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The whole “soulmates” business is actually quite tricky.
For instance, your vision only turns black and white when you are on the same continent as your soulmate. Many studies have been conducted on this matter, most leaving the scientists with more questions than they’d began with, but plenty showing this to be a conclusive fact. No one knows why - but I think most people are so swayed by the romanticism that their judgment and natural inquisitiveness is kind of quashed.
Further tests have been conducted, but it feels like everyone has their own stories about what happened when they met their soulmate. Some people have said when you’re within 500 feet of each other, even if you’re just walking down the street, that time seems to slow down and your ears are in a constant state of ringing until you either meet each other, or you leave that proximity. To me, that sounds absolutely abysmal. How inconvenient it must be for people after a long day at work to be walking home, probably excited about cracking open a beer and taking their pants off to sit in front of the telly, only to have the world decide to slow down?
Other accounts have said that once you’re in the same building, you are struck with a case of some serious allergies. Nothing life-threatening, they backpedal, just itchy eyes, sneezy nose, general discomfort being in the general vicinity. That also sounds horrible to me. I mean, why should I, someone who didn’t ask for something as cliched as a soulmate, have to suffer through some massive discomfort just because of the forces of destiny or whatever wants me to meet the other person? It’s complete hogwash.
And… I guess that leads me to why I’m even talking about this. I was born without the ability to see any color. Growing up proved to be tricky, too, because as I aged, my eyesight started to deteriorate. So instead of things being black and white, it was more like I was just seeing slightly different shades of grey that weren’t even actual shapes. I was told from a young age how lucky I was. “Clara,” My aunts would say to me when I was old enough to hold a conversation with them, “darling, you just don’t even know how lucky you are.” I would just blink at them over whatever pastry or cake I was snacking on. Clearly not, I would think, because it doesn’t seem that important to me.
I stopped telling my friends at school, as well. After a while, being asked if every boy that passed was the one became a lot less like a stupid joke, and a lot more annoying. I remember in year 3 when my best friend Katy Smith kept poking and prodding me during playtime to ask whether this boy or that one in our year made my vision turn colorful. I ended up twisting her arm and screaming at her to leave me alone and never talk to me again. It was one of those secrets that is palpable - one that you know everyone around you knows about but is too afraid to ask about.
It wasn’t until the year I was 23 after I’d gotten comfortable at Coal Hill School, that the gravity of my situation really became relevant to me. I loved children; I loved what their existence promised - in their quintessence, they were a promise above all else that good things did exist in the world. So working with them as a full-time career was nice; more than nice, really. It was incredible.
We had staff meetings every morning before school began, just as a way for all of us to share anything that might need to be shared regarding this student or that one. Once a month we’d have breakfast, bringing in this or that to share with everyone. The atmosphere was beyond kind. It was sleep.
It was a chilly morning, the early winter kind where at first the air feels like its biting at you until it doesn’t, and then it’s just a refreshing cool against your skin. We were having breakfast to welcome our newest teacher to the staff. The only thing we knew about this new person was that he was a man and that he would be teaching math. I’d woken up early to cook, something I tried to avoid whenever I could, and ended up producing a lovely vegetarian quiche. The commute to the school had been fine, relaxing. But once I got into the school building, I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck.
My head started pounding, and my eyes watered until they burned. It was the most unprecedented change I’d ever experienced, something that happened so fast and impacted me so much. My feet carried me towards the lounge, as I tried to rationalize the pain in my head. It was at that point that I ran into someone.
The collision was minor, just a bump and an “Oof" from the both of us. But as my head tilted up to apologize, I realized with horror that I could see the vivid goldenrod of his shirt. With wide eyes, I peered up until I met sparkling brown eyes. The man in front of me had a large smile as if he too was just realizing what the world looked like with color.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
He huffed out a laugh, extending a hand to me. “I’m Danny.”
“Clara,” I said, taking the hand and shaking my head.
“Clara,” he repeated, his lips parting in an open-mouthed smile, “would you like to get a coffee with me sometime?”