Memory of the Color Yellow Read online

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

  “No. Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No, but I’d like to have one,” she said. “And since you’re available…”

  I realize now I was so young that I didn’t get it that she coming on to me. Instead of continuing flirting with her, it occurred to me it wouldn’t be easy to sneak out over the weekend. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get here until Monday morning.”

  “Oh, no! I’m so disappointed,” Penelope said. “I can’t wait until Monday.”

  Seeing her, making the trip each night meant a lot to me, too, but I didn’t see how I could continue doing it, especially once school started.

  “Can you get out?” I asked.

  We hadn’t discussed why she was inside yet. I had a feeling she assumed I knew the story when in actuality, I didn’t have a clue. That bible verse came to me, like should dwell with like.

  “I’ve never tried,” she replied. Stepping up to the fence, she intertwined her fingers in the mesh again, pressing her body against the mesh. The action tantalized me. “Can you come closer?”

  “No, because of this fence,” I said, reminding her. “It’s electric.”

  “Oh, right. Can you find a break in it?”

  I was getting nervous about the time. I never thought that there might be a place where I could get through to the inner fence. “Maybe I can find one another night. I’d better get going,” I said, the wrath of my mother more powerful than my feelings for Penelope.

  “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet,” she cried. “You just got here.”

  “I wish I could stay,” I said, trying to placate her. “But I’ll get in trouble with my mother if she catches me.”

  “Little boy needs to run home to mommy,” she tormented me.

  Embarrassed, but I didn’t argue because she was right. “Yep, that’s me,” I said, burning with shame. If she could see my mortification in the dark, she didn’t let on. “I’m sorry.”

  Sighing, it was apparent she felt badly about teasing me. “I’m sorry, too. I’m just so disappointed. We need to find out a way to be together without this fence between us. Fences.”

  “Well, I’ll say goodbye now,” I said, starting to walk away. I wasn’t happy about having to leave but it seemed pointless to have the debate. “I’ll be back Monday morning.”

  “Monday morning! You might as well stay away forever.”

  I was too young to think of a retaliatory remark. “I don’t want to stay away,” I said, my voice one level from an outright whine.

  It shook her up, realizing she’d upset me. “I’m sorry again,” she said. “Get home safe. And I’ll see you Monday morning.”

  I waved goodbye, but she stood as still as a statute, the expression on her face unreadable in the dark. “You could at least wave goodbye,” I said.

  “Oh, of course,” she answered, lifting her hand to wave. It was an awkward movement, and it occurred to me she probably didn’t have many opportunities to say goodbye to anyone because no one in her circle had ever left.

  I ran the course without problems. Climbing up the ladder, I swung my leg over the sill. Pulling the ladder in after me, the thought occurred that in the morning before Peter got up, I should find a way to get it back to the shed, at least for the weekend. But for the time being, exhausted, I got into bed and fell fast asleep.

  The next morning, the weekend in full swing, my mother let me sleep until eleven when the boys came to the door looking for me. “Steve. Steve,” she whispered, shaking my shoulder. “It’s almost lunch time. You’d better get up or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  “When do we ever sleep on Saturday?” I moaned, realizing it was too late to get rid of the ladder.

  “The boys are here. Get dressed and you can eat something before you go out.”

  I wasn’t ready to face my pals. I’d managed to avoid them during the week, staying busy, using the excuse of helping my grandmother in the garden as the harvest began. That wouldn’t work on Saturday. No one was allowed to work on Saturday or Sunday unless it was for the Coalition. It was the law.

  “I still don’t feel so good,” I said, revitalizing my earlier lie.

  “Fresh air and fun will do you good,” she insisted, squeezing my toe. “I knew you were spending too much time in that dank garden of your yiayia’s.”

  Resigned, I pulled the covers back, forgetting I’d never taken my jeans off when I got home. Bothered, my mother looked at my jeans and then at me.

  “Sleeping in your clothes again, huh?”

  “I got cold and they were right on my bed,” I said, sounding convincing.

  “It did get cold last night,” she replied, noting pajama bottoms sticking out of the bottom of my jeans. “I’ll get you another blanket.”

  I didn’t argue with her. “I’m hungry,” I said, any mention of food always a good thing.

  “I’ll get your breakfast,” she said. “Or lunch. Do you want lunch?”

  “What’s for lunch today?” I asked, knowing that it was the same thing across town. Everyone had cheese for lunch on Saturday.

  “Cheese soufflé, but we’re having grilled cheese because we have bread!”

  “I’ll have lunch,” I said.

  “Brush your teeth and change your underpants,” Rose said.

  “Right, Mom,” I answered. “I think I’ve got it. Can you leave please and I’ll do it? Jeesh.”

  Laughing, she left my room, closing the door.

  I gathered my clothes to use the bathroom. Voices coming from the kitchen signaled my friends were there, sitting around the table, getting the third degree from my father. I closed the bathroom door, wishing I could hide in my bedroom for the rest of the day. I stood over the sink and looked in the mirror. I’d grown up over night. That face staring back wasn’t a little boy; I’d become a teenager.

