Shereen Younes
Honors English
Period 4
Narrative Story
10/26/04


dark purple

       The continuous click of my heels against the concrete was the only sound I could hear that chilly Saturday afternoon. Even with the countless layers of clothing I wore, I still shuddered from the cold. My hands felt raw and the tip of my nose stung like hell. Tightening my white scarf around my neck and shoulders, I quickened my pace as I turned the corner. My eyes scanned the street. No one else left their house at this damn hour; and on a Saturday, nonetheless. Everyone else had lives. To make all matters worse, today was the Miyavi concert. I loved Miyavi. I already bought the ticket, and I waited for months until this very day. And yet something else came up. Stupid world. I continued to mumble to myself as I walked down Tulip Street, the street that would eventually lead me to the hospital.
       Today was also my mother’s birthday. Sixty-two years. Hell, I could care less. I never really talked to my mother much anyway. For all I knew she still thought of me as a clone of my sister. My sister and I have extremely similar voices, so my mother got confused whenever she talked to me. She often confused me for my sister and began to talk to me about how different Shereen is becoming, or how Shereen listens to the most dreadful music. She didn’t realize that I was Shereen. I suppose Shereen didn’t exist in her world of black.
       Arriving at the hospital, I swung the doors open and rushed inside. A surge of warm air engulfed me, and I slipped off my gloves and rubbed my hands together. I searched the lobby and waiting room until I finally found a nurse who could hopefully help me find the correct room. She pointed me in the direction of the "special care" section of the building, and told me to go to room E108. I thanked the nurse and started walking down the hallway she mentioned. The stench of white-washed vomit filled the air – a stench so sterile it made my stomach churn. I hated hospitals.
       E108. The door opened slightly and a streak of sunlight glared back on the tile floor. Slowly pushing the door, I crept inside. My mother sat straight up in her bed, her head leaning back against the wall behind her. Eyes closed, she lay completely still. She didn’t know I was here yet. My breathing, however, caught her attention, and my mother turned her head towards the door, eyes still closed. She never opened them.
       "You’re late," she croaked.
       I sighed. "Sorry, mother. I didn’t realize how crowded the streets would be this afternoon. It won’t happen again." I sat down in the chair next to her bed. Her head followed me noiselessly, and although her eyes remained closed, I felt her invisible gaze.
       "Shereen should be here soon. That girl is always late." She shifted in her bed and put her hands in her lap, lips pursed.
       Silence. I ran my fingers through my hair.
       "What did the doctors say?"
       She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her head the other way and faced the window.
       "Is it really that bad? Is there nothing we can do?"
       Silence again.
       A year ago, my mother lost her sight. No one knew why; even the doctors couldn’t exactly explain what happened. She just woke up one morning and couldn’t see. It terrified me. I personally thought it happened from watching one too many sunsets. But what did I know?
       I lowered my head. "Mother, I’m so sorry." I tried to sound concerned. I really did.
       Although she tried to hide it, I could see her lower lip quivering. I almost felt sorry for her. She broke the ensuing silence.
       "It’s my birthday today." Her voice was monotone.
       I looked up at her. "Yes, I know. Happy birthday."
       "Do you know what I want for my birthday? The one and only thing I want?"
       I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
       "I want to see the sunset." She smiled.
       My mother loved watching the sunset. It was a tragic case of Aristotelian irony: my mother banned from seeing the one thing that brought her joy. Her physical health was satisfactory; however, her mental state was deteriorating due to her love of sight. Doctors don’t always diagnose the right illness.
       She turned towards me. "Do you remember Shereen’s twelfth birthday? When we went into that hot air balloon and saw the sunset?"

