Gray World

"Would you like to restore your memory?"

I was in a decorated wooden office in the home of a man wearing a brown suit. I sat in a small chair before him, his astute shoulders were intimidating but his steady voice counteracted. I had been seeing him since I was twelve years old, because he was my therapist. That question he asked was his most common one, and I greatly disliked it.

"What, do you have a magic potion that can do that?" I asked sneeringly.

"My apologies," he said, "I'm fresh out. Come back in four months for a restock. Now, your answer?"

My lack of improvement after all these years wasn't his fault, but because, and I answered, "I don't know if I want to."

That was the truth. I didn't know if life would miraculously resolve everything wrong with me simply because I remembered my childhood. I pondered the purpose of that question, and of this session as a whole.
What back then could help me now?

He asked, "Not knowing, do you think that is the problem?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But there must be some sort of problem."

I was discharged from the hospital after recovery, but that wasn't to say I hadn't any problems. My mind was still recuperating so I didn't remember much during the three weeks I spend inside, and of course my life before. There had been an emptiness inside me.

I tried searching for answers, but I only started falling behind. It was ignorant to think the world would stop and allow me to catch up, so I had no choice but to drop my search and continue my life without answers.

I hadn't other family to claim custody, forcing me to move out of my parents' old apartment. I had very few personal belongings and recognized none of what they owned, so I brought little with me into a tiny broken orphanage on the other side of the city. The move also forced me to enroll in a different school.

My therapist, Doctor Haruki Shizuko, asked, "Can you tell me what you think the problem is from your point of view?"
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with interest.

My gaze was already away from his face and shifted to my profusely sweating palms that rested on my lap. My legs habitually bounced on the golden polyester rug below my feet as I tried to think.

Throughout my first year at the old orphanage, the kids tried to help me fit in, but it only took one conversation for them to realize I was disconcerting. There was never a second interaction and they spoke surreptitiously behind my back. I quickly noticed the dissimilarities that drove the social ilk away from me. I couldn't be close to anyone because of my eyes.

"I-It's probably the way I see the world."

I was then asked to elaborate.
"I see the world in gray. It's like when people say they see through 'rose-tinted glasses' or a 'glass half full.' But for me, it's like I'm wearin' cloud-tinted glasses on a rainy day, lookin' at a glass half empty."

"I see," he said, relaxing in his chair. "So you have something everyone has but uses differently: Selective perception. Through experience, people tend to focus on specific aspects of a situation and ignore all the other parts. It's all bias and expectations we use to make life easier or more difficult. What makes you see gray? Your accident?"

I paused to think.

I lamented whatever interesting personality I had in the accident and felt distressed when optimistic people talked to me because I couldn't radiate the same energy. I skipped communal dining hours and ate only near midnight, refused to participate in group activities, and overall wallowed in my own individual and niche hobbies so as not to be a nuisance. I spoke to myself in my head more than to others aloud. I thought that was okay, but the orphanage caregivers didn't agree.

They were the ones to bring me before Doctor Shizuko.

I said, "When we spoke for the first time, you diagnosed me with depression. I was confused by that, there wasn't an emotion inside me that could tell me what that diagnosis meant. B-But the horrified shock on the caregivers' face further led me to believe I was abnormal."

"Well, most people react poorly to news like that, but then again, you aren't most people."

"I guess. I've never met anyone that can relate to what I've been through, nor has anyone revealed themselves to have known me before. I'm surrounded by people, at school and the orphanage, but all my eyes see is my lonely self out of place. My birth certificate proves I've lived in this city all my life, but I don't know how eleven-year-old me saw it. I'm blind to my old life, so I can't help but see gray."

"Then, have you tried other ways of seeing?"

"What do you mean, Shizuko-sensei?"

He used his fingers to gesture.
"For every one problem you may meet, there's a minimum of two solutions you may find. If using your eyes to try and focus on 'rose-tinted' features won't work, then why only use your eyes? Blind people see blurs, some nothingness, but it's their other senses that help them see the world around them."

I understood the words he said, but not the message he was trying to convey with them. Fortunately, or not, our time was up before I could ask him to elaborate—not that I would have anyway. This was usually how I felt when leaving his house every two to three times a month.

