The end of Elm Street.
I think some of us have certain colours that we do not yet know of.
Jennifer: I mean, they spend, like, an hour in the back seat of some car and all of a sudden they’re technicolour?!
Well, it is either that, or we pretend to have some colours – but in actuality, we do not. In any case – black, white, grey – they are all colours, are they not?
Perhaps some of us have more blue than red; less of lime green than pale yellow; a little bit of burnt sienna here, or a generous dosage of turquoise there. I know I do not have enough pink in me, so much so that my mother has to recently buy me my one and only shirt of that colour – it now hangs forlornly in my closet, surrounded and overshadowed by the dullest colours imaginable.
I thought it was those dull colours that made me, me.
But this raises a question – do we have to earn our colours? I doubt all of us started off having everything within our grasp.
Did you already know that you would fancy the colour purple the first time you laid your eyes upon it? Red often signifies love, but a lack of it would not make you any more hateful, would it?
What if fresh lemons were of a different, hideous colour, despite their rich, fruity fragrance? Does it matter if brown paper packages are not, well, brown in colour? If the sky were not blue, would you love it anyway?
And then we change.
David: Nothing went wrong. People change.
George: People change?
David: Yeah, people change.
George: Can they change back?