Page 58 of Regretting You

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Clara

A few months later

I walk to the back of the living room and slip my hand inside Miller’s. We’re both nervous. We’ve worked so hard on this film, and I really want Jonah to like it.

My mother turns out the lights and takes a seat on the couch next to Lexie and Efren. Jonah is seated at the edge of the love seat, anticipating the video more than any of them.

We decided in the end to make a mockumentary. There was way too much seriousness in our lives when we started this film, so I really wanted something fun for a change.

Our time limit for the entire thing is just a few minutes, so it was harder than we thought to execute something with a beginning, middle, and end in such a short amount of time, but I’m hoping we pulled it off. We just don’t know if anyone else will appreciate the humor in it.

Miller looks at me, and I can see the nervous energy in him. We smile at each other when the film begins to play.

The screen is black, but then words flash across it in bright-orange letters, revealing the title: Chromophobe .

The scene opens on a character, aged seventeen. The name Kaitlyn flashes across the screen. Kaitlyn (played by me) is sitting in an empty room on a stool. A light shines on her as she stares off camera, nervously wringing her hands together.

Someone off camera says, “Can you tell us how it all started?”

Kaitlyn glances into the camera with transfixed fear.

She nods nervously. “Well ...” It’s obviously hard for her to discuss.

“I think I was five, maybe? Six? I don’t know exactly .

..” The camera zooms in closer to her face.

“But ... I remember every word of their conversation as if it happened just this morning. My mom and dad ... they were standing in the living room, staring at the wall. They had all these ... these ... plastic paint swatches in their hands. They were trying to decide on a shade of white to paint the walls. And that’s when it happened.

” Kaitlyn swallows but continues, despite her reluctance.

“My mother looked at my father. She just ... looked at him like the words about to come out of her mouth weren’t about to ruin our family forever.

” Kaitlyn, obviously disgusted by the memory, wipes away a tear that’s sliding down her cheek.

She sucks in a deep breath and then continues speaking on the exhale.

“My mother looked at him and said, ‘How about orange?’ ”

Her own recollection causes Kaitlyn to shudder.

The screen fades to black, then cuts to a new character. An elderly man, gaunt and gloomy. The name Peter flashes across the screen. This character is played by Gramps.

Peter is sitting in a green midcentury modern chair. He’s picking at the chair with his frail fingers, loosening some of the fuzz. It falls to the floor.

Again, a voice somewhere off camera is heard. “Where would you like to begin, Peter?”

Peter glances into the camera with dark almond eyes encased in years of accumulated wrinkles, all different in depths and lengths. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “I’ll begin at the beginning, I suppose.”

The screen cuts to a flashback ... to a younger version of Peter, in his late teens. He’s in an older house, in a bedroom. There’s a Beatles poster hanging over the bed. The teen is rummaging through his closet, frustrated. Older Peter’s voice begins to narrate the scene.

“I couldn’t find my lucky shirt,” he says.

The scene playing out on-screen is of the frustrated teen (played by Miller), walking out of his room and then out the back door.

“So ... I went to find my mother. To ask her if she’d seen it, ya know?”

The mother is standing at a clothesline in the backyard, hanging up a sheet.

“I said, ‘Mom? Where’s my blue shirt?’ ”

The screen is back on the older version of Peter now. He’s staring down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He blows out a quick breath, bringing his eyes back to the camera. “She looked right at me and said, ‘I haven’t washed it yet.’ ”

The screen now shows the teenage boy again. He’s staring at his mother in utter disbelief. He brings his hands to the sides of his head.

“That’s when I realized ...,” Peter’s voice-over says. “I was left with only one option.”

The camera follows the teenage boy as he stomps back into his house, back to his room, and back to his closet. His hands push apart the clothes in his closet until the camera is focused on a lone shirt, just hanging there, swaying front to back.

“It was the only clean shirt I had.”

The camera is back on older Peter. He presses his sweaty palms against his thighs and leans his head back against his old green chair. He stares up at the ceiling in thought.

A voice from off set calls out to him. “Peter? Do you need a break?”

Peter leans forward, shaking his head. “No. No, I just want to get it over with.” He releases a puff of air, looking back at the camera. “I did what I had to do,” he says with a shrug.

