Elijah Michaels

The morning started like any other, with the familiar hum of my computer booting up as I sipped my first cup of coffee. The view from my home office window was a gray, overcast North Dakota sky—typical for this time of year. I hadn't seen the sun much since we moved here from Florida when I was a kid, which is a good thing for me. My hereditary disease, albinism, makes me severely sensitive to light, so the cloudy skies are my ally, even if they do little to lift my spirits.

At 24, working from home as an IT expert suits me well, allowing me to manage my health without much fuss, but it does get lonely. I’ve been dealing with depression since I was a teenager, a result of the constant bullying and isolation because of my condition. My older brother, who never had to deal with these issues, struggled with the move at first. We had our fair share of fights back then, but we've grown closer over the years, despite my envy of his carefree life.

Last week, I had to run an errand to the local supermarket. While navigating the aisles, lost in my thoughts, I absentmindedly pushed my cart only to realize it was someone else's. I glanced up, ready to apologize, and found myself face-to-face with a young black woman who smiled warmly at me. Her name was Sarah, and like me, she was originally from Florida and missed the sun. Her relaxed demeanor put me at ease, and when she commented on my condition, she did so with genuine curiosity rather than pity.

We struck up a conversation and learned we both missed different aspects of Florida. Before we parted ways, we exchanged numbers. Back at home, I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. It's rare to meet someone who sees past the obvious and engages with the person underneath. Maybe, just maybe, Sarah and I could be friends.

Opposites do attract, after all. I look forward to seeing where this new connection might lead.