Love and First Sight(39)

“Hold it closer to your eyes!” suggests Mom.

I close my left eye and move the candy immediately in front of my right. There’s an earthshaking shift of color as I move it so near.

“That’s yellow,” says Mom.

“Yellow,” I repeat, examining the hue. “I always expected yellow would be… quieter.”

Mom and Dad laugh. And then I do, too.

I go through each flavor like this: strawberry (red), orange (the only flavor with the same color as its name), apple (green), and grape (purple). I try to associate each smell and taste with its color so I can remember it. But as soon as I close my eyes, the colors meld into a psychedelic rainbow in my mind, and I can’t remember which one is which.

“Pop quiz,” says Mom, and I look at one of the candies she holds close to my eye.

“Uh…” I say. “Orange?”

“No, it’s green apple,” Mom says, disappointed.

“Go easy on him,” says Dad. “He’s never learned his colors before.”

I practice with Mom and Dad until I can correctly guess the color of the Skittle about half the time.

More important, the dizziness seems to be settling down.

“Let’s try some objects,” Mom says. “Real fruit. Much healthier than candy.”

“I don’t think he’s ready for shapes,” says Dad.

“Of course he is,” says Mom.

I hear several pieces of produce plop down in front of me. Simultaneously I notice a change of colors. I could be seeing either the fruit rolling onto the table or any movements Mom and Dad are making. The world is nothing more than a confusing cascade of living color, an infinitely large waterfall of Skittles pouring out in front of my eyes.

“There,” says Mom. “Do you recognize any of this fruit?”

I stare blankly, trying to home in on the fruit that is now apparently in front of me. But all I can sense is the pulsating chromatic glow coming at me from every direction. I have no idea where to look to find the fruit.

“Your eyes will probably cue in on movement,” says Dad. “Here, son, I’m picking up a piece of fruit now and waving it. Can you see it?”

I observe a flux of color, a yellow ripple in my perception. What fruit is yellow? A lemon. But we don’t keep lemons in the house. What else?

“A banana!” I exclaim.

Mom squeals with delight.

“Can I touch it?” I ask.

Dad places it in my hands, and immediately it becomes not just a guess based on color, but a real, actual banana. I know this shape. I know this texture and weight. I know the firm grippiness of the skin, the pointy taper of each end. As I examine it with my eyes, I attempt to record and catalog: This is what a banana looks like.

“How about this one?”

I spot another flow of color darting around.

“It’s red, right?” I ask.

“Yes!” says Mom.

“An apple?”

“No,” says Dad.

What else is red?

“A strawberry?”

“No.”

“A watermelon?”

“No.”

“I give up.”

“Come on, Will!” says Mom. “You can do it!”

“Sydney, listen to him! He didn’t know whether it was a strawberry or a watermelon! He can’t even judge relative size,” says Dad.

“You know I’m sitting right here, right?” I say.

“He’s not identifying the fruit,” Dad continues. “He’s just guessing based on the color. His brain is not equipped yet for visual object recognition.”

“I’m not one of your patients, Dad,” I say bitterly. “I’m your son.”

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” he counters. “You just saw it was red and listed fruits you know are that color?”

“Of course,” I say. “How else do people recognize things?”

He drops it into my hand. I immediately identify the small spherical shape and the protective outer skin.

“It’s a grape,” I say.

“Right,” he says quietly.

“I thought they were green?” I ask.

“They can also be red,” says Dad.

“Dad’s right,” I confess to Mom. “I was just guessing based on the color. Maybe I can’t see after all.”

“Of course you can see!” says Mom. “You got all those Skittle colors right! You just need to learn your shapes! I taught you shapes once before, and I’ll do it again! I’ll get your baby toys out of storage!”

Baby toys?

“No, thanks,” I say.

“Will, just give it a try!” pleads Mom.

“Whatever. Maybe tomorrow. I’m exhausted. I can’t do any more right now.”

It’s true. Vision is draining. I can barely hold my eyes open now. They close on their own, like heavy automatic garage doors. Fatigue overwhelms me, the result, I assume, of an information onslaught my brain is not used to.

I go to my room and shut the door and close the blinds and curtains. Even so, there is still light seeping in through the window. Bright, confusing, exhausting light. I take the blanket from my bed and, standing on my chair, I tuck it in around the curtains, sealing off the window so my room is totally dark. Peaceful, calming, logical darkness.