Synesthesia

I never questioned my gift. None of us did. We only unwrapped it, and simply saw, smelt, felt, and tasted it till there was nothing left. Then, we boxed up the broken white cardboard, tied the sky-blue-pink ribbon into one big buoyant bow, and gave it back to the world.

My dad is always cooking and my mom is always and writing. He studied French bistro cuisine at the Culinary Institute of America, and she studied creative writing with an emphasis on surreal slam poetry and flesh fiction at American University and Georgetown University in Washington D.C. They met at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, where she won a slam poetry competition that he was helping cater. When she performed her piece, Just Juice, he tasted the honeyed textures of crystalized dew food fill up his hollowed mouth. He got fired from his job there, because he somehow managed to give her all the trays of food that he prepared, which was about a little more than half of the provided creole feast at the venue. He convinced her it was a part of her award. After he and his buddy brought the jambalaya, gumbo, beans & rice, shrimp etouffee, and pecan cheese cake, they both exchanged phone numbers, and something fascinating happen to my mother as she sat in silence starring at a point through her windshield and began to eat. She felt and saw the Garden of Eden fill up and become alive in her body. They have been together ever since.

When my sister and I were born together as identical twins the doctors were astounded at how we didn't scream, but only smiled at one another. There were no sirens of cry, but only celebratory snapping. Our parents kept their, what they called at the time, "secret" as secretive as possible, because people labeled their synesthesic conditions somewhere along the lines of a curse rather than a gift. My mother's twin sister died from being hit by a car after chasing green transparent triangles. When my father explained to his mental health counselor in high school that he would see large white diamonds every time he played or heard the piano, he was diagnosed with the mental illness, schizophrenia, and given medication that made him lose his appetite and always wanna sleep. Both of their parents loathed them when they spoke of their secret.

When my sister and I began kindergarten was when the secret turned out to be synesthesia. We spoke out about and didn't think anything of the color filled block numbers and words we saw when a name or number was called out or announced, because we figured everyone saw them. Our teacher was friends with a woman, who referred to herself as a holistic psychologist, and told our parents that we should all set an appointment with her. Allow me to explain synesthesia really quick. It is the production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by the stimulation of another sense or part of the body. At such an early age, our psychologist was able to mould our synesthesia into a form that was best for us individually and based around our personality and interests. My form of synesthesia works like this. When I see something that grabs my attention like certain colors, paintings, and beautiful imagery, I hear music and wondrous waves of sound that correlate with my visual senses. When my sister looks at a blank canvas and listens to music, people talking, and or any air pushing through an opening to produce sound, she sees vivid transparent colors, ill illustrations, and openings to another world popping and percolating with intelligent design.

A few years after we were born my mother gave birth to our younger sister who smells everything, including crime. The cadence in her voice when she says "y-es" and "n-o" as a syneresis, is always in the key of B major. She is secretively quiet, wears a closed thin smile and brilliantly attentive wide eyes as if she has the secrets of the universe behind them, and when she speaks it is like everything you wish you would have done in the past is in front of you playing with your hair. She is a very talented actress and is going to Yale School of Drama with her older sister next fall. She was considering Juilliard, where I beginning my third year of studying music composition and creative writing, but she thinks most people there, mainly the professor, are very pretentious. She is right, but I was really looking forward to going to school with her. She is going to do great things as she goes on to radiate melodies off of her skin surface supported by her sharp facial bones from her immense source of energy and into the lives of others.
***
I just settled my soft clicking classical guitar case, by pushing it through my off-blue bed sham on the comforting carpeted floor. I hear my identical twin sisters voice call out my name in excitement right before pushing the door handle down with her shoulders jutted up, and closes the door behind her; "hey, let's go to the park an meet up with Marley and Ganji." I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeaned thighs parallel to my calf muscles while knelling down, and sang, "let's do it," in a humorously harmonious manner that was followed by her effervescent laughter. It filled up my ears with something soft like fluffily fuzzy pink cotton candy, and something warm like the vibrating strings of a full cello concerto. As soon as she said, "Gawd I love coming home for fall break. I have been collecting fallen leaves from our street," an avalanche spill of fall rush red, yellow, and barley green leafs fill up my room through the half opened windows and cracks through the door. The leaves power pile up, and cover our bodies and the furniture. I feel them begin to creep into my mouth, nostrils, and ear drums, and propel into my insides. I hear their hush rumble harmonize with the every single chord on the musical scale, and reflect off of each chords corresponding color. I taste the textures, flavors, and cider spices of the sundered to a cold crisp Maryland forest. I smell the early morning dew and sun resonate, as well as sappy bark cake. She shakes me, all of these leafs fell from the tops, bottoms, sides, and insides of my body, they leave the room, and she asks me what is wrong, but I cannot talk I can only think. Everything is not okay. That shouldn't have happened. What is going on? Ahh, I'm going to throw up.

We sit down on the floor, she rubs my back, I throw up in a waste basket, and she begins seeing the chorus to "Let It Be," by The Beatles. I explain what had just happened, and she gets very concerned. "That's so bizarre," she says in excitement, "I am going to get Michelle," our younger sister. "Here," fluffing a pillow over my bed, "lie down." I close my eyes, but right before I fall asleep I pinch pull a blazing fall rush red leaf out of my mouth.

