Author: R. J. Erbacher

I had been told from a child that ‘nothing’ was black. The absence of light. What you see when you close your eyes, in a prolonged blink, or in sleep, or permanently. The bottom of the ocean. The far reaches of space; Heinrich Olbers be damned. The darkness of night that scares the bejesus out of all of us.

It seemed plausible, reasonable.

But now as I lay here in this mechanical bed, an old man, no longer able to speak, barely able to breathe, yet still of mind. I can see the nothingness in front of me. And it is white.

My life had colors of all kinds.

Many years on one ship or another have shown me the multi-shades of blue that the ocean transforms into as it reveals its temperament. From the tranquility of a sunlight tropical bay to the leaden cobalt of a raging storm.

The red of war; on my hands, in my eyes, on the bodies of my enemies. And my friends.

Orange sunrises that warmed my soul, yellow flowers that smelt of happiness, green grass under my bare feet that bolstered my spirit to run and almost fly.

The purple in my deceased wife’s face.

But white was a mystery. I remember it as a child; in milk, chalk dust, snow, and the tufts of my grandfather’s hair. Later in life the only aspect of it that haunted me was the clean, empty, hard sheet of blank paper. It is the mythical amalgamation of all colors. The pureness reflecting every spectrum of light.

Now, here it was before me, waiting for me, inviting me in. A passageway from where I had been to where I was going. And where exactly was that? Maybe Olbers was right. That if we could only see all of it, every star, every pinpoint of illumination, that would obliterate the darkness of space, the scariness of black. Is that the eternal glow? Is that where I am going? Or is that what I am to become? A speck of white, as big and intense and bright as everything. To be part of the all.

I think – I would enjoy that.