I Dream in Color


My only thought was to approach her and give her a piece of my mind.  I wanted to let her know that I wasn’t a force to be reckoned with; that I had risen above her Ignorant opinion of me. 

It was a hot Thursday afternoon when I saw a tall, brown skin woman with long black weave come out of the Piggly Wuggly.  I was sitting in the passenger seat of my friend’s truck. My friend was in the store buying a few things.  I felt the weight of the stack of JFPs on my lap.  I got a few extra copies because I’d written the cover story for that week.  I continue to stare at the woman who I recognize as the rude, know it all receptionist who works for one of my former eye doctors. She said that I could NEVER wear contact lenses. It wasn’t really what she said but how she said it.  “Just stick with the glasses,” she said.  Her words came on the heels of the doctor’s refusal to do a surgery that would straighten my eyes and help them to focus better.

In the two years since I visited that doctor’s office I have changed doctors, had surgery(my eyes now focus better) and I’m now wearing contact lenses. She needed to know this. With my right hand I opened the truck door.  With my left I lifted the stack of JFPs from my lap. I was ready for that sista. When she approached her car I was out of the truck.  I dropped the stack of JFPs on the seat.  Right before I slam the truck door I get a glimpse of the title of my cover story.  “I Dream in Color” is written in beautiful blue and green letters. I stare at it.  “I Dream in Color” isn’t just the name of my story; it is how I live my life; how I operate. I look at the woman who is unlocking her car door.  Her sweaty, unattractive face is twisted in anger. I study her briefly.  I went to that doctor for years and her face was always that way.  She was loud, rude and said many things that were incorrect.  From what I remember she was always unhappy; always talking bad about someone.  She turns in my direction but doesn’t recognize me.  I look into her haggard face, deep lines and blemishes etched into her skin and realize that I owe her nothing but I owe myself everything.  She turned away. Her ratty weave was matted to her head. Her cell phone rang as she was getting into her car.  “What!” she said into the phone and slams her car door.

I slip back into the truck and continue to study the title of my cover story.  “I dream in color,” I say.  My body trembled with the reality of what could’ve happened then relaxed when I realized that I have  finally grown in the knowledge that what others think of me isn’t my business.   My business is to move forward and I can’t move forward and hang on to the painful things people may say about me.

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