Sitting beneath the old maple tree, the sun streams through the space between the leaves. It starts slowly, warm and languid like the sluggish drawl of your aging uncle from North Carolina who you always lean closer to understand. The sun shifts and a slow sizzle begins. Like when your grandma fries chicken cutlets on the stovetop. It is a gentle hum like that of the honeybees that fly around your backyard in summer.
The sun shifts and people begin tap dancing on bubble wrap. The oil in the frying pan is popping. The bee is buzzing in your ear. A blaze ignites and crackles across your skin. The orchestra shrieks dissonant chords. The sun shifts and you walk home; the final cracks of the fire snapping with every other step.
In bed, the wail of a high falsetto keeps you awake. After hours, it softens to a gentle hiss. As night turns to day, you awake in silence. Until you flip on your side. Screams erupt like magma from a volcano. You rush to the shower where violin strings are plucked in perfect time to the drops of water that pelt your skin. Once out, the orchestra is muffled with each pat of your white terrycloth towel. The final strings are silenced as you glide a cool liquid across your skin and all that is left is the crisp crunch of autumn leaves under foot over the next few days.
Next time, you promise, I’ll wear sunscreen.
*Synesthesia is when one sensory stimulation also stimulates another sense. For example, people who have synesthesia may experience numbers as shapes. Days of the week may have specific colors. If you are interested in synesthesia, I highly recommend reading the book, Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet. Excellent read.