Before I left, my therapist asked one final question:

"Are you truly alone out there?"

My session ended in the morning. I had the choice to return to school, albeit late, but because today was the last day of the semester and final grades were already submitted, I opted to use my doctor's note to excuse my absence instead, like always. My destination was the orphanage; I could hardly call it a home.

Despite the summer season ripening and beaches packed, the forecast predicted cloudy weather with a chance of rain—typical for the Hokkaido prefecture. No matter the season, the city of Sapporo experienced this style of weather from dawn until dusk. Anemic overcast skies with cool winds were something I was unfortunately used to by now.

I plugged my earphones into my smartphone and listened to my favorite music group—an idol band from a rhythm game I played, very niche. I walked through neighborhoods and avenues, passing houses and convenience stores. My eyes were glued to the bitter concrete rather than the supposed artful buildings. There was barely any difference between reality and the first place I saw in this new life; a metal prison. A monochromatic hell.

I had always had this miserable hell in my mind, but I started to prefer living there after entering high school.

The head caregivers at the old orphanage and the student advisors at school ambushed me with similar questions. What universities am I interested in? What career will I am for? How can I positively contribute to the changing world?

Who am I?

Instead of finding answers to those meddling questions, I subconsciously materialized the hell in my mind. It encapsulated the essence of my emotions—or lack thereof. Any normal person depicted hell with the same attributes: Fiery, molten, volcanic, and scorching red. But because of the natural weather of this city and the rainiest months being near the end of autumn to early winter, my barren knolls had never-ending rivers of lava; the embers without vibrancy. I didn't know the positives and negatives; all this was neutral for me.

The reason I preferred this over reality was because it didn't inconvenience anyone. The more I stayed, the less people bothered with me. Their worries dropped, which was beneficial for everyone. I was able to flow freely in a small boat down one of the rivers, unlike reality, where I was awkward and always flailing.

Then I remembered what my therapist said about selective perception.

Is it possible for me to see roses?

I lifted my eyes to try and paint color onto the city. The architectural symmetry of the buildings fit together like a puzzle, similarly organized to keep a simple layout but also uniquely distinct in terms of overall appearance. The city was the exact opposite of my nondescript self.

Further down the road, there were alleys between the puzzle pieces overflowing with trash bags and stained metal cans. The nimbus clouds made it difficult for the vibrant colors to be at their fullest, turning them pale and dim. I quickly lost my flowers.

Damn it, I did it again. What did sensei say again, see the world with other senses? Does that actually work or is that just some therapist talk?

As I reached an intersection, the pedestrian light turned red. I decided to pause my music and take off my earphones. Closing my eyes, I opened my ears to see. Tires screeched over the asphalt as cars made their right turns; horns blaring with every vehicle. I wasn't alone on the sidewalk, with chatter from people around me overlapping until it was unintelligible. I'd rather my music.

The light turned green and I walked the zebra crossing, returning my earphones and choosing to go with another sense. Even without the sunlight, Sapporo felt warm; humid but cool. The sun set late in the summer, so there was about fifteen hours of daylight. Accustomed people elected to wear a T-shirt, but the twenty-degree weather made hoodies just as common. I compromised with a long sleeve, I rolled my right sleeve up to my elbow and walked for a bit. Uncomfortable goosebumps forced on any exposed skin, so I quickly abandoned the idea.

My sense of smell was already quite faulty, so there wasn't a point in using it.

Guess I failed again, Shizuko-sensei.
It was natural for me to see the world like this, which wasn't a brag, just how I operated.

Depression was identified as a sunken sorrow from the normalcy of one's life. However, my accident caused me to forget the normalcy I once had, therefore my supposed "sunken sorrow" was my new standard. In other words, I didn't feel conventionally depressed, but my aberrant opinion didn't matter as I'd apparently checked off all the boxes of a predetermined criteria.

It took time before fruit could be harvested.

I passed a pie-themed shop that I recently frequented and figured I'd quickly eat since I missed breakfast for therapy. My other senses failed, it was only right to confirm taste was just as useless. Inside the shop, a male cashier took my order of a matcha latte and fluffy green key lime pie.

