one person’s green
r
is another person’s turquoise!”
I lean back in the chair, amazed. I’ve learned something about myself after only reading the opening paragraph! Every time I have to read text in colors other than black or white, like in a magazine advertisement or on a book cover, I get a headache because it’s the
wrong
color. I try to avoid it whenever possible. Already I feel a sense of belonging with these people. My heart beats faster, and my finger shakes a little as I scroll down the screen. The phone rings next to me, but I ignore it and the red spirals that it causes.
I discover that if I write a profile of myself, it’ll go out to other synesthetes who can then e-mail me if they want to. Usually my parents won’t let me give out my e-mail address, but I don’t think they would mind this time. I put in my name, my e-mail address, my age, and my type of synesthesia, and in the interests and hobbies section, I write “painting, music, being outdoors, and my cat.” As I’m about to send it off, my mother walks into the office, so I ask her permission.
She walks over and looks at the screen.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Dr. Weiss wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t think it was a safe environment.”
“Jerry,” I correct her, and wait for her to leave again. She’s still here.
“I came in to tell you that a boy from school is on the phone. He wants to talk to you about some history project. How come this is the first I’ve heard about it?”
I turn around to look at her. “A boy?” I ask. “Roger Carson?”
“Yes, that’s his name. He sounded pretty anxious. You better pick it up.”
I’d been avoiding Roger and the others in my group. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially about school. “Can’t you tell him I’ll call him back?”
“I
can
,” she says, “but I won’t.”
I sigh and wait for her to leave before I pick up the phone. “Hi, Roger,” I say hurriedly. “Can we talk about this in school on Monday?”
“Did you know we’re the only group that hasn’t picked a topic yet?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before continuing. “We have to get together this week. I really need a good grade in history.”
While he’s talking, I send my profile out to synesthesia cyberspace. I realize he’s waiting for me to reply.
“Whenever you want is fine with me,” I tell him. “Just let me know.”
“How about Monday?” he suggests.
“Fine,” I say, half listening as I skim through the titles of the articles I can download. Jerry was right. Most of them are from scholarly journals and have long titles, such as “The Study of Synesthetic Cross-Sensory Modalities as a Result of Various Perceptual Stimuli.” If I can’t even understand the title, there will be little chance of understanding the article. I suddenly realize Roger is still talking.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I
said
, we’ll meet in the cafeteria at lunchtime and pick a topic. Okay?”
“You want to work during lunch?” I ask, surprised.
“Why not?” Roger asks.
I hadn’t sat with anyone other than my friends at lunch since grammar school. And I’d never sat at a table with two boys. I guess if we picked a table all the way in the back, no one would notice. “Nothing. It’s fine,” I say, trying to sound like I mean it.
I click on an article, see way too many long words, and click on the next one.
I tune back in, and Roger is saying something like “with a list of suggested topics, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, not even knowing what I agreed to. I hang up the phone and turn my full attention back to the screen. I read an article about a woman who says she goes to an acupuncture clinic because when the needles go in, amazing colors and shapes appear in front of her face. Another woman says she likes to take a hot bath while listening to music. She says the steam from the bath gives the colors a whole new dimension. About an hour
r
is another person’s turquoise!”
I lean back in the chair, amazed. I’ve learned something about myself after only reading the opening paragraph! Every time I have to read text in colors other than black or white, like in a magazine advertisement or on a book cover, I get a headache because it’s the
wrong
color. I try to avoid it whenever possible. Already I feel a sense of belonging with these people. My heart beats faster, and my finger shakes a little as I scroll down the screen. The phone rings next to me, but I ignore it and the red spirals that it causes.
I discover that if I write a profile of myself, it’ll go out to other synesthetes who can then e-mail me if they want to. Usually my parents won’t let me give out my e-mail address, but I don’t think they would mind this time. I put in my name, my e-mail address, my age, and my type of synesthesia, and in the interests and hobbies section, I write “painting, music, being outdoors, and my cat.” As I’m about to send it off, my mother walks into the office, so I ask her permission.
She walks over and looks at the screen.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Dr. Weiss wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t think it was a safe environment.”
“Jerry,” I correct her, and wait for her to leave again. She’s still here.
“I came in to tell you that a boy from school is on the phone. He wants to talk to you about some history project. How come this is the first I’ve heard about it?”
I turn around to look at her. “A boy?” I ask. “Roger Carson?”
“Yes, that’s his name. He sounded pretty anxious. You better pick it up.”
I’d been avoiding Roger and the others in my group. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially about school. “Can’t you tell him I’ll call him back?”
“I
can
,” she says, “but I won’t.”
I sigh and wait for her to leave before I pick up the phone. “Hi, Roger,” I say hurriedly. “Can we talk about this in school on Monday?”
“Did you know we’re the only group that hasn’t picked a topic yet?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before continuing. “We have to get together this week. I really need a good grade in history.”
While he’s talking, I send my profile out to synesthesia cyberspace. I realize he’s waiting for me to reply.
“Whenever you want is fine with me,” I tell him. “Just let me know.”
“How about Monday?” he suggests.
“Fine,” I say, half listening as I skim through the titles of the articles I can download. Jerry was right. Most of them are from scholarly journals and have long titles, such as “The Study of Synesthetic Cross-Sensory Modalities as a Result of Various Perceptual Stimuli.” If I can’t even understand the title, there will be little chance of understanding the article. I suddenly realize Roger is still talking.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I
said
, we’ll meet in the cafeteria at lunchtime and pick a topic. Okay?”
“You want to work during lunch?” I ask, surprised.
“Why not?” Roger asks.
I hadn’t sat with anyone other than my friends at lunch since grammar school. And I’d never sat at a table with two boys. I guess if we picked a table all the way in the back, no one would notice. “Nothing. It’s fine,” I say, trying to sound like I mean it.
I click on an article, see way too many long words, and click on the next one.
I tune back in, and Roger is saying something like “with a list of suggested topics, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, not even knowing what I agreed to. I hang up the phone and turn my full attention back to the screen. I read an article about a woman who says she goes to an acupuncture clinic because when the needles go in, amazing colors and shapes appear in front of her face. Another woman says she likes to take a hot bath while listening to music. She says the steam from the bath gives the colors a whole new dimension. About an hour
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