want black inside me anymore. I need
colors.” I take a step closer to the door, when I reach it I rest my forehead
on the