Is it possible to feel color? There is a word for it; synesthesia. Frank Ocean’s album Channel Orange is titled after this perception, as Frank Ocean feels color in a way that is different than most people. The color orange was the feeling Ocean had during that period of his life.
I remember the girl that made me feel the color orange. Orange, orange, what clever thing can I connect this too? I’ve already used fire for the last girl. But I don’t think it can be compared to anything that will make it understood by someone who hasn’t felt it before, felt the color spectrum.
I don’t know if I have, but that is what it felt like at that time. I had just gone through some very painful stuff, and I don’t know how or why but this girl popped back into my mind from years ago. So I texted her, hoping that her number hadn’t changed. Luckily it hadn’t, and even luckier she responded.
It felt good to be remembered. It felt orange. I don’t know if everyone feels orange the same way, or if they feel anything the same at all for that matter. But that is a whole other discussion.
We chatted and caught up. After all we hadn’t seen each other for a while, probably a few years. We made plans to hang out, the non-specific kind. Could be sooner, could be later. Hopefully the former, but who knew really. I was starting to come alive again, shifting from grey back to orange. That coldness was the sharpest in the grey. Feeling it warm up and defrost a little was one of the greatest feelings of my life. Feeling like someone cared, even just a little.
Even if just for a little while. Until it got fucked up again. Guess who by. But it took a few days before both of us had time to hang out. I remember waiting for her to come over and listening to the Weeknd’s album Starboy. I was so nervous. But so warm, so orange. This color shit is really starting to get annoying, I know. But the story series had to have a theme, and this girl had to have a color.
But I didn’t pick it. I remembered it like I did this story. The beauty of memory, it can change the shape of a room or the color of a car. That’s from a movie. Someone should write a review about it if they get the chance. Someone with an unusual perspective on things.
Anyways back to this girl. I hear her come up the stairs to my apartment, but I pretend like I don’t. I wait for her to text me, so I don’t seem over anxious even though I am. I look at her through the peephole in the door. I may as well have been looking at her through the looking glass, back into the eternity of time.
She looked at her phone to make sure she had the right apartment number, and then she sends it. The text that could turn ice to fire. That was really clever, I know. So I wait a few seconds to make it seem like I wasn’t waiting for her even though I was. Then I opened the door, and she looks up at me and I look at her.
We both smile and say what’s up. I invite her in and we start talking, first about nothing, the Weeknd playing in the background still. Then we start to get into the heavy stuff, what really has been going on in our lives. We talked for hours, half listening to the music and half just staring at each other. And that was it.
I mean that wasn’t it, but this isn’t that kind of blog, so that was it.
Not very exciting, I know. But that’s the way it went and there’s no sense making up things that didn’t happen. I don’t write these for you, I write them exclusively for one person and one person only. But that feeling. Back to that.
I would say orange if I was ever asked to describe how it felt to go from so much pain and so much cold to so much warmth and so much caring. Nothing came from it, as I mentioned before. My own fault as per usual. But completely on the channel orange. Whatever that means.