Chromatically Insane

Tints define ambiguity. What about Beige? Few will disagree it contains slaps of yellow, touches of brown and some debilitating grey. Nondescript nevertheless. Yellow bruises it with its mere presence whilst red nearly damn slays it. A diplomat I’d say. Gentle, indirect and absent. At times it may take a ‘soiled whites’ pose however may just as well be accorded the title of affluent and weathered brown. It will certainly not catch one’s attention unless splattered with primes whereby it struggles to pick a side.

When contemplating a rose red is chosen for its lusty representation of love and passion. Beige would certainly raise eyebrows and attract passionate controversy, not least raise questions about sanity and future social lingering possibilities with the ‘Primes’. Indeed, contrary to its very nature beige may create powerful emotions when improperly chosen, this not due to its presence but rather a process of negative inference. Simply, consternation created by beige comes not from its use but from it having been chosen over another dye. Insane? Why was it not born red or yellow instead? Even pasty Pink surpasses it in popularity. It is for this simple reason that, sunniest of all the winter’s Mondays, Beige found itself within the confines of a well known local psychiatrist offices, patiently (as usual) waiting for its first appointment.

A busy Dr. Purple paced into a brightly lit, sterile white waiting room, nose tipping rimless spectacles.

‘Ahmm… Mr. Beige please?’ Instantly recognizable by its tint, Beige nodded towards the scholarly figure uttering no words, such was his consideration for other hues and tones nestled in the waiting area.

Dr. Purple’s studio was awash with Harvard credentials. Of mixed prime background himself, he offered firsthand knowledge and experience as a member of a much prosecuted creed of mixed-primes. He emanated an intellectually profound but uncannily comforting aura.

Nodding Mr. Beige towards the plush but severe maroon couch, Dr. Purple offered.

“Would you like something to drink?

“A glass of water, if you may”, was the mild response.

Pleasantries later, the bland conversation took a decidedly more colorful tone when Beige noticed a child’s painting atop Dr. Purple’s desk.

“Striking colors and palette” said Beige. “How many children do you have?”

“Two”, Replied Purple. “The painting is from my youngest, a gorgeous and bright little girl. Her name is Violet”.

With sadness inkling his eyes and out of character for his color, Mr. Beige’s demeanor changed. “I wish I was Red, Purple or Yellow. Even pale green or pink if I may add.”

The emotional outburst did not seem to impact Dr. Purple in any other way but re-enforce his initial postulation of Beige’s condition. “And why do you wish to be of any other color?”

“The affiliation I have with beige is catastrophic”, came a more sedate response.

“It’s a matter of identity. I am respectful of others, careful not to create disharmony.” Taking comfort from the lingering scent of dark leather originating from the large settee and adjusting his sitting position, Beige continued. “But it seems that in matters of love and passion, of rhetoric and power, of hope and goodwill... Well, these are quarters where I dismally fail!”

“And why do you say you fail these?” an increasingly engaging Dr. Purple questioned.

“Because despite my cautious and considerate ways, I often find I am obsolete, others wishing me replaced by primes, whether acrylic, oils or not. My mere presence seems to infuriate when meddling in matters where emotions are supreme.”

“I see. So you feel that, albeit your kind consideration of other’s circumstances and ills, you are not welcomed when emotional stakes are high?”

“Indeed Dr. Purple. My pastel shade takes me to the epicenter of many Prime Royal controversies. When balance is sought or when real opinions do not matter. “ Sinking further into emotional distress, Beige continued. “Astute as I am in balancing the fiercest of disagreements I fail to passionately exalt as reds, or purples for that matter, paralyzed in my insipidness, failing to meet the emotional needs of my closest of friends.”

“And you believe this is due to you being beige?”

Contemplating a reply, Beige considered his options. With expert dexterity and poise he replaced silence with a sip of ice cold water, robbing a few moments to compose the correct response.

“Yes. It is because I am beige, required for all that is menial and unimportant, the absence of which is hardly ever noticed, and for which presence may be fatally rewarded in expressive circumstances. No one notices me, and no one wants me. I am chosen last. I am longed as a prime when it comes to matters of the heart!”

Adjusting spectacles and mentally composing an initial summary of his patient’s circumstances, Dr. Purple persuaded his now cold cup of sugary milk and coffee to shatter against beige tiles, the mixture’s tint blending with such affinity to the surface of the floor that is was impossible to assess the extent the damage.

“I am so clumsy. Let me clean it up”. Attempting to hide intent or purpose, Dr. Purple found his way to a cabinet adjacent to him, retrieving an old pale cloth often used for such disasters.

With no hesitation, Beige lifted his smallish frame from the comfort of the Freudian upholstery, making his services available in bringing the floor surface to its previous pristine self.

“Thank you.” Poor sight compelled Dr. Purple to accept the patient’s assistance. It was no time until they were both back into dialogue.

“So, I gather from our session today that you feel unwanted, un-cherished and alone, incapable of fitting in, prosecuted by primes” said Dr. Purple. Looking down, sight clearly improved, he spots a patchy, sticky blemish. “It seems we missed a spot in our attempt to sanitize the spill. Difficult as the mixture and the tiles are beige.”

There was silence. Time and again there are occasions when simple events take precedence in our memories. When a specific sound remind us of a lost love or when a scent takes us back to childhood. It was clear to Beige that this was such an occasion, albeit he was unsure of its significance.

“Oh well, I will clean it up later.“ The words bringing Beige back from thought. Dr. Purple continued “I can sympathize to some of what you have shared with me here today. We the purples are regarded as different. There is much angst from reds and blues. I am the outcome of a history of slavery and prosecution by all the primes. In it, however, knowledgeable of my inherited blend, that I take stand for the vivacity which red gives me, make use of the blue which is contained within my soul, but more importantly am keenly aware, as my forefathers were, of the uniqueness of purple, providing me with a simple and unique set of skills and values, inimitable by any other color. What I ask of you as a matter of attitude is not to only see the differences and denials from the darkest of blacks to the whitest of whites, or anything in between, but to positively indulge in the uniqueness beige offers”.

With soft intent, Dr. Purple extends his hand to Beige. “I believe that this is the first and last session we will have.”

“Yes, I believe so” responded Beige. Last words spoken, they heartily shake hands, Beige exiting the room in self contemplation.