by Maggie O’Shea
One foot after the other, curious steps. The bad side of town, air hot and still, corroded metal, smashed bonnets of cars. The sour, pungent smell of bleach, open windows thick with oil, wax and dust, plated with textured glass. Minutes elapsed, bars of billowing smoke from a lit cigarette on the floor. And then, instantly before us, was a theater. That day, I was definitely not interested in anything to do with storytelling, more engaged in my phone or video games. As soon as I saw the curved red arc, people gathering under it and stamping tickets, the warm, buttery smell of popcorn wafting through the two doors, I blinked, attention igniting. We got stamps on our hands and walked through to a black room, lights dimmed and families chattering. As soon as we sat, a voice began speaking and I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
William Joyce was an extremely inspirational speaker. Throughout his teachings, I never knew how much time and effort it took to produce a short film, simply aware of the outcome. The second film he presented was introduced much like the first, until I understood the concept that he explained. “The Numberlys” was something that resonated so much with me, the feelings deep in my heart. Growing up, I had many friends and connections. Yet, throughout middle school, everything was new. I felt different, but not necessarily older. Everyone surrounding me wore certain clothes, had styled hair, and carried the same backpacks wearing similar jewelry. All of a sudden, it wasn’t about who you were anymore. It was about what you possessed, and then how others interpreted it. I felt like an outcast, not nearly what I used to be. Everyone was accepted and could present their passions and interests easily before, but here, the people were terrifying, and I had no idea how they would see me.
The Numberlys experienced something similar. Every number was the same, with no invention or idea of uniqueness. Understanding how they went about their day with not only law and order, but similarity, took a great deal of self comprehension. I felt as though I could connect with these poor numbers, stomping through everyday life in black and white. Gradually, the longer I stayed at school, the more I shifted. Suddenly, I stuck out. And each day, I was influenced to become like others. I accepted that in order to fit in, I had to show that I knew how to. I had friends, but that ongoing comparison towards others, especially as “groups” started to settle in, was soul crushing. Everyone was alike, and I didn’t like it. My favorite pair of jeans sat still in the back of my closet, replaced by black leggings that the others wore. Being compared to others is genuinely the only thing that ever truly crushed me.
So, when the Numberlys were introduced, I felt my body stand still, attention switched from my popcorn to the large screen. The film began as black and white, just like how I remembered my middle school experience. As the Numberlys delved into uniqueness and the act of being different, color began to approach. This resonates with me as my new-found high school experience. The comparison didn’t fade, but I understood that I had to show who I truly was and gain acceptance from myself, not anyone else. Fitting in was a difficult thing to do in the past and it brought out the worst in me. By constantly conforming, the Numberlys never found peace and contentment, instead, it was a lifetime struggle of being alike. I really felt this, as if I was putting a mask on who I was inside. Conformity is a very dangerous thing, it tackles your persona and who you project. It was as if I couldn’t create my own perceptions of myself, my senses were blurred and I could only use others’ assumptions or opinions as building blocks for my personality. I slowly faded into what society wanted me to be, similar to the Numberlys. While they did share a number with several other Numberlys, they couldn’t show each other who they really were inside, until the conformity was obliterated and a new standard fell into place.
Often, I find myself still lacking the color that Numberlys experienced at the end of the film, but I never fail to remember that the black and white is the easy option. Everyone can be like anyone else. But the color, that’s the part that can fulfill what I want and truly make me happy as a person who recognizes their own self-worth. Accepting myself is part of a journey that will lead me from black and white to new colors, and then happiness.