  Brushing my teeth with eyes closed, I thought of Penelope again. Although we’d only seen each other in the dark, if the moon was bright enough, the light shined on her face and hair, her skin pale and hair golden; I thought she was beautiful. I was at the first blush of new love that, in a young man, is everlasting. That morning, standing at the sink, I made the decision that I had to find a way to be with her, even if I got caught. What could they do to me that would be so bad? Send me away? I had no concept of away. In our time, people didn’t travel or take vacations. It wasn’t necessary. I supposed they could kill me. I wasn’t afraid of death, yet. I didn’t associate death with pain. We’d been taught that death was freedom from pain.

  Saturday was fun, playing games with my family and pals. The people next door opened up their yard for everyone. There was a communal meal which included contraband meats grilled and each family’s favorite side dishes. We listened to music and danced, visited with the neighbors. Mrs. Polsky pretended to ignore me, but I could see her following me with her eyes. I wondered if she knew what I was doing. Peter never needed the ladder, and I forgot about it stashed under my bed until I needed to use it again.

  By Saturday night, I knew I wouldn’t last until Monday. Even my friends noticed. Paul approached me.

  “What’s going on, dude, you’re acting like a jerk.”

  I shoved him for a distraction, starting a wrestling match. We spent the evening chasing each other like kids will do, making the night fly by. Paul and the others soon forgot about my odd behavior.

  My family went to bed by one Sunday morning, and as soon as I was sure they were sleeping, I flew out the window, running as fast as I could get to Tiresias. Hopefully, Penelope would pass by our spot with her walking group and stop to check, just in case.

  I arrived earlier than usual, closer to two. I put my backpack on the ground and twisted the cap off the water bottle.

  “Steve! Is that you?” Penelope called out.

  “It’s me,” I said, incredulous. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

 
“I didn’t know, I was just hoping. But you’ll never believe,” she said, the excitement in her voice clear.

  “What!” I said.

  “I found a spot with a break in the fence. It’s about a mile from here. Do you want to follow me?”

  The anticipation of being physically closer to Penelope was incredible. “Yes, I’ll follow you,” I said, my voice squeaking, a reminder of my youth.

  “Come,” she said, waving her hand.

  I followed her on the opposite side of the fence. “How’d you find the break?” I asked.

  “My father told me about it,” she said.

  A rush of heat went through my body. I hoped she hadn’t told this father of hers about me visiting. Confused, I wondered what kind of a father would allow his daughter to live in a prison and propagate the lie that it was an island. Holding my tongue, I knew it was rude and possibly hurtful to her to ask why she didn’t live with her family.

  “Does your mother live there, too?”

  “She’s dead,” Penelope answered.

  A parent dying was so far from my reality, I couldn’t imagine the insecurity it would foster. “Oh,” I said, searching for words. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she answered. “I didn’t know her anyway. She died when I was a baby. I got the virus from her.”

  “Virus?” I asked, trudging alone. She moved pretty fast and I had trouble keeping up with her.

  “You know,” she said. “The blindness virus.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “How much farther until we get to this place?” I asked.

  “We’re almost there,” she said.

  We walked a few hundred yards further when she stopped. “It’s close,” she said, reaching her hands out. “Here it is.”

  It was then that I noticed she was feeling along the fence for the opening. It wasn’t really an opening; the pole cemented into the ground stopped the chain link fence at a tree with a huge circumference, beyond which a stone wall with wrought iron stanchions across the top began. It looked ancient. I wondered if this was the original sanitarium Paul’s father had told him about.

  “Can you see if the electric fence ends here, too?”

  I walked beyond our stopping point and didn’t see evidence that the fence was electrified in any way. “Yes, I think it ends. I’ll touch the brick wall.”

  “Be careful!” she cried.

  I wasn’t sure if a brick wall could even be electrified. Carefully, I reached out a finger and nothing. “I didn’t get a shock,” I called out.

  “Can you climb over?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Looking up, I saw the pointed reinforcements marching across the top and imagined getting impaled on it. “Maybe I can climb this tree,” I said.

  It would certainly be easier to climb the tree than the wall.

  “Hurry and try,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

  I felt around the tree and there was a divot about two feet from the ground. If I could get my toe up there, I might be able to boost myself up to the crotch of a two large limbs.

  It was a success. “Now if I can figure out how to get down from here without killing myself.”

  Penelope was standing under the tree, looking up at me. “Can I help?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said, uncertain what to try first. “Move away, please,” I said, not wanting to drop down on her.

  I didn’t know if I should risk getting scratched up shimmying down the tree or try to jump. Feeling along the limb which hung over to the inside, I decided it would be less risky to creep out and drop to the ground. I wasn’t thinking about how I was going to get out of there once I was inside.

  My plan worked. With a whoop, I let myself fall on my rear end, lessening the impact of the drop on my knees. I stood up quickly, embarrassed, brushing my clothes off.

  “Are you okay?” Penelope asked.

  Busy straightening myself up, I didn’t notice anything untoward, yet. “Yep,” I said. “Nothing to it.”

  She stood a distance, facing me, not coming closer. She looked right at me, but I noticed immediately that something was wrong. She didn’t see me, although she was looking at me. “You’re really Steve?”

