Experiment

Close your eyes.

So many assume the world is meant to be viewed purely from a visual point-of-view. Believe your eyes and nothing else, for what you can see, must be real, right? Never mind trivial things, such as air, your eyes must always be the ultimate truth, according to the smart people.

Come on, try it. Close your eyes for a moment.

See? Trick question of course, since you don't see anything right now. Tell me, however, what do you perceive? Your eyes aren't the only way you can take in the world around you, but I don't need to tell you that, do I? You've probably heard the whole "smell, taste, feel, wax on, wax off" routine several million times already.

Truth to be told, while they might be somewhat efficient, perhaps even enough, you'd have a much easier time simply connecting the dots in your head. Match together the patterns you've learned from people, place them in the order you find fit and you might just end up with a clearer picture than you would have with going around smelling stuff.

Take that man over there? The one you've complained about a few minutes ago. Let's name him 'Red'. Now, Red over there is very impatient, according to you. Always looking at his watch, waiting in trepidation, shuffling about in frustration. Grits his teeth every few seconds, reeks of cheap cigarettes and the accumulated smell of tight cubicles.

Red might have a lot more to him than frustration and general bad attitude though. That little pen he keeps fiddling with, do you recall if there was anything engraved into it? Perhaps a 'Happy Birthday'? Or a compressed little love message? Maybe he's just late for work and the repercussions of that scare him. Or maybe he's a douche by default, you can never know.

And how 'bout that lady you've mentioned? Young blonde lass, with blue eyes and a fashion sense of a blind primate, if I recall. Think of her as 'Green', from now on. Why so? She adjusts her clothes every couple of seconds and even from here, I can tell she keeps looking around, as if she's expecting an assailant's dagger. The only stab she is looking for, however, is an imaginary one, straight upon her pride, whatever may be left of it.

I know it's cheap, but believe me, it actually helps in identifying people, over a long period of time. Now, shut up and listen. Try to understand what goes on between Red and Green. Nothing, yet everything, at the same time. Even if they don't intend to, they still look upon each other every now and then.

The moment they do, they'll both evaluate the other. Red will judge her based upon the morals and social sense he's developed over time, while Green is much rather basing him on the hopefully expensive suit he's wearing. Stop complaining, you know very well that it's more than obvious. Yet there's nothing really happening between the two, other than a few sharp glances, or even glares. They don't converse, don't approach each other, rather just believe their eyes and leave the rest to their petty misconceptions.

Still doubtful? Look at little Yellow over there! Energetic, bubbly, she's chit-chatting just loud enough for everyone to hear. Listen closely! Hear that?

Feet tapping quickly, her speech going off track over and over again, to topics she has no idea about, or simply doesn't care about. Dull. She's just dull, dimmed by something we don't know, but this is not who she might be with someone who knows her better. Don't try anything funny though, I'm fairly sure she'd just blow you off.

There's also Black over there. Silent and solemn, an island amongst the waves of people. Never moves, never interacts, but as such a rather obvious irony, neither does anyone try to approach him, either. I'm cheating, anyway. He rides on this bus every day, it's easy to pick up a few things about him, if your ears are still in working condition.

Purple awaits the love of their life, who may only be a phone-call away, if he didn't keep the thing turned off at all times. Crimson has experienced something bad as of late and is still biting himself for whatever it might have been. Gray wishes to just drop dead on a bed and wish the whole, misery-filled day away.

We are creatures of many aspects. Outward, inward, we all have so many different opinions and feelings, that it'd be hard to keep track of them all, just as hard as it to remember a long list of friends and acquaintances. Eventually though, you'll noticed patters. Movements, slight sounds and gestures, all those little things, that help define people.

*   *   *

"...I just can't get this. I still think you're just making this all up." the boy mused, opening his eyes finally, a playful smile growing on his face.

"Perhaps I have. You can't blame an old man for wanting to look wise, now, can you?" he chuckled in that deep, soothing voice he'd grown used to. He glanced at him for just a moment, guessing the accusing look on his face, without even really paying attention.

"Old hack, rather. Sometimes I think the folks are right, you're a good man, just a bit senile."

"Aren't we all?" he remarked, tilting his head a little. "And at least I still now where my stop is." he added, just as the familiar ding signaled an upcoming stop.

"Clever. Well, I'll leave you to your colors for now, Picasso." he teased, grabbing his bag as the bus began to slow down, just a block away from his home. "See you tomorrow!"

The old man nod slightly in his ceremonial way of saying goodbye, but knew full-well he hadn't left yet. The doors were about to open, but the boy still hadn't stepped away from him. One could never tell, whether it was curiosity towards him, or just boredom that kept a young lad of his age still kind enough to talk to him.

"...tell me though..." he heard, the words making him smile already. His friend never seemed to be able to resist asking just one more question, before leaving. "If everyone fits into a certain pattern...what's yours?" he asked. "What color are you?"

Another series of chuckles erupted from the old man, his chest shaking from the refreshing laughter. It was a hard question indeed, a fitting one to be asked by such an intelligent person, like him. He'd been so many things; he'd experienced enough to have traversed to and from both ends of the spectrum. The bottom end of his white cane hit the floor of the bus for a moment as he ceased laughing, smiling warmly at his young friend. His eyes were empty, but as always, the boy found a strange glint of warmth in them, something he rarely saw even in others'. Neither the kind feelings, nor the wisdom of so many years.

"I believe that's for you to decide..."