Fragrant World

Fragrant World

I was ten when my doctor diagnosed a special nerve connection between my nose, eyes, and brain. It all started one afternoon when Mom and I were on our daily stroll with Sissy, my little baby sister. Sissy’s stroller was very vibrant because Dad had painted it the summer before. It had Sissy’s favorite colors and my favorite flower, which was the dahlia because I was named after it.

“Which color do you like the most, Dahlia?” Mom asked me, rubbing the stroller as if it would help me choose between the neon shades jumping from the fabric. I stared at the red and suddenly smelled a waft of lemon in the air. It smelled like one of those disgusting lemon candies at restaurants that were too sour and too lemony. I wrinkled my nose.

“I like the red, but it smells too lemony.” I said. Mom looked at me curiously.

“Smells?” she asked. “Honey, Dad didn’t put any perfume on here.”

“But it smells.” I whined. Mom looked so confused that I began to finally doubt my senses. “The red smells like lemon.”

“Okay,” she said calmly, but I saw the blossoming panic in her face. “Okay.”

“Is that wrong? Is it not supposed to smell like that?” I cried. She shook her head and caressed my head softly. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the smell of the green leaves like crisp potato chips with sea salt. The blue sky reeked of Dad’s gym socks and the white clouds smelled like Mom’s cinnamon bread. All these smells hit me at once as my eyes wandered around.

Mom held me close to her chest, stroking my head. Her milk chocolate colored skin smelled of cherry blossoms at their finest. It was the best smell of all the colors I had smelled in my childhood.

“It seems that your daughter has a very, very special case of synesthesia. Seeing colors triggers the brain to tell her nose a certain smell.” the doctor said, simplifying the terms to explain to me too. I hugged my knees to my chest on the counter.

“Is synesthesia bad?” I murmured. The doctor gave me a small smile, swiping his glasses from his eyes with one smooth swing of his wrist. He looked at me soothingly.

“No, it’s harmless.” he replied, then put on his reading glasses. He began to squint at the piece of paper on his clipboard. “How long has this been happening?”

“Since today.” I said, letting go of my knees. He frowned, as if this wasn’t the answer he was wanting. He scribbled something onto his clipboard. I leaned forward to try to read it but he tilted the clipboard toward his chest and smiled nonchalantly. I sighed.

“What do you smell now?” he asked, picking up a purple piece of paper. I sniffed. A hint of coffee and the smell of honeydew. A pleasant fragrance.

“Coffee and honeydew.” I said slowly. He nodded, face unreadable. More scribbling.

"Quite a nice smell, isn't it doctor?" Mom asked, trying to alleviate the nervous mood. The doctor nodded wanly. Then, a red paper.

“Lemony.” I said. It was the same smell that Sissy’s stroller made. He raised his eyebrows and pouted his lip, nodding in a sort of surprised look as his gaze drifted back over to his trusty clipboard. I shifted uncomfortably on the counter as the papers kept coming up, the smells kept wafting in the air, and his pencil kept scratching against his paper. Finally, after what seemed like a hundred colors, he lowered his clipboard and began to wash his hands.

“Well,” he said, head turned to look at Mom and I. “Dahlia seems to be healthy as a horse. I wouldn’t worry about the synesthesia. It’s just a different way of seeing things.”

“A different way of seeing things.” Mom repeated, unsure. The doctor nodded confidently.

“Yes, Mrs. Lewton. Four percent of all people have synesthesia.” he said, and Mom’s face suddenly relaxed, as if those four percent were calming her right then. She placed a soft hand on my tense shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

Her cinnamon eyes smelled of the roses in my backyard.

“Ms. Allie, Dahlia’s smelling the color wheel again!”

Indeed, I was standing in the art classroom, the class color wheel pinned onto the wall in front of me. I was sniffing intently at the green, which still smelled of chips. Today's snack was awful because I was the only one without a good snack, but smelling chips was almost as if the salty, crunchy chips were in my hand right now.

Ms. Allie, the art teacher, walked over to me and smiled patiently, a soft but firm grip on my back. Her ugly orange sweater smelled of the compost when Dad forgot to take it out. I wrinkled my nose subconsciously.

