Tell me about the colours.

It’s ironic really, to be asked about colours while in this room. I mean, the walls are white, the furniture’s grey; the only thing really going for you is that little plant, which, I have to say, is on its last legs. I don’t mean to be rude, sorry, but it is wilting. It’s nice to see brown though. It’s been a while.

To be honest, I don’t really know how to “tell you about the colours.” They weren’t a big part of my life before they left. I’m colourblind, you see. My optometrist said, around when I was six or seven, that I’d tend to mix up green and brown. Kind of lucky for me that they went away then, isn’t it?

Oh shoot, your plant probably is doing fine then, I suppose. My bad, I apologize. I don’t do much gardening anyways, so I don’t know where I got the gall.

Okay, but back to the colours. I mean, I know there was a bunch of political stuff that went down before the colours left, but I was a kid. I don’t really remember much about that, just my parents talking about it and my grandmother too, especially her, actually. She was upset about it, sometimes at my parents, sometimes at the news. Kids don’t watch the news.

What did I do as a kid? I played outside when I was smaller, with my friends. But then we moved when my brother was born and there weren’t as many places to play. That’s okay, because as I got older, my new friends and I got more into video games, so we didn’t really need parks and such. I liked being outside but once we’d gotten into high school, everyone complained it wasn’t like it used to be. I think that’s what happens when you’re a teenager: things just seem gloomier, not as bright as they were.

I remember learning about colours in school, like pre-school. It’s funny, hey, my little brother hasn’t learnt them yet. I’m pretty sure I knew them when I was his age, but I guess it’s not part of the curriculum anymore. I don’t know, that’s what I always hear my parents saying. They talk about homeschooling, but it’s not really a feasible idea. To me, it feels like a fantasy they keep returning to but never actualize. Like, if you want to do it, don’t just talk about doing it: actually do it. I think that’s one of my pet peeves, people who just imagine. It feels frivolous to me, if you could be doing something to show for the idea but you’re not.

There I go on another tangent. I’ll try to focus. Let me think about the colours.

I can kind of recall when they started painting everything. It was a slow process. It’s kind of an inside joke in our city now that they’re always painting something. I didn’t pay much attention to the painting industry until my dad lost his job. I can’t really remember what he did before, but, in his words, the economy changed, and he wasn’t needed in that role anymore. It worked out though because he got a painting job pretty quickly. Well, it worked out financially, but it caused a big fight between him and my grandmother. I remember that argument, bits of it anyways. I was fourteen, I think, fourteen or fifteen. Grandma called him a sell-out, which was harsh, and a traitor, which was dramatic. Dad said something about necessity and temporality. I don’t know what Grandma said in response. She might have just stormed off.

I don’t think he enjoyed the job. In the beginning, there were lots of protests around the worksites. He still had to clock in though. Luckily, he wasn’t in the big city because there, the protests sometimes got violent. The most he had to deal with was people with signs across the streets. In the big city, police got involved with riot gear and stuff. I saw it online. Mom saw it too and they also had a fight, a few months into him working as a painter, but it wasn’t like the fight he had with Grandma. Mom was just worried. Grandma was angry, angry and hurt.

I couldn’t describe my grandmother if I tried. I guess the best word would be eccentric. My first few memories are of her looking after me, when she didn’t live with us. Her house was the coolest. There was art everywhere, handmade blankets, warm tea in big mugs. My parents worked late when I was growing up, so I’d stay at Grandma’s after school, and there would always be different groups of women gathered in her lounge.

My parents still work late these days but now Grandma stays with us. She didn’t want to move from her house. By the time she was considering leaving, a lot of people from her town were gone anyways; the women’s gatherings had slowed down. It was better that she came with us to the city, even though I don’t think she likes it here. She used to keep a garden, you see, but there isn’t space to do that in the flats. Her plants were incredible. I think I mentioned I don’t garden much; I didn’t inherit that green thumb. She tried to teach me when I was small, but I just got distracted. I think there’s a lot of distraction these days. That’s why they got rid of them, I heard. That’s why they made everything grey.

It hasn’t been easy, living with Grandma. I mean, I love having her around, but it’s definitely caused some contention. She and Dad don’t always see eye-to-eye about the colours, especially since she was supportive of the protests at his work. I can imagine that was awkward. They didn’t talk about it much around me, but I hear them whisper-arguing at night still, to this day, even though the protests have pretty much stopped.

It's funny, now that I’m in high school, there’s a lot of wannabe protestors, girls especially. They like to co-opt the conversations in class to make it about colours, but it gets old and, honestly, tiresome. Like, sometimes you just want to focus on your work. School is hard enough without all the conspiracy.  

The girls, they say that the colours are first and they’re coming for “the rest” next. I was friends with this one girl before she started being so loud and confrontational about everything. She was very doom and gloom about it. She said it was a sign of our “socio-cultural decline” and our “conformity to anomie in production”. That’s literally what she said, the exact words. I don’t know what most of them mean.

My Grandma would know. I think she was like those girls when she was younger. I think she’d know what they’re talking about. I guess I don’t really get it, because I never saw the colours at all.