I first came here three seasons ago after a similar session gave me a sudden hunger while I was walking back. I found this pie shop by chance, but it stood out to me. Unlike the city, I was able to genuinely admire the architecture of this building. The interior made of polished wood and amber brick walls provided a calm space no matter how packed it got. A large windowpane by the door facing the main street allowed ambient warmth in both lighting and atmosphere.

The hazel and vanilla colors resonated with the right personality that any sweet pastry shop should have. The seated customers sipped their steaming coffee and ate their freshly baked pastries as if all worries were checked at the door. That was how I felt when my order was finally called. Since that impulsive autumn day, I'd come here to eat after therapy.

I typically sat in the individual seats facing the window, but there weren't many customers and I planned to eat quickly, so I sat at a table for two for the extra space. The chairs had watermelon or orange slices as seat cushions. I took my first bite of the pie.

My poor sense of smell may have stopped me from appreciating taste to the fullest, but I still knew the five distinct sensations and could still enjoy a delicacy. I reached into my schoolbag and took out a bottle of antidepressants.
Four left? Doesn't really feel like a month has passed. Guess I'm due another refill soon.
I opened the cap and poured one pill onto a napkin, then put the container away.

I scrolled through the news on my smartphone as I ate. Most of yesterday's articles ranged from the shift of political order to a series of bank robberies in the prefecture, and how the people in charge would respond to them. Jobs involving communication with the public baffled me. I disliked talking, but also found it exhausting to actively avoid it. If an interaction was going to happen, it happened, and I could only hope my indifference persuaded others to not pursue contact any further.

In my monochromatic hell, I rowed a small boat down one of the many lava rivers, sitting furthest back and staring at the darkness consuming behind the boat. Any time I spoke with someone, whether they lectured about my future or wanted to make conversation, they stood on a small jetty by the riverbanks and talked as my small vessel passed by, but I never docked to face them, nor did they mount aboard. People were just fleeting checkpoints.

Near the end of an article questioning Sapporo's security, I noticed someone's shoe in my peripherals. I lifted only my eyes and saw a girl wearing a high school uniform holding a plate of pie. The rest of my head followed as I paused my music and took an earphone off. She awkwardly stood as I gave her my attention.

Without much volume, she asked, "May...I sit?"

I, stiffly and awkwardly, nodded my assent. Déjà vu.

"Pardon my...intrusion."
She gingerly laid her tray on the table and sat down in the watermelon chair across from me.

No, I hadn't invited anyone, but I shouldn't be surprised she was here; she frequented this place as often—no, more than me. I wasn't against her sitting with me, though I probably wouldn't deny anyone as to not cause an inconvenience. The only surprise was how she was still willingly interacting with me. I dangled one earphone over my shirt collar.

"Good morning...Vieira-san," she greeted with a midnight whisper.
She was one of the two people who could say my foreign surname flawlessly.

"G-Good morning to you too, Ri-Ringomori-san."

This wasn't our first or second meeting. She had joined me when I first found this pie shop. Back then, it was the first time we had truly spoken to each other. Like me, she always ordered the same meal, but hers was different in that it was custom and off the menu. She took a small bite of her pie that had whipped cream with some kind of sweet spice mixed with rainbow sprinkles.

I didn't necessarily know her and we didn't really talk much, so that tense greeting was the peak of our interaction. We were the only silent table in the shop, but that didn't seem to bother us, though it did confuse me.

I believed our first meeting here was a coincidence due to my impulse to eat at a place she just happened to visit often. From what little I did know about her, she was timid and reserved and never one to start a conversation, which was why I was surprised at her request to sit—then and now. Still, I never asked questions and saw her the same way my eyes saw everyone else.

We each ate our meals as if the other wasn't present. She scrolled through her phone, probably reading another manga on an app. I opened and started playing my rhythm game, trying to full combo a few difficult songs. We exchanged zero words, indulging in our activities for nearly an hour.

Eventually she stopped reading and set down her phone to look around the shop. I figured she was getting bored, but I didn't really think it was my problem to deal with. She invited herself after all.

