Johannes Dyes Hair

Johannes was sitting across from me in the room, which had been kept dimly lit, so I asked him for some color. He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, then said, "As for color..." He looked around the living room, traced a wavy line in the air with his right hand, and snapped his fingers.

Yellow and blue spread across the plain, dark living room. When I nodded at Johannes, who was looking at me, he snapped his fingers again and summoned the yellow and blue without hesitation. As if overflowing the space, the yellow spread brilliantly, making everything shine with particles of light, while a deep blue and red dripped from the corners, and the colors began to take on power.

The particles of light resting on the accessory on my finger were popping and moving about. Those particles of light flew all the way to the bare toes visible from the tips of Johannes's slippers, shattering into particles and dwelling within his lips and eyes as well.

As I watched the spectacle of color, I leaned the sofa back, and Johannes, who had moved behind me, arranged my hair and began to dye it. I peeked into a hand mirror. I could see the smile of the man dyeing my hair. I fell asleep thinking about how, much like my late father, he would surely look good with a beard.

I woke up, got up from the sofa, and brought my face close to the mirror. I was ecstatic at the color of my hair, which had been finished to a vibrant ultramarine blue. Just then, the clock struck eight in the evening. There was a live broadcast I was interested in, but I decided to just keep admiring myself in the mirror.

Dedicated to Johannes Vermeer