White and Black and Grey

“Okay, class, let’s open our books to page three, and we’ll begin the day with a drawing exercise.”

Mrs. Winter wore a cheery smile as books opened and papers shuffled. Satisfied with the sea of quiet, waiting children, she read the prompt out loud, “Draw a scene where every figure is connected to each other to represent harmonious relationships.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Winter put down the book and continued, “Examples of this could be your family, your friends, or even beings in nature. As usual, ensure your images are balanced, aligned, and soft.”

She sighed contentedly as her class of 31 students nodded in unison and took out their pencil crayons - shades of grey, black, and cream. About to sit back down, she jumped when a sudden crash came from the corner. She looked up to see the temporarily horrified expression of a young boy who’d dropped his box of pencil crayons. He’d startled the whole class, most of whom had turned around to look.

Mrs. Winter held her breath as she watched everyone’s expression simultaneously switch from annoyed to neutral. She breathed in relief as she felt her own anxiety regulate in time with the ever-so-subtle ripple at the base of her neck.

A couple of children scratched behind their ears before continuing to colour. The boy in the corner calmly and quietly collected the scattered pencils.

Isola discreetly looked around as the tightness in her chest lingered. She watched as everyone turned back to their colouring at the same time, and so she did the same. She took a deep breath and filled the sky on her page with the brightest shade of cream she had, applying less and less pressure as she calmed.

She looked happily at the finished page, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Pondering for a moment, she wrote above the head of the little girl she’d drawn: “The trees are quiet now, but they remember the wind.” She smiled at the page and nodded, remembering how she’d felt yesterday, waiting for the bus as the warm, gentle wind caught her hair.

“Isola, what’s this?” Isola looked up to see Mrs. Winter standing beside her, eyes wide with concern.

“I just wrote something I thought, Mrs. Winter. I want the little girl in my drawing to be saying it.”

Mrs. Winter shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, dear, but words create chaos in art; they are not aligned with the curriculum instructions.” She said, pulling out a universal eraser and eliminating the words from the page.

Having been in school for several years now, Isola knew better than to argue. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Winter.”

The teacher smiled warmly, “It’s okay, dear, just remember this lesson for future assignments.”

Isola nodded, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth the words made her feel.

When Mrs. Winter left for a bathroom break, Isola quickly ripped a strip of paper from the bottom of her drawing and shoved it in her pocket.

Later that night, Isola lay on her bed and thought more about her drawing and how badly she’d wanted to add more words. She sat up and pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket. She took it over to the small work desk across her bedroom and flattened it, blank side up.

Grabbing the special silver pen she got as a gift last year, she wrote:

They teach us how to think in lines,

To draw inside and read the signs.

But in the spaces, wild and free,

A softer voice still speaks to me.

She sighed and re-read what she had written a few times. It felt like a weight had lifted, like she wanted to float in the clouds for a while.

“Isola! Dinner’s ready!” She heard her mother call from downstairs. Quickly, she shoved the scrap of paper into the back of the desk drawer.

“Coming!”

“How was school today?” Her father asked.

“It was good. We drew some more pictures. The teacher wouldn’t let me add words.”

Her parents quickly shared a look.

“That’s okay, honey, you need to follow all the instructions exactly, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know, mother. I said I was sorry.”

Her mother sighed and nodded. “Good, that’s good, honey. You just keep listening to your teacher, okay?”

Isola nodded, keeping her head down and pushing her food around. After dinner, they settled in for a family movie. Everyone else was always happy, but she’d grown tired of the recycled stories. She looked at her younger twin brothers and wondered why they never complained. They always laughed at the right parts, and somehow she knew she had to laugh too, even if the part wasn’t funny.

As she readied for school the next morning, Isola grabbed the paper from yesterday and stuck it in the bottom of her shoe. She couldn’t leave it for her parents to find.

“Alright, class, let’s open the book to page four, and we’ll start the day with a drawing assignment.” Mrs. Winter recited, same as every other day.

Isola raised her hand. “Mrs. Winter, may I use the washroom?”