This was usually how it went, from awkward introductions to silently sitting together, which usually led to an equally awkward farewell. I wondered if today was one of those days, or if she'd make things trivial. I could never tell.

As time passed during our silence, it seemed her uneasiness with me subsided. On rare occasions did that lead her to stilted talking, like today.

"Congratulations on finishing the first semester...of your third year, Vieira-san."

Her statement caught me off-guard. I lifted my gaze from my phone to see her fringe blocking her eyes as she stared at the tabletop and twitched her shoulders, likely fidgeting underneath the table. I figured I should say something in return if it meant speeding up her point.

"Ah, yeah. U-Um, congratulations to you too."
I then added a hollow comment, "High school's been an experience."

"Thank...you."
She raised her head to take a small sip of her drink.
"Quite a forgettable experience."

Watching her drink reminded me to take my pill now that I was done eating.

She graced her eyes upon me and asked, "Did you come back from an appointment with...Shizuko-sensei?"
Not sure why she asked, she knew the answer.

I nodded.

"How did it go."

Even if she already knew this part of me, I was still hesitant to answer. But it would only be rude to ignore her.

"S-Same as always," I said.
I felt like she wanted more from me, but I said all I wanted to say.

"Are you...going to school after this?"

I shook my head.

"No? Are you planning to skip."

I looked at her uniform. It was a sailor uniform with brown and purple colors, completely different from my school's cobalt blue and black blazer. "Y-You aren't in school either."

"Well," she said quietly, "I have a doctor's appointment. I am eating beforehand, but if I still have time once I am done, then I will go to school afterwards."

"Really? Thought you would've taken the day off."

"Vieira-san, you... you must not cause trouble for others."

I scoffed, as if a joke was being told.
"I'm not. Bein' absent from people's lives means they ignore me, and inconveniences can't be made."

"How do you feel when people...ignore you?"

"I don't think or feel anything about it."

"What...do you think the people around you feel when they are ignored by you?"

I hesitated for a moment.
"I-I don't want to think about their thoughts."

"It is easy to cause...unintentional trouble."
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
"Staying out of people's lives...and thinking there will be no regrets...is easy to do. However, next thing you know, people are afflicted because of those crassly decisions, and it becomes impossible to turn back and fix. A boat that is going through harsh rapids is difficult to control."

Looking at her caused a slight ache in my head. I took her words at face value. Through trivial conversation, I knew we had similarities, but I believed she was naive and hadn't suffered as much as me. I never asked why she sat with me, but doing so would likely provoke her to do it more. Not heeding her words would make her take back her misplaced interest and leave me alone.

There was only room for one boat in my stream. She was just another jetty.

We silently agreed it was time to leave, discarding our trash and returning the trays. She left the shop first and held the door open for me. Going in different directions, we exchanged an uncouth farewell.

"See you later," she said.

"Goodbye," I replied.

She told me, "Don't join the parents."

I continued my commute north of the pie shop and resumed life in the blasé world as a uniformed gray spread across the sky. I turned left into a residential street and realized the correct turn was three streets later, at the main thoroughfare. Ensorcelled by my natural connotations of the city, I found myself committing this same mistake a few times recently when returning from therapy. For whatever reason, I felt like this was the turn I had to make.

There's something about this road... But instead of wastin' time lookin' at more of the city, I should return and be done for today.

I didn't explore further and turned around towards the path that led to the orphanage; curiosity only killed the cat.

The orphanage was a moderately large building, with a plethora of kids and a few caregivers living with me. The outside was like the inside, beige and alabaster white. The technology was as modern as the new era we lived in. I wasn't used to this place because this wasn't the first orphanage I lived in.

One year ago, my first orphanage went through financial instability, becoming dilapidated and forced to shut down during the summer break. Any normal orphan my age had the option to live on their own in apartments or school dorms, but my diagnosis marked me as a higher risk to care for myself, so I had no choice but to change orphanages too. This new one was closer to my parents' old apartment and likely the life I once lived, but it didn't matter much now. I was simply glad I didn't have to transfer schools this time.

