Layered Muse

By Zoha Syed

There is a certain stillness that comes with the commotion of anxiety. Inside that stillness, peace can only exist in particular extremes.

As the background noise muffles out behind the classroom door, a paper plate lands right in front of the child. Eager to please, they wait patiently with a paintbrush in their hand, hoping to get their “favorite” colors. “Favorite” carried a secret weight, a quiet guilt even, for the colors left behind. For picking one over the other meant deeming the others completely worthless. Yet, not choosing a favorite color at all meant being left behind by society entirely. What a mountain of expectation for a question that hadn’t even been asked.

Luckily, the teacher assigned the colors for the children herself. The child looked around the room, waiting for her to finally splotch some paint onto their plate. Their body sat still as their eyes moved anxiously between the falling paint and the teacher, searching for any unspoken clarity on this new relationship. Almost as if it were the first test of whether they were worthy of being loved or not. No middle ground between them, just black and white.

Seems simple, mix the two and share. Maybe the brush wasn’t being held right, or the strokes weren’t smooth enough. The child pressed their bare fingers into the paint, desperately hoping for one or the other to give. They kept focus, hoping that the surrounding commotion meant that the struggle was mutual. Yet when they looked up, they noticed the room moving on with ease.

“I just want to feel safe, too.”

A heavy weight started to settle on their tiny chest. Desperate for approval, the child glanced around hoping for an answer. Every smile of success around them felt like a witness to a failure they couldn’t let anyone see. Then, deep in the midst of the newfound colors, a dull gray stood still.

…

The room opened up and for a split second, I could breathe again. However, I couldn’t enjoy the moment. After all, the success wasn’t truly mine. Slowly but surely the gray started to dissolve back into its original black and white form. It would be a while before we could mix and be okay.

“The safety is always necessarily an illusion.”