I am with my favorite friends and family at the park. There are two German house music DJs behind us all as we are all below the grandmother of all mother oak trees. I see everything scenic, and it's playings a symphony of serialism for me. There is an "Air War," according to the dying from life golden sun-brown leafs whirling with the wind in a waltz. Fluttering into the dance in triple time performed by the woodwind trees, I join them to sign the songs of encouragement they need before being plucked with ease by a brisk breeze. I am now serenadingly shaking with the swinging by a steam-thread soldiers as a fall rush red leaf. I see myself with my head and mouth gaping a death caused by a heroin overdose smile. I see my beautiful identical twin sister, Vanessa, dancing with her body throughout the upward and downward spiraling nature paper in a crowd of everyone I love. She is an energetic soul summoning the power of Gawd. I want to join them, so I do. The glass shattering crescendo signals my departure, and I am off. Fluidly flowing through the vast space at a fast pace, I start to star dive into my body's gaping smile at the center of my face and underneath my eyes. Time stops, and the air can no longer be pushed. The home for my soul falls like a ton of bricks. For the first time in my life, I see, hear, feel, smell, and taste nothing, but it only lasts five seconds. It's impossible to describe this state of reality I'm in, let alone the visuals, sounds, feelings, smells, and flavors that followed suit and hit me like a harmonious hymn hitting the keys of a harpsichord. For now and the rest of my life, I am living on the other side with the best things in life that are invisible. You will never know what it's like until your soul leaves your body.
**
(Dial tone then pick up click) "Hello?"
"Dr. Ruh, hi! It's Michelle Vanderbilt. I'm calling out of concern for my brother, Phin.
"Wow, it's been over ten years! It's good to hear your voice. How is Phineas? How are you and Vanessa?"
"We're fine, but Phin isn't. He just had a crazy surreal synesthesia attack that made him throw up, so Nessa set him down to sleep. Nothing like this has every happened before to any of us, and we don't exactly know what we should do."
"Ok, well first. What were his sensory levels like, and was there any blood in his vomit?"
"Blood? Nessa.. did Phineas throw up any blood? 'I don't know. I wasn't looking, but
i'll go check.' Our parents went out for Sushi. Ok, so Vanessa made it sound as though
he was experiencing something along the lines of a full five sense synesthesia. He saw
thousands of leafs flood into his room and cover him and Nessa. He felt the leafs fill up
his body as well as tasted them. Music was being made with every movement of the leafs,
and he was smelling them as they stuffed his nose like wild fire."
"Wait..No! He is not studying music is he?
"Yeah, music composition at Juilliard."
"What?! Your parents let him go to Juillard after I specifically said at our last meeting to
not let him get too involved with music as he got older? It's one thing if he were to keep it
a hobby, but intensifying his main sensory trigger, sound, with extensive study could really
be dangerous."
"Well, what the fuck did you expect? For him not to pursue his talent, his passion, and his
love as career? He would only do it anyway if they said he couldn't. That's like accepting a
gift and never opening it. And what do you mean could be really dangerous? You are a doctor,
and you know that if something is life threatening towards one of your patients you run tests and
have follow ups. Where have you been all of these years, if that was the case? You said we were
blatantly brilliant, ready to take on the world, and completely safe."
"Give me a break, Michelle. I'm trying here. Barely two percent of our world's population has
synesthesia. Most neuroscientists don't even know what it is. There is practically no awareness
nor funding for research. Your parents were tired of my methods for developing each of your
conditions of synesthesia, and wanted me to some-how get rid of all of your conditions.
I refused, because I thought that was the worst idea possible, so they let me go. Not only do I not
know the first thing in attempting to do something like that, but nobody fucking does!"
"I apologize Dr. Ruh. You just got me excited and nervous when you brought up the potential
harm to Vanessa and Phineas.."
"Vanessa?"
"Yeah, she studies visual arts and illustration at Yale School of Art."
"Oh man."
"Yeah, tell me about. I smell things all fucking day, hell I have eggs an inch away from my nostrils
right now, and it feels like they are in my brain (begins to eat the eggs). So, what should I..we do?"
"Let's set up an appointment. I do know this really fabulous doctor at the forefront of breaking ground
with synesthesia, who lives in Amsterdam, but we can Skype with him."
"Yeah, sounds good. When is your next available opening for us to all come in?
"Well, lemme see.."
"Gawd, what is taking Vanessa so long?

Michelle begins walking out of the kitchen, through the swinging doors, and up the three flights of stairs to Phin's room. Vanessa is no where to be found while Phineas is seen lying on his bed. Michelle walks up to the waste basket, kicks it, looks into it, and sees nothing but blood.

I never questioned my gift. None of us did. We only unwrapped it, and simply saw, smelt, felt, and tasted it till there was nothing left. Then we boxed up the broken white cardboard, tied the sky-blue-pink ribbon into one big buoyant bow, and gave it back to the world.