“Why would I have a favorite color?” I asked.

            “Sorry, stupid question, huh?” Olivia shuffled through her photos. Fwip. One of them had fallen. The bed creaked and shifted as she bent down to pick it up. As always, I felt I was about to fall off. She had been looking at the pictures she had taken for I don’t know how long. She had to turn in the project to her art teacher the next day.

            “What’s yours?”

            The sound of shuffled photos stopped. “Don’t know.”

            I backed up against the wall and grabbed my stuffed bunny, Mr. Fiffles, feeling his soft fur. I didn’t think of things as having more than shape and texture. I couldn’t feel color. What color was Mr. Fiffles? What color was Olivia? What color was the room? I cleared my throat.

            “My favorite color is black,” I offered. But as soon as the words escaped my lips, I stopped. Was I even sure of that? Did I know what black even was? The color of nothingness, it was still a color, or so everybody said. But it wasn’t on the rainbow, apparently.

            “Hold on, don’t move. I’m going to pick my pictures back up.” Olivia got off the bed. Fwip fwip fffwip. Sliiiip. I felt the folder drop on the bed where she had been sitting.

            “Are you going somewhere?” I asked, my voice falling.

            “Yeah, we are. Come on, Dalia.” She grabbed my hand. Returning Mr. Fiffles to my pillow with the other hand, I leaned forward, and she helped me off the bed. “Do you need your cane?”

            I shook my head. “Not in my own house.”

            I didn’t let go of her hand as we left the room and she led me to the kitchen. A strong citrusy scent filled the air. We walked towards the table.

            “You know what color these fruits are?”

            “I . . . think so?” I reached towards where the center of the table should have been, where there was a bowl of fruit. I felt the bumpy skin of an oval-shaped fruit. A lemon?

            “Wash your hands first!” my mom called out.

            I winced. Why did everyone have to yell? I wasn’t deaf. I washed my hands at the sink and felt the fruits in the bowl. It was just citrus. I smelled them individually and laid them out on the table in front of me. Oranges on the left, then lemons, then limes. I double checked to make sure I had organized all the fruit in the bowl. “Orange, yellow, and green.”

            “You know what colors other foods are?” Olivia asked.

            I nodded slowly. “I think so. But lemons and bananas and cheese all taste and smell and feel different.”

            “A lot of fruits are yellow or orange or red. A lot of vegetables are green.”

            “But . . . why? What does that mean? How can you tell?” I leaned against the table and stared in the direction of the fruits I had laid out as if they could and would answer me. A couple probably fell off, but I wasn’t sure.

            “Hmm.” Olivia tapped her mouth. Mm mm mm mm mm. “How can you tell the different emotions that you or someone might be feeling, even if they otherwise seem the same? Like when they’re talking?”

            “Uh . . .” I was just feeling stupid at this point. I hope I didn’t look too frustrated, but I must have because she rested a hand on my shoulder and patted it.

            “It’s okay, I get it. I mean, I don’t get get it, but . . . I’m sure it’s not quite intuitive for you, and that’s okay. Maybe we’ll get it later.”

            “But I want to. This stuff is all around me, and I don’t understand it. I want to. I want to have a favorite color, something that’s personal to me and that I can relate to. But I just . . . I just don’t get it.”

            “Well we still young and you’ve been . . . homeschooled, your whole life. Meanwhile I’m an art student and can’t explain color to you.” She sighed. We remained silent for a second. I felt the dented skin of an orange in front of me and smelled it.

            “You said something about feelings?” I asked. “Can you feel colors?”

            “Well, not really. I- Wait, that’s it.”

            “What’s it?”

            The orange disappeared from my fingers. She grabbed my hand again and pulled me at two o’clock, towards the door to the backyard. The door slipped open. Fffwwwwwp. She waited outside. Tightening my grip, I stepped through the doorway. The concrete patio felt warm against my bare feet, and the air warmer against my skin. It felt bright out, against my eyes.

            “What’s up?” I asked, closing the door behind us so bugs wouldn’t get in.

            “I’m going to help you understand,” Olivia said. “Here, come here. The bench is to your left. Let’s sit down, get some fresh air.”

            She brushed and patted the cushions and we sat down on the wooden bench. It creaked as we settled in place. I turned towards her on my left.

            “What colors are around us right now?”

            “Hmm. A lot. But loo- listen. So a rainbow is like this, right?” She took my left hand and laid it flat palm-up on my lap. With my right pointer finger she drew an upward-curving arc on my palm, that shape you get when you pull down on the ends of a bendy ruler. She did that five more times, going down my hand.

            “Yeah, okay.”

            “The top arc is the first color, red. You’re probably feeling a bit red right now, and it’s probably the easiest to understand because it’s the easiest to feel. It’s the color of frustration, anger, embarrassment, but also passion. When people feel those things, their faces turn a little red.”

            “A little? And only their faces? Things can be more than one color?”

            “Yeah. There are different types of red, for example. Just like there are different types of sweet and different types of sour. Different types of oranges taste different, but they’re still oranges. And just like you can mix flavors, you can mix colors. But the colors of the rainbow are the most basic colors.”

            “Ok. I think I get it.” I must have looked upset again, because Olivia hugged me gently. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I appreciate it. Keep going. I’m listening. What’s the next color?”

            She drew two arcs on my palm. “Under red is orange. It’s sort of like red, but more vibrant. It stands out more.”

            I nodded. “Sounds nicer than red. I think. What does it feel like, though?”

            “Hmm . . . Scooch closer. Yeah. In front of us is the fire pit. Fire is orange. Orange is fire. It’s warm, bright, both gentle and fierce. It’s . . . Let’s get out of the shade.”

