Everything

viii

"White is..."

"The opposite of black? Like black and white?" he filled in for her. 

"Sort of," she said. "But I like to think of each color in terms of itself in addition to relating it to other colors. White...is the sound of snow falling. It's drinking water after you've had a peppermint, or chewed mint gum. It's piano music when there's no other sound and everyone is listening in rapt attention. It's the cool feeling on the flip side of your pillow. It's your hand in cold water, and the feeling of walking through mist. It's a fan on your face, and it's breathing in when the temperature is below freezing."

"So white is cold."

"Sometimes," she said. "But like all colors, it's not always one thing or another."

"How do you keep all the colors straight?" he said, incredulous. "There's so much there."

He felt her arm, up against his, lift in a shrug. "It never seems hard growing up with it, I guess," she said. "I picked up on it from people around me, I suppose."

He listened, as she continued.

"Anyways, white is pure. A fresh snowfall, with no footprints in it and no melted spots, is pure and untouched. White light is bright and stark, pure. Cold air is white, when you breathe it in and it feels like it's so pure and cleansing. White is the color a bride wears on her wedding day. White is clarity and white is fresh beginnings."