Synesthesia | Colors That Sound [+18]

“Okay, so what do you think now?” I turned the open sketchbook toward Mom. I bit my lower lip lightly, hoping that maybe this time I’d gotten it right.

“A little better, Little Worm, but I think you’re still drawing the fingers too skinny. They look more like lollipop sticks!” Mom’s quiet laughter filled the small room.

I couldn’t help but lift the corners of my mouth a little higher. It felt so good to hear her so cheerful, unclouded by pain. It was almost as if nothing from the last few months had ever happened.

— Hey! It can’t be that bad! — I looked at her indignantly, barely holding back my laughter.

Sticks? Seriously? I looked at the drawing, shaking my head from side to side to see these irregularities. I don’t know from which angle she saw those sticks. Although maybe…

“The pot calling the kettle black.” My aunt’s gentle, though slightly ironic, voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” I asked curiously, furrowing my brow. Was there something I didn’t know?

“Let Mom tell you how she used to draw hands when she first started college,” she replied cheerfully, nodding toward Mom. “Your stick-like fingers look like decent hands compared to her first sketches. Proportions? Forget it!”

I glanced back and forth between them, feeling more and more confused. Mom and bad drawings? No way! Maybe I hadn’t seen that many of them, but I would never have said there was anything wrong with them.

“That was a long time ago and it’s not true,” Mom replied dismissively, waving her hand lightly.

My small hand fell limply onto the sheets. Something squeezed my throat painfully. She was getting weaker and weaker... I blinked rapidly, fighting back the persistent tears. Not now.

“Enough about me,” Mom said, gently clasping my fingers in hers. I forced a smile and looked into her green eyes. There were still a few joyful sparks in them, not dulled by medication. “But I really do think, Livia, that you have talent. You still need to polish it, but you’ve got that knack. Now off to school.”

“Really, do I have to?” I moaned dramatically, fixing her with a pleading look. When she shook her head, I turned to my aunt. They could have taken pity on me. Ever since Mom had been hospitalized, I’d seen her so rarely…

“Seriously. You can’t keep skipping class forever.” Dalia shook her head apologetically.

“Go on, Little Worm.” She squeezed my hand once more. “An artist without an education is a madman counting on a stroke of luck. Work on this some more”—she pointed to the notebook on my lap—“and then come back, and we’ll figure out together what still needs to be improved. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

I didn’t want to leave her at all, but I reluctantly got up from the armchair. I hugged my mom gently, and she planted a quick kiss on my forehead. I clenched my teeth tightly, trying to hold back the tears welling up. Again. I turned away quickly so she wouldn’t see how hard it was for me to leave. I dug my fingers deep into the palms of my hands, because the physical pain helped me control the emotional pain. It wasn’t until I reached the door, passing my aunt on the way, that I looked back at Mom. I gave her a faint smile, which she immediately returned. She raised her trembling hand and waved to me.

That was the last thing I saw before I practically ran out of the room, holding back my sobs with all my might.

Once I was outside, I took a deep breath, exhaling forcefully, as if I wanted to expel all the weight weighing down on my lungs. It didn’t help much, but at least my head stopped spinning.

I really tried to be strong.

For her, for my aunt, even for myself.

I wanted to come to terms with it, to accept the fact that cancer was inexorably eating her away and that she couldn’t be saved, but I couldn’t imagine life without her. Without my only friend, the most constant thing in my life. I couldn’t imagine not being able to tell her that I’d seen a great dress in Mr. Summers’s window display, and that the blue color would complement her golden hair so beautifully. That we wouldn’t sit together on the couch anymore and comment on Ryan Gosling in his next romantic comedy. I wouldn’t get to see her digging up more flower beds for the next batch of roses she’d snagged on sale. I wanted to remember her exactly like that, but I knew that a different image of Mom had etched itself into my memory, and that was the one that would haunt me at night.

Worn down by illness, broken by pain. I wanted to remember her at her best, but I couldn’t stop myself from visiting her in the hospital. I couldn’t leave her alone, even though all I could see was how her favorite shade of blue was draining the last traces of color from her pale complexion. Sunken cheeks and eyelids that barely stayed open.

A trembling hand sliding across the violet blanket to squeeze my hand once more and assure me that she loved me and that I’d be all right.

But I wasn’t so sure about that...

***

I couldn’t take my eyes off the ticking green clock hanging above the blackboard, as if the neon hands pointing to the hour were a signpost. Ready to show me the perfect solution, the cure that would let Mom live longer.