“Of course, Isola, thank you for asking.”

She got up from her seat and focused on hiding her anxiety.

Once in the washroom stall, she took the piece of paper out and reread her words. She smiled when they made her feel happy. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the piece of paper into the tiny space between the wall and the tissue holder. Relieved that it was out of her hands, she returned to class feeling normal.

Once finished with her drawing, she looked up to stare straight ahead, as everyone else did upon completion. But something caught her eye from outside the window. Instinctively, she turned her head and noticed a bright red bird sitting on the sill, staring at her. It hopped twice, still looking at her. After a moment, it jumped to the ground and flittered away, leaving Isola to return to the rigid world of the classroom.

An involuntary smile graced her face as she turned back to the front. She caught Mrs. Winter looking at her strangely and ducked her head down, pretending to draw.

Days passed, and Isola felt an increasingly strong urge to add her thoughts to her drawings. She resisted only because she knew she wasn’t allowed. Her chest sometimes felt heavy, and her eyes burned a little. It scared her, but she didn’t know how to describe it to an adult.

One night at home, Isola wandered into the kitchen, pace quick and head down. Something caught her eye in the recycling bin: a single, blank envelope, opened and discarded. Looking around, she quickly grabbed it and ran upstairs.

Sitting down with her special pen, she wrote what came to mind:

I saw a bird that did not fly,

But built a nest under the sky.

She said, “The wind is much too loud.”

So now she sings behind a cloud.

She started with the bird, and the floodgates opened. She wrote until she had covered half of the envelope.

The next morning, she once again stuck the paper in her shoe. This time, she forgot about it until recess. Someone got a little too close to her as they walked, and they stepped on her foot. Her shoe slipped off, and the paper flew into the wind. Isola tried to chase it, but the breeze carried it too far, too fast.

Trying not to panic, Isola looked around, but no one seemed to notice.

“I’m sorry, Isola, are you okay?”

She turned to look at Juno, who stood uncomfortably close to her. “Yes, I’m okay, don’t worry, Juno,” Isola replied, offering a smile Juno did not return.

The bell above the school rang, and everyone immediately rushed to the doors. Those who needed the washroom went quickly, and within five minutes, everyone returned—except Juno. Before Mrs. Winter could address it, Juno came hustling into class, moving faster than usual but wearing a neutral expression.

“I apologize, Mrs. Winter, I took too long in the washroom.”

“That’s quite alright, Juno.” Mrs. Winter said, thinking nothing of it, as occasional delays were still expected in youngsters.

Several minutes passed, and Isola side-eyed Juno every time she left Mrs. Winter’s line of sight. Being right beside her, she could tell Juno’s breath was off.

It started with a twitch at the corner of her lip. A flutter in her lashes. The soft, sharp sound of someone trying not to feel something.

And suddenly it became too much.

Juno let out a small gasp. A tear followed. And then another.

Mrs. Winter rushed to Juno’s desk as the rest of the class slowly turned to look. “Don’t worry, everyone, please return to your assignment.” Mrs. Winter waited for her anxiety to stabilize, then she gently took Juno by the arm and led her out.

Isola shrugged and bent her head back down in tune with the rest of the class, but her heart hammered and her hands shook slightly. Mrs. Winter was taking a long time to return, and Isola struggled to keep her breathing steady. She snuck a look at the door and something under Juno’s desk caught her eye - a jagged scrap of paper with writing on the back. Examining it, she realized Juno must have found her hidden words in the bathroom.

She heard footsteps approaching beyond the door as she quickly shoved the scrap into her pocket and turned back to the assignment.

“Very good class, has anyone finished their equations for today?” Mrs. Winter finally returned, calm, smiling, normal, and alone.

The school bus got Isola home ten minutes earlier than usual due to Juno’s absence, which no one else seemed to notice. She walked in the door and tried to make her face look happy when she heard her parents talking about her from the kitchen.

“They said what?!” Her dad exclaimed.

