Color blindness
Tue, 2016-07-12 05:00
News Staff
Lynette Sowell
-My front porch-
When I entered the dorm room one evening, I found my roommate crying.
Sheila and I were the odd couple of roommates my sophomore college year, her junior year. Anytime she left our room, she looked as if she were headed for a job interview. She wore her high heels and carried briefcase. She was manicured, exfoliated, accessorized, coiffed. I was the art major with torn jeans, paint-stained T-shirt and fingernails. She was from Yonkers, New York; I was the smalltown girl.
Sheila’s skin was the color of deep rich chocolate that she was fond of moisturizing; I could barely get a patchy tan if I tried to “lay out.” .