I opened the door and was met with the other orphans flocking around me. Numerous kids were playing, running around like headless chickens overclocked on sugar. There were also a few caregivers watching over them in the large living room, the furniture doing its best to prevent permanent stains on its dark leather.

One of the kids approached me and asked, "Cha-kun, are you watching any new shows this season?"

I shook my head.

Popular culture such as shows and movies was a frequent topic of conversation during middle school. I picked a few recommendations through the grapevine and watched them from time to time, sometimes with other orphans. But whilst they expressed laughter or melancholy during a scene, I remained apathetic. I felt the same emotions as them, but there was something, or lack of something, that didn't allow me to display it. They did it so effortlessly, which led me to stop watching altogether, only keeping up with my rhythm game and music group.

One of the caregivers approached me and asked, "Chamaru-san, how was your session?"

"It was okay," I responded mundanely as ever.

"You won't be attending school? You should be out there enjoying your final day before break."
She, like many, wore maid outfits and acted eloquently.

I pulled out my smartphone and opened an email.
"I sent Shizuko-sensei's absence note to my teachers. Guess break starts early for me."
I turned away and stepped upstairs.

My room was furthest down the hall, passing all the other kids' doors; most were more colorful than mine. All rooms were the same size, which was quite small. Mine was a bit open since I only filled it with necessities like a bed, desk, and one clothes drawer. The walls were painted beige, the ceiling white, and the floorboards were polished oak. I had a window on the opposite side of my desk, but the dark curtains I had over it didn't allow much light in.

Summer break had begun. I was a sedentary person, so while students were enjoying their final day chatting and watching movies, I sat at my desk entertaining myself with my rhythm game. The latest event had started, and I attempted to complete my quest of reaching the top100. From my meaningless point of view, I was having a better experience.

It didn't last long, however. I would slightly regret not attending school, but not because I wanted to interact with my colorful classmates. When school officially ended a few hours later, I was called downstairs to greet an unmemorable teacher that arrived at the front door—and the next jetty.

"Ah. H-Hello, Kurokami-sensei."
My hand tightened behind the door handle, my thumb tapping haphazardly on the brass.

It was my homeroom teacher, whom many students regarded as an austere man, and in his hands was a parcel I assumed was my summer homework. I figured he wasn't in the best of moods, likely because I'd taken time away from his vacation by making him be a mailman.

A low octave growl emerged as he handed me the parcel.
"I see you used therapy as an excuse not to show up again. Maybe if you tried to make friends at school, you wouldn't need that crap anymore. From what I've seen, you haven't improved by choice, which makes my job harder. I pity whoever's been treating you too. There's only so much we can do."

I said nothing. The limit of my eye contact was to the knot of his obsidian tie. My hands curled into fists under the parcel, but I wasn't angry. He turned and took a step down the stairs before turning his neck to say another derisive vitriol.

"Parents want to be proud of a son who's dutiful, not a tepid one without goals. Not like you."

"Y-Yes, Kurokami-sensei."

Kids were still playing behind me and I didn't want them to worry, so I closed the door ever so gently. My body itched as my internal heat rose like a volcano. Irregular breathing began as I tried to regain control of my hazing mind. My teeth dug deep into the inside of my bottom lip, but I displayed no animosity.

Every adult is a broken record...

Through practice, a monotonous mask sealed my frustration as I returned to my room. I threw the parcel onto my bed then leaned back against the closed door. I wasn't the most studious student and evidently failed my teacher, though he seemed grumpy because no one bothered putting an apple on his desk.

Guess Ringomori-san was right, I should've gone to school. Thought floatin' down the lava rivers as I passed people would benefit us both, but maybe I've just been doin' it for myself.

I simply couldn't understand what purpose my presence could have in people's lives. If I had been going down the wrong stream, I couldn't just turn against the lava current and go back. All I could do was hope for a split further down, maybe have someone standing in the middle to point at which is the correct path—if any. I stayed against the door until the orange hues of light outside were purged by a dark blue.

Reality pulled me back when I was called for dinner duty; a household job we were assigned for an allowance. I had to prepare the tables and take drink orders from the orphans and chefs, which varied from experienced caregivers to other high school orphans. My duty was shared, meaning I and someone else alternated weekly. This was how I mostly interacted with the other residents, and as I predicted, most of them lost interest.