            “We aren’t out of it already?”

            We got up. She helped me around the fire pit and out into the sun, where it felt even warmer, and gave me another hug, squeezing me tight.

            “This is orange. Can you feel it? It’s not a calm happiness, but it’s not excited happiness either. It’s nice and warm.”

            I soaked in the orange. It was nice. Nicer than red. I looked back at her.

            “Is orange your favorite color, Olivia?”

            “Good question. I don’t know. But I feel orange when we spend time together.”

            I nodded, holding out my right hand. I wished I could feel it. But I didn’t think it was my favorite. It was probably Olivia’s favorite, and I didn’t want to have the same favorite color as her or anyone else I knew, and especially not for the same reasons. I wanted it to be personal to me. “What’s the next color?”

            “Yellow.” She grabbed my hand and drew three arcs. “Yellow is also a warm color, like orange and red, but not as much so. The sun is yellow, sunshine is yellow. A lot of lights are yellow. It’s a softer color, too. Smiley faces are yellow, and little baby chicks.” She drew two dots and an arc on my hand with the ends curving up.

            “It sounds like a pretty common color.”

            She paused. “Not as common as you’d think. I think people would be more fun and happy if it were. But it can also make you feel nervous. It’s used on signs, especially warning signs, sometimes with the color red or the color black. Bees are yellow and black as a way of telling us to watch out.”

            “But bees are also soft and fuzzy,” I muttered. “That’s what our neighbor Terry said.”

            “Yeah I suppose they are, up close.”

            I shook my head, imagining the buzzing of bees in my ear. “I don’t like bugs. I’d like to have a calmer color as my favorite color.”

            She laughed. “The other colors are cooler. Less warm, more relaxing. Under yellow is green. Come here.”

            “Okay.”

            We stepped forward and sank to the ground, earthy scents filling my lungs. Blades of grass tickled my feet and legs. I swept my hand through them. They still felt slightly cool and wet from that morning’s dew. Kind of like hair but not really.

            “Green is the color of plants. Grass and trees and forests. It’s the color of life. It’s not really, warm, but not really a cold color either. It goes away in Fall and Winter, but comes back in Spring.”

            “That is pretty nice.” I turned my head around. Green was all around me. But it was also the color of vegetables, which I didn’t like because they smell and feel weird. Plants are also where bugs are. I turned to Olivia with an apologetic smile.

            “No?” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “That’s okay, we still have two more colors.”

            “I don’t dislike any of them,” I said. “Especially not the way you’re describing them. I . . . just . . . what’s the next?”

            “Okay, let’s move again. To the pool, at seven o’clock. Let’s put our feet in, okay?”

            I nodded. The grass rustled slightly as we wiggled over to the pool, the tinge of chlorine meeting my nose. I slid until my feet met the cold water. Plop plop. I let out a sigh. It was nice relief during such a sunny day. I dipped my hands in as well.

            “What does it feel like?”

            I splashed around a little, scooping the water in my hands and letting it pour back down. “It feels cool. Refreshing.”

            “That’s blue. The coolest, calmest color of the rainbow. The color of relaxation and peace, but also omnipresence.” I heard a soft thud next to me as she lay down on her back, and we lay down together. “The sky is blue. Water is blue. It’s everywhere. And yet it doesn’t often appear anywhere else in nature.”

            I stared up at the sky, then back towards the pool. “Blue shouldn’t be my favorite color. It and yellow seem like such lovely colors, but they should just be colors that everybody likes, not favorites that only some people prefer.”

            “It can also be a sad color. An empty color. A cold one.”

            “Hm.” I nodded, contemplating the blueness. “I think I understand.”

            We lay in silence for a minute or so, kicking our feet gently in the water, before she continued, yawning lightly.

            “The last color is purple, or violet.”

            “I like the sound of the word purple.”

            “It’s a weird color, I think. It has the coolness of blue, but also the warmth of red. The color of dusk skies between fiery evenings and inky nights. It is noble, and mysterious, sometimes magic. Also the most feminine of the colors, found on lots of flowers like lavender and lilac.”

            I pondered what she had just said. I still liked the sound of the word purple, but I couldn’t feel it very well. Not like the watery blue or the grassy green or the sunny orange. “Are there any other colors or is that it?”

            The grass shifted as she rolled over to face me. “There’s black, and white. Gray. Brown. Mixtures of colors.”

            “Mixtures? There must be hundreds. It’ll take us forever to go through all of them.”

            Olivia giggled. I giggled too. I felt like a little kid again. Maybe I was being picky with choosing my favorite color, but I was having more fun than I’d expected. I felt like I wanted to paint something, to play around with colors, and see how it felt to put them all down on paper like liquid feelings. To have control for myself over colors and appearances.

            “What color is the house?” I asked. “What color is Mr. Fiffles?”

            “The interior is mostly brown. Like a mixture of red and green, or blue and orange, or yellow and purple. Mr. Fiffles is pink.”

            “Pink?” I mouthed the word a couple times. “What’s pink like?”

            “It’s like red, but lighter and softer. Like Mr. Fiffles, pink is sweet and cute and playful. It’s feminine, the color of bubblegum and candy and cake and rose petals and love hearts.”

            “Are pink things usually soft?”

            “I suppose so. Soft. Sweet. Girly. Happy. Innocent. Young. It’s not on the rainbow, though.”

            I nodded. We scooted out of the water and walked back to the bench, looking back on all the colors she had shared with me.

            “I’m sorry we didn’t find your favorite color,” she sighed.

            I shook my head with a smile and closed my eyes, sinking into the cushions. “I’m feeling pretty pink right now. Thank you, Olivia.”