Synesthesia: Chapter Forty

serial fiction

Image: Frankie Lopez, Unsplash

The words didn’t come. I felt them, a breath of air behind my lips, straining to slip through.

But this wasn’t the time or the place. Not with Jacob in the back, smashing toy cars together and stinking of shit. Not barreling down the twisting mountain highway, my attention on the road instead of on her face.

So I waited, and the words remained unsaid.

The song finished, and the next one began. Outside, pine forests slid past, interspersed with cliff faces of bare red rock where the hills had been sliced through to make way for the road. We passed scrubby bushes and tall trees with gnarled branches. The sky was a strip of blue above us, framed by mountains on either side.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” whined Jacob from the back seat. The toy cars lay on the seat next to him, forgotten.

“We’ll stop and get you something soon,” Amber promised.

There was no sign of any place to eat nearby, though. Hidden in the trees was an occasional cabin or picnic area, but there were no restaurants or gas stations in sight.

I kept driving.

“I’m hungry,” Jacob whined more intensely. The shit-smell of his happiness had thankfully been replaced by the heavy patchouli fug of impatience.

“There’s no food here,” Amber explained. I caught an edge of sulfur in her breath. “You’ll have to wait.”

A shrill patchouli whine rose from the back seat.

I gritted my teeth and sped up.

“Hey, don’t drive crazy,” Amber chided. “I don’t wanna die just yet.”

I waited for an orange blossom or two, but nothing came. Defeated, I slowed the car by a few miles per hour.

“Hun-gry. Hun-gry. Hun-gry,” Jacob chanted behind me.

The landscape flattened out, a smooth curve of land dotted with endless pine trees, their trunks impossibly straight. It almost looked artificial.

“We’ll find a restaurant soon,” I said, wondering if it was true. My stomach quivered its own complaint, and I regretted not having woken up in time to take advantage of the continental breakfast that was now miles behind us.

Finally, a sign informed us we were entering Flagstaff. Soon after, the road reconnected with the main highway. But that was just as desolate as the previous road.

I drove in silence, my eyes searching for a fast-food logo or a diner. Nothing.

The mix of patchouli and sulfur from the others in the car was too much. I lowered my window a couple of inches, and the air rushing in from the highway roared into my left ear.

Amber protested, telling me to “put that window back up.” But I lowered it another inch, letting the clean, emotionless air drown out the impatience and the whining for the next six miles.

We navigated a maze of looping overpasses, then got off the highway and encountered a tired-looking string of shopping centers and strip malls.

I pulled into the parking lot of one of these, slipping the car into a shaded spot next to an Olive Garden and shutting off the engine.

Nobody got out.

“Zodiac,” Amber breathed, looking up at the building in front of us. Her breath was a vanilla whisper layered over dog shit. “You’re taking us to Olive Garden?”

I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed my door open, my stomach demanding tribute. “Yup,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Amber led Jacob by the hand and followed me, her eyes wide as plates. At the front door I was about to push through, but I thought better of it and instead pushed the door open and waved Amber through. She turned her huge green plate-eyes to me and gave me a smile that made my heart jump.

We were seated at a table near a window looking out onto the parking lot, with a view of Red Lobster in the distance.

Across the table from me, Amber’s eyes were still unnaturally wide. Jacob, his shoulders barely visible above the table, was bouncing excitedly in his seat.

A few minutes later, soft, warm breadsticks had been deposited at our table. Jacob grabbed two, alternating bites of each, and Amber and I each took one.

It tasted like garlic and heaven. I quickly devoured it, then reached for the remaining breadstick.

But instead of bread, my hand touched skin.

Amber’s skin.

I looked up at her. How had I never seen her like this before? She sat regally in the wooden chair across from me, her neck long and straight, her collarbones clearly visible through her skin. My mouth began to form the words against my will.

“Amber,” I said, my pulse dangerously fast. “I—”

“Gimme that breadstick,” she interrupted me, and pulled her hand away from the bread basket, taking the final breadstick with it. My fingers scraped against the empty air.

I stared down into my menu, feeling my face burn hot.

“What did you wanna say?” she asked, chewing the soft bread with an open mouth.

I shook my head, feeling foolish. I wanted to disappear.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, turning to the chicken dishes.

A screech of tires and a sound like an explosion made me look up again. I heard glass shatter and saw pieces of it fly; the air was thick with them, like a cloud of sharp-edged gnats.

“It’s Gas Stove!” Amber screamed, diving under the table. Jacob, his mouth full of half-chewed dough, began to wail like a siren.

I grabbed Jacob and threw us both under the table beside Amber as screams echoed through the restaurant.

I was so scared and confused, I couldn’t even enjoy the orange blossoms.