I shuddered, lowering my gaze to my open notebook, and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling a piercing chill that reached right down to my bones. Ever since I found out about my mom’s illness, the cold hadn’t let up. Putting on thick sweaters that still smelled of her, I tried to warm my frozen body at least a little. My numb hands wouldn’t warm up, not even with a cup of hot tea. From the moment the doctors said she couldn’t be saved, a feeling of hopelessness consumed me more and more. I would cry into my pillow at night, calling on all the gods to help her—so that I could continue to enjoy the warmth of my mom’s arms, the sweet blueberry pancakes every Saturday, and feeding the ducks in the park. However, if anyone heard my pleas, they remained unyielding. The diagnosis didn’t change. Advanced ovarian cancer with metastases.

There is no cure for cancer at this stage. It cannot be removed or cured; there is no way left to help her. Even though she hadn’t left the hospital for two months and had been bedridden for several weeks, her green eyes, just as they did every day, looked at me with a love capable of melting any ice.

However, not even my mom’s warm smile could melt the cold inside me.

Class after class passed, and I drifted along, present only in body, for my thoughts kept returning to my mom. Even during lunch, the clamor of the cafeteria distracted me even more.

I tried to focus on what Kenneth was saying, staring into his large, brown eyes hidden behind his glasses, but none of it made sense to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, gently touching my hands, which were clenched into fists. The warmth radiating from him practically burned me, but I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. It was as if his touch alone could calm the fears consuming me.

“I don’t know, I guess so…” I tried to smile, but I already knew it had come out as a rather crooked grimace that wouldn’t fool even the most naive person. “I’m sorry, Ken, but I can’t focus on what you’re saying…”

I really wanted to be more engaged, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I shuddered as a gnawing sense of unease began to spread.

“I understand. Is there anything I can do to help? You look very pale…”

“It’s nothing…” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but the worry didn’t fade from his eyes. I wrapped my arms around myself to control the increasingly intense shivers. I let out a long sigh, lowering my gaze to the tabletop. — It’s just that Mom’s getting weaker and weaker; I don’t know how much time she has left. Every day I’m afraid I’m seeing her for the last time…

A sob caught in my throat, and I couldn’t say another word. I was breaking down for no reason, as if it would in any way change what was already inevitable. But the tears stubbornly refused to stop flowing, even as I began wiping them away more and more frantically. Feeling his arms wrap around me and the sweet smell of cookies, I clung to Ken. A pathetic girl who’s always crying. A complete hopeless case who needs to be comforted all the time because she can’t do anything else. I buried my face in his soft sweater, letting another wave of tears find release. I focused on his warm hands stroking my back and Kenneth’s calm voice, like an anchor that kept me grounded in reality and prevented me from drifting into even deeper despair. After a while, I calmed down enough to stop clenching my fingers tightly around his shoulders.

“Thank you…” I mumbled quietly, sniffling.

“You’re welcome… I’m always here for you,” he said tenderly and handed me a tissue. “Do you want to see the nurse or the counselor?”

“No… I’m okay now,” I assured him and gave him a slight smile.

He nodded and didn’t press the issue, for which I was immensely grateful. However, despite my outward calm, I was still consumed by an irrational fear that something was wrong. Was something actually happening, or was it just my imagination, my mind overstimulated by my mom’s illness? Maybe I should call my aunt? Although there was no point—after all, we’d agreed that if something really bad happened, she’d call me.

I didn’t even realize when Ken had gathered our things and led us to the classroom. Without thinking, I took my seat and pulled out my notebook.

Less than five minutes into the lesson, there was a knock at the door, and the principal appeared.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the class, but I’d like to take Miss Milner to my office.” Despite the woman’s calm voice, a sudden chill ran down my spine.

I looked at her in terror, and she just stared at me with a sad expression. Mechanically, I stood up. When we stepped out into the hallway, she gently touched my shoulder, as if she were afraid of startling me, like some wild animal. Even then, I knew something had really happened. As if in a trance, I followed the principal, feeling burning tears beneath my eyelids. Why are you crying, you idiot? Maybe my aunt wants to excuse me from the last class because the lawyers need me again to sign some stupid document? Maybe Mom asked her to have me come in early today because she remembered another funny story from my childhood? No matter what explanation I came up with for myself, a feeling of unease was ringing in the back of my mind again. It’s over.