“Dahlia, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the color wheel. I know it smells good to you, but it’s almost class time.” she said softly. “And stop wrinkling your nose at me. That is disrespectful.”

“Sorry, Ms. Allie.” I muttered. She ushered me back to my seat and began to talk as I sat down.

“Today we are going to talk about Frida Kahlo…” she began. Her voice faded into the background of my thoughts as I stared at a picture of the famous artist. A wave of strong stench reached my nostrils.

“Her unibrow color smells horrible.” I cried, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Her unibrow had such an awful smell that I couldn’t handle it. My stomach suddenly started swaying back and forth inside of me, reflux creeping up my throat, tasting like expired yogurt. I raced to the trash can and vomited up my bad snack. Then, I ran out the door, nausea gripping my insides.

The principal drummed at his desk. He peered at my parents through his glasses and he glanced at me every few seconds too.

“We’re so sorry that Dahlia’s synesthesia acted up-” Dad began.

“No. Don’t apologize. It’s nobody’s fault for Dahlia’s…” he stopped, looking at me thoughtfully. “Accident.”

By the way he looked at me, it sure felt like my fault.

“Anyway,” he said, head snapping back to my parents. “I’ve talked to Allie and she’s postponed the Frida Kahlo unit until further notice.”

“Thank you for being so understanding, principal Kero.” Mom said sweetly. Principal Kero nodded slowly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You may leave.” he said, looking back down at his papers and picking up a pen. Mom, Dad and I all got up from our seats and walked out the door. After we were a little ways down the hall, I broke down in tears.

“Oh, baby.” Mom babbled in a baby voice. “Everything is gonna be all right.”

“I’m so sorry.” I sobbed. Mom hugged me tightly and I felt my stomach swish again, like a basketball swooping swiftly into the hoop. She stroked my hair like always and my tears continued to flow down onto her shoulder. The color of my tears darkening her grey blouse smelled of honeysuckle and rainwater.

Five years later

“I love your new perfume.” I complimented my best friend, Linda. She laughed, tossing her hair, dyed purple at the ends. Her laugh sounded like a bell.

“That’s just your synesthesia, silly. I don’t wear perfume.” she giggled, hooking under my arm with her left arm, other arm holding textbooks. She was the school beauty, and her purple hair wasn’t the only reason. A person as quirky and unsightly as I was lucky to befriend such a beautiful girl.

Linda had rosy cheeks that were just the right amount plump and very pronounced eyebrows, which were very fashionable. She had naturally red lips that were very well moisturized, unlike my cracked, deserted lips.

“So, are you ready to get rid of it?” she asked. I shrugged. This afternoon, I would go to the doctor and get some pills to lose my synesthesia. Usually nobody would try to cure their synesthesia because it is harmless but I didn’t want to vomit in class again because of somebody’s unibrow.

“I guess so.” I replied.

“And you will take two pills every day for about a year.” the doctor said, handing me a small pack of pills. “You may need to order more after you finish.”

“Okay.” I said quietly, not being able to imagine life without synesthesia. I remembered the smell of the blue sky, Ms. Allie’s sweater, and Frida’s unibrow and grimaced. Yet I also recalled the sweet smell of honeysuckle my tears had formed and mom’s brown skin smelling of cherry blossoms and I smiled. As I stared at the pills, I felt two sides pulling and yanking on me.

“Is everything okay?” the doctor asked. I nodded, gripping the pills nervously. Then, I shoved them into his chest. “Huh?”

“I don’t want to cure it. I like it, actually. Everything smells better.” I admitted quickly. I remembered that moment five years ago when I sat on this same cot, just figuring out what in the world was wrong with my senses. Now, I sat here and realized how much I would be lost if I didn’t have my synesthesia.

“Okay. Okay. Yeah, that’s totally fine too. We’ll just return the funding of the pills to your Mom, okay?” he said slowly to me. I nodded.

I didn’t know what I was really doing. It just felt right in my gut.

And I guess for the sake of it, it smelled right too.

“Okay.”