It was an extremely dark and dreary day when little Harold lost his crayon. The world for all just wasn’t the same. Family and friends, even strangers, searched high and low. When nothing turned up, the flyers looking for the magical crayon hung from every telephone pole for miles around. They appeared in grocery stores and in an ad in all the local newspapers. A local dairy farmer even went as far as to place a picture of it on the back of his milk cartons. The story of the missing crayon got so huge that the police even started an investigation; hoping to apprehend the culprit of this heinous crime. The world as everyone knew it was turned completely upside down. The question was why someone would destroy this magical place? Who would believe that the crayon would work for anyone but Harold? This plagued the world and was plastered everywhere you turned.

   Being me, I just turned off the television and went on my merry way. Then one evening, I came home from work, and found an unmarked police car sitting outside my house. On my porch was an officer, dressed in a light grey suit, with a dark blue tie. His shoes were black and pristinely polished. The look on his face, below the aviator sunglasses, was lacking in feeling. Honestly, my first thought was to run. I could understand why you always see people on those reality t.v. shows run away even if they are innocent. I held my ground though! I walked up the steps and merely said, “Good afternoon sir! How may I help you?” I was shaking in my shoes; though I didn’t know why. “Mr. Reif”, he simply asked in a deep monotone voice? “Yes sir!” “I need you to go downtown with me”, he answered in the same voice. Almost at the exact same time, the back door of the police car opened and an officer in plain clothes magically appeared. “I guess I have no choice”, I said with a shrug. He just stared at me, apparently not liking my humor.

   Twenty minutes later I was sitting in an uncomfortably cold, dark grey room, with just a wooden table and one other chair besides mine. Needless to say it was quickly getting under my skin. Then the officer joined me. When he took off his oversized glasses I could see his glaring eyes. He stood staring down at me, with his hands firmly placed on the table. He broke the unnerving silence. “Tell me why you did it and where it is.” “Sorry sir, but I’m not sure what it is you’re asking”, was all I could think to say. I suppose it was the wrong answer, because he slammed his fist on the table. “This will be much easier on you, if you just come clean. Where is the crayon?” That’s when it all made sense to me. I somehow became the number one suspect in the most televised crime of all time. My leg started shaking! My palms got sweaty! My throat was so dry I couldn’t speak! The officer, whose name I still haven’t gotten, berated me but I couldn’t reply. Louder and louder he became until I couldn’t even make out what he was saying. It was like thunder pounding in my head and every time he struck his hand against the table, it was a lightning bolt shaking my world.

   Still not being able to speak, I reached across the table to the stack of loose leaf paper and pencil that mysteriously appeared during the onslaught of the storm. Quickly and without thinking I began writing. Page after page filled with my words. The pitch black clouds around me started to turn lighter shades of grey and the once down pouring rain turned to a trickle. Not once did I look up, but I could feel warmth returning to body as it dried out. The rain trickled then became a mist. As I finished my last word, I looked up and saw a rainbow coming from the stack of overturned papers. It ended at the door. Then I dared to look my captor in the eyes, expecting to see fire. Instead I saw joy and disbelief; the corners of his mouth actually slightly raised, liked he wanted to smile. “You are free to go”, he said with a chuckle. “I don’t understand”, was all I could muster. “After reading this I see that you could not have stolen the magical crayon. It’s apparent you never saw the world that way, therefore I can deduct that you would have no reason. You are free to go.” “Thank you sir!” I quickly grabbed my stuff and headed for the door, for I wasn’t going to wait for him to change his mind. Before the door shut behind me, he called back to me. “Mr. Reif!” I stopped in my tracks. “Thank you for letting me see what you see! There is more to this world than just one colored crayon.” I said, “Your welcome”, as I let the door close behind me.

   On my long walk home, I had plenty of time to think about how and why this just happened to me. Here is what I came up with: The true beauty of the world is each person’s to decide and we each have the ability to see it our own way. This is why I was the number one suspect in this case, but it was also my savior.  I don’t need rose colored glasses to make it through the day. I can smell the beauty. I can feel the passion. I can hear the laughter. I find myself to be a realist. Reality is what it is and it is everywhere you turn. It’s not always pleasant, but there is always a silver lining. This is who I am and how I write. You may love it or hate it, but I paint my pictures in black and white.

   Oh and by the way, they did find the crayon. His mother found it under the couch, along with the missing television remote and some moldy popcorn.  Along with it, for some, the world turned back to a comfortable shade of purple.