I have never seen the bright yellows and reds of a sunset. I couldn’t tell you what the color of your eyes are. You see, I suffer from achromatopsia. I am colorblind. Not colorblind the way most people might think: not being able to distinguish between red and green. I inherited my affliction.
Affliction...why that word? It means to be made miserable by, cause problems or badly affect. I haven’t allowed my condition to make me miserable, on the contrary, I have found ways around it.
I have my own way of seeing colors. Heat is red, cold is blue. Warmth on my face from the sun is yellow. The smell of newly cut grass is green. Sadness to me is a deep purple and happiness a bright pink. Black...well nothing is merely black or white for me...I see everything in shades of gray.
I can see better in the darkness than I can during the day. During the day I wear dark, tinted, wraparound sunglasses to protect my vision. I am a photographer. I see through the lens of my camera, and my camera becomes my eyes. My camera sees for me.
Later I look at my pictures to see how I really view the world. Is my view askew compared to others? I don’t believe so. It was on a day when I had my photos, my babies, scattered about me that I first saw him. Tucked away in one of the many moments I had captured that day was a man I had never seen before. How could I not have noticed him?
Sure there were many people I walked past and even took photos of that day. Public Square, right in the heart of downtown Cleveland, is nothing if not crowded. Yet I couldn’t remember seeing him. If I had I might have spoken to him. Not usually shy, I do tend to blend into the background rather than being outspoken. This guy though, I would have given anything to take his picture, and it seemed I had.
There he was in the photo I had taken of a homeless man lying outside the courthouse. I prowl the streets of Cleveland taking photos of the homeless and other street people. I had become such a fixture they barely seemed to notice me.
I used to be afraid of downtown Cleveland. I had started snapping photos of the people in the square, for this wonderful, yet horrible collection I was determined to call “LIFE.” Downtown kept me busy.
*Snap* I captured a destitute man as he dug in a garbage can, producing a half eaten burger. He proceeded to eat the leftover food as if it were a five course meal. *snap* The young teenage hooker propositioning a business man in an expensive suit. *snap* The same business man later that day propositioning a young street male.
*Snap* A beggar laying outside a bar, half beaten with blood coming from the cut on his lip. Blood is always black to me. With all of this going on, how could I not have noticed this man who was so doggedly staring at me through one of my own photos?
It was as if he were the one taking the picture of me, using his eyes as the camera. I was transfixed. I had to find him. I had a sudden desire to snap his photo, over and over again. I wanted to take his picture, and I wanted him naked while I did it.
*********************************************
Figuring out what to wear the next day was the least of my problems. All of my clothes are black. Being teased by my classmates as a child was enough to cure me of trying to dress colorfully. I couldn’t see the colors to match them properly.
I didn’t have a plan, I would simply go back to the courthouse and hang around in hopes of seeing him. I wondered what he would think of me? The strange woman with the dark glasses and camera around her neck. I’m not considered a beautiful girl, a fact made obvious by the number of boyfriends who have passed through my life...exactly three.
I have been called pretty, and worse yet, smart. My hair is probably my claim to fame, long and shiny the color of honey- or so I have been told. I spent most of my high school years in front of my bedroom mirror pumping my arms back and forth.
My high school mantra was “I must, I must, I must increase my bust.” I have always been on the thin side. What I lack in cosmetic beauty I like to think I make up for in personality.
I had just started snapping pictures of a couple leaving the courthouse. They were in broad daylight shouting at one another while the female dragged a child of around five years old after her. *snap* They were definitely going into my “LIFE” project.
I felt him before I saw him. I knew for certain it was him when he came closer. Damn, but he was beautiful. Structured cheek bones, strong jaw with eyes that I could only imagine were...I didn’t have a color for the way his eyes made me feel. He walked with a saunter as though he knew exactly how handsome he was.
“Hello” he said.
“Hello back at ya.” was the best I could manage. My eloquence surprised
me. I wasn’t usually this nervous. Something about him, I couldn’t think of anything but how he would look naked. I wanted this man, more than I had ever wanted anyone in my life. Was I losing my mind?
“I’ve been watching you take pictures.” he said and smiled.
“And?” I asked.
“And” he said, handing me a business card “I want you to take mine.”
He turned and walked away. I couldn’t look at the card dangling in my hand, I was too busy watching the way he looked from behind. Finally, looking at the card I expected the normal suit and tie type jargon. The card simply stated his name and address. There written in red pen was a note, it said “Meet me at 8pm tonight.”