  “Yep, it’s me,” I answered.

  Taking a step closer to her, I was shocked. I could see she wasn’t fifteen, her face thin and adult. “Penelope?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Are you disappointed?”

  “No,” I replied, confused. “Disappointed about what? I thought you were fifteen,” I said. “How old are you?”

  Hesitating, I knew she was going to lie again. “Eighteen,” she answered, her head bowed. “I’m eighteen.”

  “Why’d you lie?”

  “I wanted you to like me,” she said. “You were the first outside boy here in a long time. I’m so lonely. But I didn’t think you’d go for an older girl and I was right.”

  I looked at her carefully, avoiding looking into her eyes, afraid she’d see that I was intimidated by her. She had beautiful hair; golden curls that tumbled over her shoulders. Her mouth was a doll’s mouth, painted into a perfect cupid’s bow, but I wasn’t sure if it was lipstick or not.

  The problem was that I didn’t know enough about women. I took the time to run my eyes over her body and she didn’t seem to mind. The women in my neighborhood wore undergarments that molded and restricted their bodies, removing any of the life which men evidently found tantalizing. Penelope didn’t have anything like that on under her clothing which was made of a thin cotton fabric, unstructured, tied around her waist. Her breasts were mobile, and for a young boy, mesmerizing. She was soft and round and I wondered if being with her was going to mark the end of my sexual innocence. My mother would be so angry.

  “That’s not true,” I said finally answering her, relaxing. “I don’t care how old you are. I just don’t like to be lied to.”

  I was so in over my head. This was a woman looking for a man, not a young boy. It was slowly sinking in that Penelope had something physically wrong with her, but I was too young to figure it out yet. It wasn’t until she held out her hand for me and moved closer that it began to sink in. The shock made me lose my manners.

  Her eyes were colorless. Up close, I saw that although she had pupils, they were devoid of color.

  “Can’t you see?” I asked, appalled, releasing her hand.

  My throat constricted, nausea rising. I’d never known a blind person, or heard of anyone who was blind. Even the word blind was used descriptively; stop shining that light in my eyes, you’re blinding me, or I must need new glasses, I’m as blind as a bat. The idea of blindness was as dreadful to me as losing a limb. Paul’s grandfather had lost his hand in a mining accident. The first time I saw what was left of it, the stump, they called it, it sickened me. I had to leave Paul’s house, telling my friends I needed to go home early that day.

  Penelope’s eyes had the same affect on me. I wished I could scale the fence and run. I couldn’t imagine kissing her, as I had in my dreams. The thought of getting that close to her face, with those eyes was sickening.

  “No,” she answered sadly. “I’m blind. I thought you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” I replied, hoping with each word said that I wasn’t making her feel worse.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re only thirteen,” she said, sighing. “But you’ll learn in school soon. I’ve heard the truth is told when you become teenagers, at the same time they teach you about menstruation or how babies are made. They don’t want to upset the little kids with stories of people losing their eyesight.”

  A body rush starting at my toes worked its way up my body, a combination of adult topics both embarrassing and titillating, and a sense of danger, that here was someone who was not only forbidden to be close to me, but also to speak of these things.

  “How did you go blind?” I asked softly, not su
re how she would react to such a personal question, but I had to know.

  “Like I said, my mother got sick with the virus when I was born,” she said. “Before she died, I caught it from her. It took a few years to incubate until I finally got sick, real sick and then I lost my sight.”

  “Why would I learn in school that you’re blind?”

  She had bent down to pick up a piece of grass and was shredding it, rolling the threads into balls and flicking them to the side. “What are you talking about?”

  “When I said I didn’t know you were blind, you said that I’d be taught something about it at the same time I’d learn about…those other things. Why would they teach me about you?”

  “It’s not just me, Steve,” she said, vehemently. “Everyone here is blind. We’re all blind. That’s why we live here.”

  Staggered, my mouth gaping open, I couldn’t believe what she said. A city of blind people lived behind a fence? It made no sense to me. She must mean the people she walked with each night were also blind.

  I took a step toward her, to try to close the gap I felt the discussion about her sight had made, compassion overflowing. The news suddenly made me incomprehensibly sad. A human being, someone I was growing fond of, lived away from her father and I assumed other family members because she was different. For the first time in my young life, I understood inequity. Reaching out for her hand, I tried to make up for my rudeness.

  “I’m so sorry, Penelope. I’m being a jerk because I’m shocked. I didn’t know.”

  “No, you didn’t, so it’s hardly your fault,” she said, tossing her hair.

  Watching her face while she spoke helped me to get used to her eyes, to their vacancy. It might have been the dark that emphasized the strangeness.

  “Can I feel your face?” she asked.

  “Why?” I didn’t want her to feel my face. It sounded weird and embarrassing.

  “I don’t know what you look like,” she answered. “My fingertips will show me your face.”

  “I guess so,” I agreed, trying not to be childish.

  She took a step closer to me, and her diminutiveness was more apart up close. It took all of my will power not to reach out and pull her to me. Reaching up with her hands, she placed them gently on my face and began to probe, pressing on my cheeks, skimming over my closed eyes, squeezing my nose.