She can’t quite put her finger on it, but something had changed. Something about her. She had this nagging idea stuck in her head that she hadn’t— hadn’t always been like this. That somewhere, somehow, she’d been different.
It wasn’t just her, either; other people noticed as well. “Donna, love, why so much blue?” a casual friend asked. “Didn’t you used to love purple? Where’d all this blue come from?”
“Oh, you know, felt like a change,” she said, and laughed it off. But she didn’t have a real answer for the blue. She would find herself unconsciously picking up blue things: blue pens, blue coats, blue dresses, blue necklaces. She’d even painted her room blue when they redid the upstairs. Something about blue— it tugged at something in the back of her mind.
In the office, it was a source of teasing. Everyone knew which memos Donna had signed off on; always blue. Always. And when the new floor supervisor reminded her that black was the preferred color, she stuck to her guns and kept the blue. But she couldn’t say why, not really. It just felt right. Blue.
At night, she’d have dreams in blue. She could never recall what happened in them; they seemed awfully exciting, with lots of running, and always blue. And she knew, she knew something was misaligned, off-center, canted, wrong. Something had been at the center of her life, and then left, and taken a whole chunk of her Donnaness with it. And it had left behind blue. Just blue.