       A man with thinning white hair and spectacles sauntered over to my mother and I. “Hello! Welcome aboard!” He glanced down at me. He must have noticed my hesitation, and leaned down to meet my eye level. “Is this your fist time riding a hot air balloon, little-lady?”
       I looked over at my mother. She stood at my left twirling a strand of hair in between her fingers. Then she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
       Twirling my hair, I answered, “U-uh... y-yeah. I’m just a little nervous I guess.” I shifted my weight, occasionally sneaking a peek at my mother to see if I did it correctly.
       The man grinned at me. “What’s the special occasion?”
       Ecstatic that I had the chance to tell yet another person, I replied, “It’s my birthday! I’m turning twelve! Almost as old as my sister!”
        “Twelve! My, my, you’re really growing up! Well, believe me, you won’t regret coming here!” He turned to my mother, “Why, and this must be the mother!” Squinting his eyes, he continued, “The similarities the two of you share are unbelievable!” He turned towards me, and then back to my mother, “It’s like I’m looking at the same person.”
       My heart skipped a beat. I loved it whenever people talked about the similarities between my mother and I. As I grew up, I considered her the ultimate definition of perfect, and I strived to be like her everyday. My friends may have idolized celebrities and sport-stars, but I idolized my mother. At least, back then I did.
       My mother laughed and handed the old man our tickets. “Yes, I’ve heard that quite a few times.” She started to walk up into the enormous balloon and I ran up to her to catch up. As my nervousness slowly came back to me, I grabbed my mother’s hand and I instantly felt ten times better. I leaned against her arm and tilted my head so that it touched her shoulder. The scent of lilac and CoverGirl make-up foundation engulfed me – a scent I never want to forget. Leaning my head back, I stared at the balloon that would send me countless of miles off of the ground. Taking a deep breath, I boarded the balloon.
       I remember the ground drifting farther and farther away and the previously-defined buildings that deteriorated into miniscule patches of color as the balloon lifted higher into the clouds. I could feel the intense heat coming from the center of the balloon every time the pilot decided to take us higher. He smelled like tuna.
       Glancing over at my mom, I realized how incredibly blissful she looked, simply staring at the painted sky. Her eyes were glazed over, and the corners of her mouth were turned up into a smile. How could she be so friggin’ cheerful just by looking at the damn sunset? My immature mind couldn’t quite comprehend that it such a trivial thing had the power to make someone content. I didn’t understand her. I didn’t understand her happiness. Even though she held my hand, it seemed as if she lived in a world of her own, a world where she truly felt happy. I don’t think I’ve been there before.
       I shook my head to clear my thoughts and my stomach jumped as I noticed how incredibly high the balloon had become. The town was just some giant quilt. I felt so small compared to the rest of the earth, so insignificant compared to a world of beautiful things. I looked down towards the ground and my stomach lurched. Dizziness kicked in and I felt as if I would topple overboard if I lost my balance. I tightened my grip on my mother’s hand. My mother must have noticed my anxiety.
       "It’s really not that bad, Shereen,” my mother reassured me.
       "I don’t feel so good," I groaned, "Is it too late for us to go home?"        "We are not going anywhere. You, my dear, have to learn how to not give up," my mother proudly replied. "People who give up easily get nowhere in life. I don’t want you to be one of the people. Hmmm… I want you to do something. Will you do something with me? Shereen, are you listening?"
       I blinked. "O-oh, sorry. What were you saying?"
       "Close your eyes with me."
       "What?" I tilted my head to the right. "Why?"
       My mother let out an exasperated sigh. "C’mon, just close them with me. Now… Don’t you feel free? Isn’t it a wonderful feeling?" Closing my eyes, I could feel the hot air balloon lifting higher into the sky, and I gulped.
       After a few infuriatingly long moments, my mother said, "Open your eyes."
       I did. And the array of colors before us seemed unreal. The blurs of oranges and reds – the smudges of purples and greens smeared across the sky. Someone had painted the sky and he couldn’t have done a better job. I held my breath as I leaned against the edge and closed my eyes. I really did feel free.        I opened my eyes again.
       Perhaps this feeling of freedom was the cause of my mother’s happiness. I smiled at my new discovery. Looking over at my mom again, I made a decision. I wanted to join her in her world of happiness. I wanted to visit her makeshift sanctuary. I thought of my sister and how she had chosen to be somewhere else – and how I – not her – had the chance to share this mind-blowing experience with my mother. Up in the middle of nowhere in a hot air balloon, one too many miles off the ground, staring at this mirage of a sunset, I’d been the one my mother chose to be with her. This fact somehow made me feel superior to my sister – I had won a game that she didn’t even realize she lost. I discovered a side to my mother that my sister had no idea existed, all because of a simple sunset. The sunset favored me in many ways.
       "Mom, Mom! Wow! Look at all those colors, Mom! It’s so pretty…" I trailed off into the depths of pre-teen babble.
       "Aren’t you glad we came?"
       "It’s like... I can get lost in the sky." I began again. "This totally makes up for not letting me go to Amanda’s party." I joked. Maybe I judged the sunset too harshly before.
       My mother laughed.
       "Look over there," my mother told me, pointing into the distance, "Doesn’t it look like the sky is on fire?"
       "Whoa! That’s so awesome!!" I squealed and clapped my hands together, a sorry show of childish amusement.
       "Over there – that dark purple – it reminds me of your bed covers," she said to herself.        I nodded. "And there, that way, that light orangey-color, makes me think of the tangerines in our backyard. And that really cool blue color over there makes me think of the beach, and that salty taste you get in your mouth when you get too close to the water." I giggled, remembering the days when a good splash of ocean in the face was enough to make one laugh for hours.
       "And in that direction, over there..."