Throughout the year, most orphans replied with water or tea, some said soda. Many changed their orders, but there was one consistency. Tonight's meal wasn't anything extravagant and I ate it without ever lifting my eyes from my plate and promptly returned to my room.

Inside every room—next to the door—was a tablet embedded into the wall. Mine was barely used, since it was a way to communicate with the caregivers, but there was a new notification on screen. After reading it, I let out an audible sigh.

The orphanage decided to introduce an original activity called "peer outings" this summer. Peer outings were a method to get orphans familiar with one another by experiencing invigorating fun together while also preventing the dire reality of no familiar love drive us insane. Just by reading the email, I decided that I didn't want to take part, not because I was insane, but because I enjoyed my solitary life; maybe that was insane to some.

We'd have to submit an "outing form" to the main office that listed the location and number of participants an outing was going to consist of. This activity was optional for elementary and middle school orphans, but mandatory for us in high school—which happens to have a couple of rotten apples.

What to do? I thought, sitting on my bed. I don't want to be an inconvenience for the caregivers, but I don't want to do this either.

I belayed my thoughts and played my rhythm game; this was my priority.

Once I played, I didn't stop. The only source of light in my room was my phone screen as night was dominating outside my shielded window. I was concentrating greatly on the speeding notes while my phone gradually inched closer to my eyes. I was at peace, but it didn't last long.

My ear twitched and my heart jolted to the sound of abrupt knocking at my door. The knock itself wasn't loud or harsh, but I was startled at the fact someone chose to approach me. I paused my game and got out of bed. The gentle knocking continued one more time.

I reached for the doorknob and froze briefly before holding it. My hand slightly twitched as I erratically exhaled my anxiety.
I thought, Who would want to see me?

I opened the door, and there she stood.

"Did you...read the email?" she asked.

Being tall for a boy, I looked down at her, who was around average female height. She met my eyes, which was rare for her to do. Her pupils were shaking, surely she was bound to look away.

"M-Mhm, but I don't l-like it."

"I figured as much, however...it would be unwise to make them angry by...not participating in the peer outings."

I knew why they introduced this, and that irritated me.

I asked, "Are you okay with this, bein' told how to live your life?"

She said, diffidently, "They are only...trying to help me. It is my fault for being like this in the first place, so...I do not want to cause more trouble and have them think ill of me. I...I submitted an outing for...Thursday."

She wore an oversize yellow sweater, its sleeves longer than her arms. The fidgeting of her hands tied the ends together like a bow. There was only one reason she came here nervously.

"A-Am I right in thinkin' you knocked on my door to invite me?"

She took a moment to pick out the right words from a tree of thought, then she untied her hands and stood straight.
With a sudden smile, she said, "I want to go hiking up a mountain, it should be...quite relaxing. I am going to bring my camera with me...because I think it could be something worth remembering."

She left. I closed my door and looked at the email still displayed on the tablet, then flopped onto my bed. I rolled around a few times until I was dizzy and facing the warped ceiling. Another day in my gray world was ending. Even though the sun did shine, and the city was painted with color, I couldn't avoid thinking of the gray that would inevitably dominate.

That was how I saw the world with my eyes.

That was my sight, because of my circumstances. The thin dull walls allowed the high-pitched shouting of little kids to seep through as if they were all inside my room. So many of them lived in this building, but I was sure they had a better chance of living with another family. I didn't empathize with them because I was different from most. I wished it could have been all.

She was meant to become exhausted from my stubbornness. For the most part, she lived her own life, and I did mine, but we did have a few similarities. We ate at the same pie shop and shared the same therapist. Almost everyone had a sweet tooth, but the reason for sharing a therapist was for something rarer: A diagnosis of depression.

We also shared the same address because we were orphans.

I wanted to be left alone. I only met her by coincidence. To entertain her on Thursday would be pure impulse. She was gray in my eyes, but I hadn't seen if she was gray with my other senses. If I had remembered my childhood, would it be easier to use them to make decisions?

"Do I want to restore my memory?"