The camera follows the teenage boy as he rips the shirt off the hanger. He yanks the dirty T-shirt he was wearing off and then angrily puts on the clean shirt he just removed from the closet.

“I had to wear it.” Old Peter is staring at the camera now with a stoic expression. “I couldn’t go shirtless. It was the fifties .” He repeats himself in a whisper. “I had to wear it.”

A question comes from off set. “What color was the shirt, Peter?”

Peter shakes his head. The memory is too difficult.

“Peter,” the off-camera voice urges. “What color was the shirt?”

Peter blows out a frustrated breath. “Orange. It was orange , okay?” He looks away from the camera, ashamed.

The screen fades to black.

The next scene opens on a new character, professional in dress. She has long blonde hair, and she’s wearing a crisp white shirt. She’s straightening out her shirt when she looks at the camera. “We ready?” she asks.

“Whenever you are,” the off-camera voice says.

She nods. “Okay, then. I’ll just start?” She’s looking at someone else for direction. Then she looks at the screen. “My name is Dr. Esther Bloombilingtington. I am a chromophobia expert.”

A voice off camera says, “Can you define that term?”

Dr. Bloombilingtington nods. “Chromophobia is a persistent and irrational fear of color.”

“What color, specifically?” the off-camera voice asks.

“Chromophobia presents itself differently in every patient,” she says.

“Sometimes patients have a fear of blue, or green, or red, or pink, or yellow, or black, or brown, or purple. Even white. No color is off limits, really. Some patients may even find themselves fearing a number of colors, or, in more severe cases ...” She looks deadpan into the camera. “ All colors.”

The off-camera voice poses another question. “But you aren’t here to speak about any of those colors today, are you?”

Dr. Bloombilingtington shakes her head, looking back into the camera.

“No. Today, I’m here for one reason. One color that has resulted in alarmingly consistent results.

” She lifts her shoulders with an intake of breath.

Her shoulders fall as she begins to speak again.

“The results of this study are important, and I feel this needs to be shared with the world.”

“What needs to be shared?”

“Based on our findings, we have discovered that the color orange is not only the cause of most cases of chromophobia, but our research proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that orange is, by far , the absolute worst color of all colors.”

The off-camera voice asks, “And what proof do you have of this?”

Dr. Bloombilingtington looks very seriously into the camera.

“Aside from several dozen likes on our Twitter research polls and quite a few views on our Instagram stories regarding this subject, we also have ... the people . The people and their stories.” She leans forward, narrowing her eyes as slow, dramatic music begins to play. “Just listen to their stories .”

The camera cuts to black.

The next scene opens back up on the first character, Kaitlyn. She’s holding Kleenex now as she speaks. “As soon as my mother said those words to my father ...” She lifts her eyes and looks at the camera. “He ... he died .”

She brings the Kleenex to her eyes. “He just ... he looked at her, shocked that she would even suggest orange as a color for the living room walls. As soon as she said it, he dropped all the little plastic color swatches on the floor, and he grasped at his heart and he just ... he died .”

Kaitlyn has a look of bewilderment on her face.

“The last word he ever heard spoken aloud ... was orange .” A sob breaks from her chest. She shakes her head back and forth.

“I’ll never be able to forgive my mother.

Who suggests orange as a wall color? It’s the last thing he heard. The last thing !”

The camera goes black immediately after her outburst.

It opens on a flashback of young Peter, driving in an older blue truck. He’s wearing the orange shirt. His face is twisted and contorted with anger.

“I wanted to wear the blue shirt but had no choice,” older Peter narrates.

“I knew Mary preferred blue. She’d even said it to me the day I asked her out.

I told her I liked her yellow dress, and she twirled around for me and said, ‘Isn’t it pretty?

’ I nodded, and then she said, ‘I like your shirt, Peter. Blue looks good on you . ’ ”

The camera is focused on old Peter now, sitting in his green chair.

His eyes are even more bloodshot than they were in the beginning.

“When I showed up at the theater ... she was standing out front. Alone. I parked the truck, turned it off, and I just watched her. She looked so pretty, standing there in her yellow dress.”

The flashback shows young Peter, sitting in his truck, wearing his orange shirt while he watches a pretty girl waiting, alone, wearing a yellow dress. He winces.