        I snapped back into reality.
       "…Yes, I remember. It was a beautiful sunset." I lowered my head – an attempt to hide unshed tears from a blind woman.
       "I want to see that again. I want to see all those gorgeous colors." She lifted her hand up, as if she could touch the sky. "Shereen was laughing then. She never laughs with me anymore."
       I couldn’t speak. I laughed with her then, didn’t I? I loved it when I laughed with her. But it’s different now. An unmistakable something stood between us, a sort of freakishly advanced firewall. I suddenly felt like crying.
       I remember that on that day, my mother and I thought of every color possible and compared it to something that we loved, something that we saw everyday. My mother and I weren’t able to do that anymore. Her blindness made it impossible.
       Or did it?
       A thought struck me. I glanced at the clock that hung on the wall. 4:47. I stood up and grasped my mother’s hand. "Come with me. I want to take you somewhere."
       "Wh-what? What are you doing? Stop that, I don’t want to go anywhere."
       I pulled her out of her bed and led her to the door. "Please, mother. I want to smile with you again."
       My mother looked perplexed. "..Shereen? Is that you? Why didn’t you tell me you were here?"
       "Mother, I’ve always been here. Please, just come with me." I put one arm around her shoulders and with the other I held her hand. My mother hesitated, but shuffled across the hospital tile with me nonetheless.
       I led her out of that damn hospital that trapped her for so long and took her outside, and the cool air felt so much better compared to the claustrophobic clammy-ness of the hospital. My mother inhaled a deep breath and said, "God, does that feel good. I haven’t been outside in quite some time." She smiled.
       I made her smile.
       With my hand around her shoulder, we walked, or rather, dragged down the street and to the park that I visited so many times before as a child. I searched for a decent bench that faced the proper direction, and when I found one that pleased me, I sat my mother down.
       "Phew, I’m already exhausted!" She sighed. "I’m too old for this, Shereen."
       She called me by my name. I could feel my eyes water and I attempted to swallow back the lump forming in my throat. I bit my lower lip and squeezed my mother’s hand. "Mother, the sun is setting."        "Oh, really? I suppose it looks just stunning, doesn’t it?" She tilted her head up.
       "Mother? Do you remember what it feels like to walk down the beach? When the wind is in your face and it’s blowing through your hair?"
       "Why, of course. I could never forget the beach."
       "Well, that feeling is what the blue in this sunset feels like." I said.
       I looked over at my mother. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. "And that light orangey-color?"
       "The orangey-color is the heat you feel from the fireplace during wintertime."
       My mother laughed. I made her laugh again. She leaned forward, an act reminiscent of earlier times. "Will you tell me about dark purple?"
       "That dark purple color is the feeling you get when you get a new car and you smell that new, fresh, leathery scent." I laughed. "And that red over there, that’s the feeling you get when the nurse won’t bring you another glass of orange juice."
       Then we both cried. Tears of joy, of course.

       I missed the Miyavi concert that evening. Something came up.




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