The Heart of the Beholder

“Andrew, tell me about them again.” Samantha leaned on the wooden picnic table, imprints forming on her elbows from its weather-worn surface. “About what? The ducks?” Andrew was turned from her, sitting on the other side of the table with his back resting against the top. He watched as a drake landed in the small pond, splashing one of the females. The hen gave him a sharp quack and glided away. “No silly! I’ve held a duck before. Their feathers are soft, and I sorta know what they look like. I want you to tell me about them. The colors.”

Andrew turned to look Samantha in the eyes. Sunlight poured through the canopy of leaves above them, scattering splotches of light through her dirty blonde hair. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t look at him. She simply stared vacantly ahead.

Sam had been born blind. She and Andrew met at Seattle University. Freshmen then, they had shared a math class together.

The professor asked Andrew to help Sam get acquainted with the school grounds. I was an idiot, Andrew thought. At that time, he had no desire to help the “poor blind girl.” He had referred to Sam as such when venting to his girlfriend, Grace, about his day. Grace quickly reprimanded him and practically forced him to give the girl a chance. The first thing Sam did was make a joke about how she “couldn’t see the board,” and “must be going blind.” He and Sam had been friends ever since. Kubota Garden, a Japanese-style paradise tucked away in south Seattle, was the duo’s favorite retreat from campus. Here they’d had many a conversation about life. Sam was an old soul and wise beyond her years, but somehow still retained her childlike personality. Everything about her was a congenial contradiction. Andrew appreciated her unique take on the world.

“I see. The colors, huh? Which one would you like first?”

Sam smiled, dimples forming on her bunched-up cheeks. “Blue, please! It’s my favorite!” “Alrighty then. Let’s see… Blue is the sky after wind sweeps away storm clouds. It’s the water in Puget Sound, where the waves splash your face and leave a salty crust in their place. Blue is—." “Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s beautiful and all, but I’ve heard it before. I wanna know what they sound like. What they smell like.” “Hmm, I guess I’ve never thought of them in that way before. I would say blue smells like crisp cool morning air and clean laundry. It sounds like raindrops trickling over rocks and into puddles. Blue can feel calming, or sad and a little lonely. It can represent many different emotions, depending on if it’s mixed with other colors.” Sam leaned back and sighed. “That sounds lovely. It makes sense that blue can be both comforting and sad. Sometimes I’m most calm when I’ve just cried. What about red?” It was a bit breezy today, and little ripples formed on the surface of the pond. The drake was persistent. Paddling his little webbed feet, he followed his current love-interest to the other side of the pond where they disappeared into a clump of reeds. “Red is the warmth of the sun and the feel of blood rushing to your cheeks when you blush. It’s anger and it’s passion. It’s the taste of strawberries and the smell of cinnamon. Red is the color of the leaves that you love to jump in when autumn comes. Red is the apple festivals where you drink cider that burns your throat while steam tickles your face.” “Those festivals were the best. I remember that one year when you tried to apple-bob and nearly drowned yourself!” Sam began to giggle, and a snort escaped her nose.

Andrew smiled, leaned over the table, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve always loved that snort. It’s weird but adorable.” Sam swatted him away. “I’m not a baby! I’m your age for heaven’s sake! Now hurry up and tell me about green.”

“Age has nothing to do with being a baby,” Andrew smirked.

“Okay, okay. Green it is. It’s the grass beneath your bare feet that sticks between your toes. It tastes like grapes and sour gummy worms.”

“Those are the best.” Sam’s face puckered up,

“But they’re definitely tart.” “Do you want me to explain green or not?”

“Continue on, my good sir.” “Green is trees in the spring when they begin to sprout fresh, new leaves. It smells like lawn clippings. It’s the strong flavor of spearmint gum which you chew constantly, and believe it or not, it’s the color of your shirt today.” “My roommate picked that out. She said it looked cute, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

Andrew shook his head, his lips turning up slightly. “Oh Sam, what am I gonna do with you?”

“Hopefully tell me what yellow is like.” “Well then, yellow is the color of the sun as it drifts towards its ocean grave. It’s that same sun when it emerges from the hills to the east too. It’s lemons and the taste of vanilla and cupcakes. It smells like honeysuckles and feels like a burst of energy after that morning coffee. I know you’ve never seen light before, but yellow is practically the brightest color. It screams ‘Look at me! I’m yellow!’” “Sounds very…loud. I don’t know if I’d like yellow very much.”

“You’re right! Usually, people with a loud personality love yellow. Not a bad thing mind you, just different. What color next?” Andrew glanced over to his right. The rhododendrons were in full bloom in August. Deep violet flowers dotted the surrounding bushes. “Let’s do purple. Purple is a color that symbolizes royalty. It’s the color of calm and the smell of freshly cut lavender. Purple is found in sunsets along with yellow. It kind of smells like fruit too. Grapes and plums are purple, so I guess that’s what they taste like too.” A light brown ’83 Mercedes crunched into the gravel parking lot behind them. The door swung open and a woman in a white floral sundress stepped out. Grace. She waved. “Hey guys, come on! I’m hungry!” “Guess that’s our cue.” Andrew stood. His knees popped, a remnant of old high school football injuries. Sam still sat there, the wind tossing her hair about her face. “You know, many people pity me, but I don’t really mind being blind. Those who can see ignore the beauty around them—they take it for granted. But for me? Sounds, smells, and tastes are all I have. I don’t know what it means to see, but everything else I sense is so much more delightful because of it.” She shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just because I don’t know what I’m missing out on.”

“No Sam, you’re right. You’ve helped me learn that beauty isn’t simply seen, it’s felt in the heart—in the soul.” Andrew held her hand and guided her to her feet. “And you, little lady, have the loveliest soul of them all.” As the old Mercedes rumbled away, a pair of wood ducks, their differences sorted out for now, swam out to the center of the pond. After preening himself, the drake shook and a single feather dislodged from his wing. As it drifted down to the water, it glistened in the midday sun. The feather shifted from bluegreen to a chroma of colors before it settled on the surface of the pond.