I am 15 years old, and I live in a Charlie Chaplin world. That is, I am completely and utterly blind to colours. No, not in the sense that I can’t differentiate red from green, I don’t even know what red or green looks like. All that I can see is black, grey and white.

Not that I blame anyone or anything for my condition. Maybe I should, but I don’t. It’s pointless, really; life is too short to be worrying about colours or the lack thereof. I do want to observe the glory that the Lord has made in all its colourful splendour, but really, the world’s beautiful enough as it is.

So here I am, sitting in a congregation, singing my heart out to the Lord my Father. I love music, singing. Cliché as it may be, when one has a dilapidated sense of sight he tends to appreciate the other senses more.

So then service was over, which meant it was time for our cell group meetings, but I decided to pop by the cafeteria and grab a drink first. All that singing does leave your throat a little dry. And there I saw her. I scanned her, starting from her feet up. Worn-out Converse sneakers, hipster jeans, a white top with “SPACE ODDITY” emblazoned on in black. Beautiful grey hair and skin, and beautiful, beautiful grey eyes hidden behind dark-rimmed glasses. Familiar white headphones reached her dainty ears from her pocket. Incredible.

I stepped behind her in the queue and an unusual, but pleasant fragrance entered my nostrils. This close to her, I even managed to catch the tune of the song pumping out of her headphones. It was some song by The Clash. If I hadn’t known better, I would have fallen in love with her that very instant.

I did not see the need to talk to her; we probably would not have become friends unless it was God’s will anyway. So I followed the queue, bought a Coke, and headed towards the room where my cell group was held. Then, something curious happened. All the way she walked ahead of me, and I was partially surprised to see her enter the room my feet were bringing me to.

We sat on chairs arranged neatly into a circle. She sat directly opposite me. We started with prayer. Then, our cell leader introduced her to us. She was a year older than me, excelled at her studies (her face turned a different shade of grey at this), and she had acute leukaemia.

We fell a bit silent, but then our cell leader proceeded to inform us that she had come here in hope of some purpose in whatever was left of her life, and if it was God’s will, healing. She had refused to undergo chemotherapy under the urging of her Christian friends, who managed to convince her that if it is God’s will, let it be.

And so we prayed over her body, covering every detail. God likes it better when you go into detail. And then, cell was over. We proceeded outside. She hadn’t said a word the whole time during cell, but now she was chatting confidently with the others. I was about to approach her when all of a sudden I noticed something uncomfortably peculiar. There was something about her greyness, something invisible to normal, colour-seeing eyes, which rendered her somewhat ethereal; and it frightened me. It was almost as if she were already dead. I saw her glance in my direction a couple of times, and I would quickly avert my gaze to the cross above the doorway of the main sanctuary. Black and white, black and white, this was what kept me safe.

We left the church grounds, and I was disappointed that I had yet to hear her voice. I’ve cultivated an appreciation for voices, the different intonations, accents. I’m sure her voice would have been beautiful. But no matter, there was always next week. If she were still alive.

My home wasn’t far from church, so I walked home as always, taking in the various (black and white) sights, sounds and scents around me. This was what kept life meaningful, marvelling at every single one of God’s wonderful creations. But then, amidst all the beauty, I was suddenly struck by a great, unmistakable shadow I saw ahead. It was her.

I stalked her from a distance. It did feel a little strange acting so secretive, in fact following her in the first place was incredibly out of the ordinary for me, but I felt irresistibly drawn to do it.

But then I found myself heading down a road too familiar, in the end turning into the Norwegian Wood condominium. I continued to follow her; into a block, up the stairs, till my feet finally stopped right in front of my doorstep. She had turned into an apartment one floor down.

My mind was racing. She lives in the same block as I do? I had personally never seen her before, and I was sure that I would notice someone like her. This was just amazing. It was God’s will. I knew it at once, though it was impossible to explain how. It was like how you know how a tree is a tree, you don’t know exactly why, but you just know it is.

I entered my house and got on the computer, but my mind seemed to be fixated on one thing. That girl. It was a worrying situation. After all, I had learnt to focus on God and God alone, but now I was getting distracted by this girl I hardly even knew.

I sat down on my bed and prayed for guidance, and as I prayed, her image only grew clearer and clearer in my mind. Then it struck me as clear as black and white clear can be. God was calling me to her. It was strange, but obvious. Just like you know a tree is a tree when you see it.

It was impossible to resist from then on. Why resist God? I headed down and my feet stopped me right at her doorstep. I reached for the grey doorbell and pressed.

Ding-dong.

There was no response for about ten seconds. Normally I would have waited longer, but the urgency that I felt drove me to press the doorbell again.

Ding-dong.

The lock clicked, the doorknob turned, the door opened, and there was her black and white face before me. She stared at me for a moment, and then she spoke.

“Um… Come on in.”

Her voice was beautiful. I was ostentatiously reminded of the doorbell. Ding-dong. It echoed in my brain for several moments.

I proceeded to sit next to her on the sofa. And then we just sat there, next to each other, staring at a television that wasn’t even switched on. I had to speak, if just to break the silence.

“What are colours like?” I asked carefully.

A confused expression masked her face.

“Oh, I’m colour-blind, in the most literal sense of the words. I only know what black, grey and white look like,” I explained.

“Oh,” she replied. Ding-dong. “Colours make the world beautiful. Imagine a sound. Music. Every note has its own tone, its own shade. Colours are like notes that you can see.” She paused. “I’m sorry about your condition. I’ve always hated black and white movies.”

“The world is still beautiful though,” I replied, smiling. “Everything that God has made is perfect in my eyes.”

We kept quiet for a moment. She spoke first.

“You know, I’m afraid of dying,” she said, a slight tremble in her perfect voice. “I know I’ll be in heaven, but I can’t let go of this world. I’m just so afraid of the beautiful things I’ll miss.”

“Heaven is much more beautiful than you can possibly imagine. I, for one, am sure that I’ll be able to see colour in heaven.” I said softly.

She nodded hesitantly.

“I don’t believe I caught your name,” I said. “My name’s Val.”

“My name’s Sarah.” She smiled. “It’s funny what normal names we have, for two abnormal people.”

I nodded.

“God must have sent you to me,” Sara said. “I just know it.”

Just like how trees are trees.

I felt an impulse, and upon that the fearsome aura surrounded her again, but I was no longer daunted. I held her hand, leaned forward, and kissed her right on her lips. She kissed back. And we just stayed there, enveloped around each other, and then, for the slightest moment, a revelation came to me. I saw heaven, in all its glory and splendour. This was what colour was then, this was what flavoured every surface of the world. It was impossibly beautiful, almost as beautiful as Sarah was.

At that very moment, we broke our kiss, embraced and started crying. And I just said three words aloud.

“Praise the Lord.”

(1499 words)

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