"What's your name?" I ask.
"Thomas."
I nod, looking into the eyes of my father. Nothing seems quite right. He sits across from me at a table in the dining hall. There is little conversation that lingers around us, so I try not to talk too loud.
"Why are you here?"
He huffs out a breath and smiles. "To help you discover who you are."
"And who is that?" I ask.
He waits.
I wait.
I hear the voices around us get louder, making the room feel alive. I see streaks of a black and white conversation to the left of my father and I. Tears escape the eyes of a petite woman sitting there. Her eyes are red, swelling. To the right of me, yellow curls of conversation, laughter escaping the lips of two older men. The room becomes a canvas of pastels and neutrals.
My mind runs wild with color, waiting for a response from my father.
He doesn't utter a word.