“Isola’s teacher thought her writing on the drawing was enough to consider it a glitch event. Apparently, most kids glitch eventually, but they said she’s unusually young, so they have to flag her data for the next two weeks.” Her mom explained, voice rising an octave halfway through.

“Okay, well, at least they’re letting us know?” Her dad replied.

“Trevor. What if this isn’t a coincidence?” Her mom was suddenly whispering.

“You know it is, that’s all it is!” He whispered back harshly.

“Her ultrasound had an irregularity! What if she’s res-”

“No one is resistant to the regulation, Lily, you know that! It’s why we destroyed the image - it didn’t matter!”

“You tampered with the nurse files - we technically broke the law!”

“You know what would have happened if they saw an irregularity. They don’t take chances.”

Isola coughed and closed the door loudly to announce her presence.

“Hi, honey!” Her mom said, cheery and smiling, as Isola walked into the kitchen. She looked back and forth between her parents, neither of whom seemed upset or concerned.

“I’m tired.” She said simply before retreating to her room.

Hands shaking and breath heaving, Isola reached for the stolen envelope and began writing again, slow and small.

They say that silence keeps us clean,

But quiet isn’t what I mean.

I want a noise that shakes the ground,

I want to be seen.

Where thoughts are free and hearts are loud, I want to stay around.

She ripped that slip off and began again, feeling better with each thought she penned:

We fill in our days with grey, stay inside the lines,

The colours I let get away.

They say it helps the thoughts obey.

But I still dream in shades of gold,

Of stories not told, things I’ve never got to hold.

She filled the envelope with her musings, all the while thinking about Juno’s outburst and the relief she felt. Finally, someone else was unable to contain themselves. Suddenly, she felt less alone. And then, they took her away.

She shoved all the scraps of paper deep into the pocket of the pants she planned to wear the next day and went back downstairs to act normal for yet another night.

The next day, she excused herself to the washroom during the first lesson. Heart pounding, she focused on keeping her hands still and her pace normal. Once inside, she pulled the papers out and placed one on top of the tissue holder in each stall.

Satisfied, she looked in the mirror and allowed herself to smile as big as she wanted for a few seconds. Feeling better, she tempered her expression, went back to class, and waited.

It happened after lunch. Three girls needed a bathroom trip. Within ten minutes of their return, one began crying, one burst out laughing, and the other just shouted.

For the first time in her life, Isola witnessed someone becoming flustered as Mrs. Winter watched the scene unfold, frozen. Isola got up from her seat and approached the teacher, suddenly nervous about the last part of her plan.

She reached into her pocket for the one scrap of paper she’d saved. She held it up to her teacher, “Mrs. Winter, try reading this. And then reread it.”

Still shell-shocked, Mrs. Winter took the paper and read the lines a few times:

The world is quiet, calm, and kind,

But something stirs behind my mind.

A melody I cannot name, a song I’ve yet to hear.

It’s like a flickering flame, calling us to be near.

Mrs. Winter looked down and met Isola’s gaze, this time with real joy in her expression. She simply began chuckling as tears appeared in her eyes.

“Isola, what have you done?”

“I wanted everyone to feel like I feel, Mrs. Winter.” Isola’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you going to call the people who took Juno?”

Mrs. Winter thought for a moment. She scanned her class, now sharing the words Isola had written and discovering what it felt like to smile with emotion. “No, Isola. But we’re going to need some help to spread this before the Harmony Operators detect the contagion.”

A few blocks away, a middle-aged man noticed something small and wispy floating through the air. Annoyed that it deigned to cross his path, he reached out and snatched it. Planning to throw it away when he arrived home, he looked down to make sure it didn’t say anything important. Instead, he found a few scribbled lines that he’d remember for the rest of his life:

I was not broken, but maybe wild,

Something new disguised as child.

I learned silence, wore the grin,

But kept my voice aloud within.

I found a world you couldn't see,

Where the shadows still run free.

If you should find these words one day,

Pressed flat between the light and grey,

Know not all perfect things are good or true,

I was not wrong for being new.