In a frenzy, I burst into the principal’s office, my eyes darting around in search of my aunt. So she could tell me I had nothing to worry about, that Mom was feeling fine. But once again, looking into someone’s worried eyes, I knew I wouldn’t hear anything good. I couldn’t hold back the tears welling up in my eyes; they rolled down my cheeks in a warm stream. I threw myself into my aunt’s arms, and she automatically began to rock me. I could feel her trembling all over as she clung to me just as tightly as I clung to her.

“Mom wanted to see you,” her hoarse voice trembled, as if she’d been holding back her tears for a very long time. As if grief had squeezed her vocal cords long enough for them to forget how to make sounds.

I nodded and, holding her hand tightly, we walked out of the school, knowing that this would be our last time seeing Mom.

Truly, no deity heard me. Or perhaps they held in high regard the pleas of some foolish teenager from the suburbs of Atlanta who couldn’t come to terms with the loss of her mother. Why did this have to happen to me? Why, now that I was barely sixteen and needed my mom? I needed the most important woman in my life to, just as she had when I was a child, kiss my scraped knees and let me cry on her sleeve over a broken heart. I needed her to show off my high school diploma. I needed her to help me choose a good college, to complain that some were too far away and that she’d miss me. I needed her to meet the love of my life—the real one, the one I wanted to grow old with. Who’s going to adjust my veil before the wedding?

Although I tried with all my might to come to terms with my mom’s passing, I couldn’t help but cry as I walked into her room. If it weren’t for the slow beeping of the machines, I would have thought she hadn’t waited for me. That she’d left without a final “I love you, Little Bug,” without a final kiss on my temple.

But she was still with us. Hearing my aunt and me take our first steps into the room, she turned slowly, and her gaze—clouded by pain and medication—lit up as if illuminated by a million rays of sunlight.

“I’m here, Mom.” I dropped to my knees by the bed so I could look into her eyes, which were still as beautiful as fresh-cut grass.

“My little one…” she whispered with difficulty, straining to bring a smile to her lips. “I knew you’d come. I told them all to let me stay a little longer because you weren’t here. And now you’re here…”

“I couldn’t leave you alone.” I took her cold, emaciated hand and squeezed it gently.

“I know, I know, Little Worm. You know I love you more than anything in the world, right? I’d give anything to be with you longer. But I know you’re a strong girl. You’re stubborn, just like me, so whatever you set your mind to, you’ll definitely achieve it.” — She returned my handshake without taking her eyes off me. — And remember one thing: nothing is impossible…

— They’re just a pain in the ass — I finished awkwardly, choking back tears.

— Exactly, Little Bug. Whatever fate has in store for you, you’ll definitely manage. And remember, Mommy loves you very much…

With every word, she spoke more and more softly, and her cool hand loosened its grip, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go. I watched as the warm rays of light faded from her gaze until her eyes became dull and empty. My sun went out just as her eyes did. I’ll never again be able to bask in its warmth or enjoy sunny days. All I have left are meager memories that will never fill the void she left behind.

I don’t know what happened next. I don’t know when I got up from my knees and left the room. Did I do it on my own, or did someone help me? Did someone say something to me, or did I answer them? My head was filled with a wool-gray void, causing everything to blend into a mushy mass. Nothing lingered in my thoughts for more than a few seconds before vanishing into nothingness. A black hole in my mind absorbed everything, leaving me indifferent, like fluff in the wind, tossed about by various currents.

Snapshots of memories flashed before my eyes, changing in an instant, just like the colors in a kaleidoscope. My first day of school, my first poor grade, a scraped knee. And Mom was always there, her beautiful smile, green eyes, and blonde hair blowing in the wind. My first period and the embarrassment when Mom helped me put on a pad. Another evening with a romantic comedy and popcorn. Baking together for the festival at my grandparents’ house—they’re gone now, too. Decorating the Christmas tree and hiding presents from each other. Vacations by the ocean and soothing sunburned skin with compresses. Mom fainting in the bathroom. A trip to the hospital to check for a concussion after she fell on the tile floor. The first suspicion of illness. The terrifying diagnosis. More tests, the results growing increasingly bleak. I watched as the life drained from her day by day, and there was nothing I could do about it. I watched as the joy faded from her eyes and was replaced by pain and helplessness. I saw her despair as one outfit after another turned out to be too big, because the cancer was ravaging her body. I wanted to help her, to take away at least some of her suffering, but there was no way to do so. So I stood by and watched her die, a little more each day, like a flower torn from the ground, deprived of water. And even though I begged and cried for them to let her stay with me, it was no use. Because she was gone. And I was left alone.