DEFEATISM

23

Galilee finds Callie in the study room. She's always in there, doing art, and this evening is no exception. With a window cracked open behind her, Callie paints. The knuckles on her hands are stiff from the cold air but she doesn't want it closed. At least the air isn't stale. Besides, it might not help her paint anyway. All she's managed on her canvas is to colour the grey and black shades of the tunnel.

At night, when it is extremely dim, your colour vision goes. In a class Callie took last year, they were given an assignment where they had to go outside at night, in an area without lights and only guided by the moon. The cones in your eyes that see colour cannot respond in those dim conditions. They had to paint what they saw, in a sort of black-and-white world. Callie has synesthesia, so the activity was a challenge for her. She sees only in colour.

There was nothing but grey down in that tunnel.

"Hey," Galilee manages.

Callie looks up at her, offering a sad smile. Maybe it's the tunnel, maybe it's not, but she doesn't feel like panicking in the same way that she did before. Galilee sits down opposite Callie, looking down at the painting.

"You have synesthesia, right?" Galilee asks.

Callie furrows her brow, "sorry?"

"You and Moonie talked about it before a meeting once," Galilee says. "I don't think you noticed I was there."

The conversation is familiar to Callie. She talked with Moonie about the colours she saw in them. It's the kind of magical thing Moonie likes. The kind of thing she thinks Maverick sees in her. There Callie is again. A background character. Someone who furthers their plots, but is still waiting for her inciting incident. Even if one smashed into her, Callie doesn't think she'd heed it's call.

"Yeah, I do," Callie braces for the question everybody asks. "It's colour-related, not smell or anything else."

She doesn't think Galilee is the type to outwardly show that she's upset being a cool brown. Most people expect exciting colours. People are rarely, if ever, satisfied with Callie's answer. Galilee's different. After all, Galilee wears a lot of mute colours. Mostly pastels, pinks and blues. Today though, since coming out of the tunnels, Galilee has changed into a deep green sweater.

"What colour are you?" Galilee asks.

Callie pulls away from her paints. Galilee watches the way she moves. She is beautiful in her art, in the way she dresses, but even in the way she glides. Even in the way, Callie's lips twitch slightly, her brows knot together tightly. Callie is beautiful in every way she tries and every way she doesn't.

"I don't know," Callie looks down at her hands. "I'm always here. I suppose I've never looked."

Galilee peers at Callie. She finds herself swallowing, trying to straighten.

"I think your gold. At least, an orangey yellow. You know, like a black-eyed susan. They grow all over the place here. You're the colour of a lot of wildflowers, I think."

Galilee leans back a bit. Across from her, Callie looks at her colour palette. She doesn't have the colour Galilee is describing, but she knows it. A golden colour.

The best time for photography is golden hour.

"You're pretty strong," Galilee says. "You know, growing in adverse conditions. Beautiful even if you don't feel loved. I look for metaphors when I probably shouldn't be. It's an English major thing."

When Callie doesn't interrupt her, Galilee continues.

"You know,' Galilee takes in a deep breath, "I don't... it isn't something I usually tell people, but my parents are family vloggers. Everything about me is online. You can look up quizzes about my life. Being filmed makes me feel like the opposite of a wildflower. Too loved, too seen. Beautiful in a forced and uncomfortable way. Being behind the lens gives me something back at least. It brings my days up."