Color. Color is what reminds me of my childhood.

Blue. The color of my father's eyes. The color of my crib, the one my parents bought for me before I was born, thinking I would be a boy. The color of the ocean, viewable from the balcony of my grandfather's beach house.

Green. The color of my mother's eyes. The color of the acres of grass I would run through every summer at my aunt's country club. The color of the Tinker Bell costume I wore for Halloween when I was six years old.

Red. The color of my toy fire trucks. The color of the lipstick my mother coated my lips with for my fifth birthday. The color of the cherries in the cherry tree that I was forbidden to approach because it was in my neighbor's backyard.

Yellow. The color of my rag doll's hair. The color of school buses. The color of the rain coat that I never wore, that rested on the coat hanger every day, even during rainy days.

But these colors are now gone. They are replaced by one color, if it is even considered a color: black. Black, black, black. Black everywhere: in front of me, behind me, under me, above me, to my left, and to my right.

Black is now what reminds me of all things. The color that once used to remind me of charcoal, of smoke, of ink, now reminds me of everything.

It reminds me of the car crash that took away my sight, my vision, and my ability to see colors. All that was left behind were the memories.

Today, however, I will attempt to recall these colors. My mother gently supported me as I eased my foot into my shoes, extending my toes, hoping they would feel my way for me.

As soon as I stepped outside, memories kept coming, coming, coming, flooding me, drowning me. I could no longer hear my mother beside me, could no longer feel my senses. How long has it been since I've stepped outside?

The sun that hit my face… orange. The slide in our backyard was orange.

The smell of freshly cut grass… green. The board in my kindergarten class was green.

The feel of my shoes pressing into wet mud… brown. My little brother's hair is brown.

The smell of roses… red. My heart-and-stars necklace is red.

But then, as my mother walked me further, I sensed things that did not bring me any memories or colors.

"Please, spare me some change."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"The cashier accidentally gave me a bunch of extra change, but she didn't notice, so it's mine now!"

What was all this? Could the span of time between my childhood and now really be enough to cause this much change? Could people become this corrupt in such a short amount of time? Or was I, as a child, too occupied by colors to notice all this?

I bumped into something. "My foot! It's broken! Watch out!"

"I—I'm sorry," I stuttered. A man with a broken foot… left here, abandoned, in the streets?

"Mother," I whispered. "I… I want to go back. I want to go back." My voice got higher, my desperation clearer and stronger, "I want to go back!"

I could feel her arm leading me around, taking me back… taking me away from the colors… away from the memories… and back to black.