I wonder how long it has been since the world first started to fade. How long has it been since I’ve tried to decipher which color the world is losing? I think I’ve forgotten. Maybe it’s been so long, I’ve long stopped caring.
Or maybe, it’s been so painful, I’ve tried to stop caring.
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Today, we tried something new. It was more pleasant than unpleasant, but I was slightly overwhelmed by its power and beauty. Today, Dr. Phillip played the piano for us. Or rather, he hit a couple of keys to test our reactions. Some of the other kids complained about the effects, but my experience was very gentle. I wish he would have played me a song. Maybe instead of flashes of beautiful nothingness, I may have been able to paint something out. Like a dream I can never grasp or ask for more, I wanted to see the complete picture. However hazy.
Leon said I was being immature when I confided in him later of what I thought. He said we’re not here to please ourselves or chase something, whatever it was that I was chasing. He said it in a neither stern or mean fashion, so I wasn’t angry with him. But it scared me to hear those words said so simply and honestly. It’s not that I agree with him or disagree with him, but his voice was so calm and his reasoning so real that it unsettled me.
Should I flitter all the fantasy from my reality?
I guess a person in my position has neither the option or the desire to do so. I wonder how Leon would respond if I said those things to him. He would probably just respond with a reasonable answer, thinking my words were slightly amusing and foolish. But he would neither smile or frown when he replies.
No, Leon doesn’t care about those things.
I wonder what he thought of the piano.
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Monday. To confirm the reliability of earlier results, Dr. Phillip invited a violinist to the clinic today. She appeared to be a college student, a year or two younger than me. Clearly nervous and a probably unsure of how to present herself in front of people with our disorder, she stayed reasonably silent and polite as Dr. Phillip did some primary checks with us.
Dr. Phillip introduced her as Ci. As I expected, she was a freshmen at the college I attended. It was neither stated whether she was doing this out as a volunteer or as clinical practice, but she was clearly new at this. Let me first state that neither her appearance or attitude seemed odd or unpleasing to me in any general way, but I am writing about my observation of her because for some reason I do not yet comprehend myself, I am interested in this person.
And please, Scout, I do not want to hear you make any crude joke out of this. It’s not the first time I’ve seen or interacted with a normal human girl. She wasn’t special, nor was she striking in any regard. Maybe I am only interested in my own ability to be interested.
In any case, she played the violin for us. The piano we heard last Friday didn’t elicit any particular response from me. But today, I had a reaction for the first time in days. The few notes played for us during testing were nothing special. Some of the more sensitive individuals had very vivid results. I recall one boy started crying. This startled the girl and she dropped her bow. I, however, didn’t feel a thing. When all the testing was done and all the others went back to their own quarters, I stayed behind as usual. It was then I saw the girl in the other room. She was staring at her own violin like it was a foreign object. Distantly, as if it awed and scorched her skin, she fingered the fine strings of the instrument until she gripped the whole thing and hoisted it against her shoulder blade. Slowly, she played. Instead of a few notes of each pitch, as she played for us, she played a melody. Not a sweet melody, not a sad melody, but a melody that stilled time. It was amazing, or maybe she was amazing to me at that moment, because I could not bring myself to turn away. Then, suddenly, the notes faded into a strange bitter taste. I touched my lips and grinded my teeth together harshly, but the flavor persisted.
No, this is not the first time I’ve listened to a violin. Before and after that incident, I continued to listen to the few classical cds I’ve always fancied. But never did I have such a reaction. The bitterness was strong and exquisite, almost to the point where I doubled over to clutch my head.
That’s when she stopped. She must have noticed my presence. I looked up to see her looking at me through the opening of now widely ajar door. I must have increased the gap when I almost fell to the floor. She said nothing and I did not manage to string coherent words together at that moment. So we looked at each other, blankly, as if the other person couldn’t possibly have existed because the person looking wasn’t real as well.
Then, as if we were under a spell, and the invisible wand withdrew its touch, her line of vision jerked and suddenly fell back onto me. She apologized reverently and placed her violin back in its case. She quickly, but cautiously, came to my side and asked me if I was okay.
Do not worry. I was okay. I’m not sure why I almost fell over, but it was not because I was in pain. I did not feel light headed or uncomfortable. Yet, I was unable to tell her that I was fine. Communication was reduced to me looking at her as if she was a vision of some sort.
It must have scared her. She hesitantly took me by the arm and directed me to take a seat on the sofa. She said she would go get Dr. Phillip right away. He was probably just finishing his talk with you in your office. I halted her by taking her hand in a swift precise motion I was not aware I was capable of. My mind was finally back in its right place, if it ever was, and I released her hand and told her I was fine. She looked concerned and probably didn’t believe me. I said I was just tired and for her not to worry. I told her to leave when Dr. Phillip was ready to go.
With that, I left the testing room and returned to the study common. I slid in without anyone noticing, maybe except Season, and finished reading my English novel. Nothing much happened from then on. My behavior today was most likely due to the uniqueness of the melody. It is nothing to be concerned about, but if any other symptoms were to develop, I will notify you immediately.
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The sunny weather today made me very happy. The touch of the sun’s rays on my skin made me feel more alive for some reason. There were no test or class today because of the violin-sound test yesterday. If more instruments were to be tested, I don’t think I’d mind. Both the piano and violin gave me brief flashes of what seemed like shades of green and yellow. I can’t really explain it, but I felt free. I don’t think Ms. Yun would allow me to, but one day I would like to learn how to play the violin like the girl from yesterday. Even if I only heard a few notes, I thought it sounded beautiful. More beautiful than the piano. I think she looked beautiful when she played.
The younger kids ran around and played tag and hide-and-seek for a few hours while the older kids sat around and watched TV. When I watch those television programs, I keep on wondering how the world really is. I’ve been outside countless times, but I was never really “out.” I want to turn eighteen sooner. I want to go to school like Leon.
Speaking of which, Leon was a bit strange today. Not that he isn’t everyday, but when I chanced a glance at him, he seemed like he was thinking about something very intensely for a few moments before he returned to his normal stoic expression. He doesn’t expand on his answers nor does he explain what he says. When I speak to him, I feel like I’m imposing on his space, but I genuinely just want to talk to him and be his friend. I wonder why Leon is the way he is. We have all been together for years now, but he still doesn’t open himself to anyone. I want to know, and at the same time I’m afraid of what I may find out. Will I turn out to be like him in a few years? Will the other kids after five-ten years?
I think Leon would say I am being immature again. And maybe I am.
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Tuesday. Without class or tests today, the others ran about on their own accord. I did nothing for the entire morning and went to my afternoon classes as usual. I suppose that’s the perk of only being half-enrolled.
I know you will use this for your future reference against me, but something out of the ordinary did occur in school today. Or rather, I did something unusual. I went to the music department and sat in on a rehearsal of some sort. Maybe I was expecting to see that girl from yesterday, but I was neither disappointed or happy when I didn’t spot her among the many faces, each tense with determination, focus, fulfillment, and perhaps fear.
Strangely enough, even after thirty minutes of loud and powerful music, I did not taste a thing. It seems like my response to sound is very selective. Maybe it is like you said. My Synesthesia was more dramatic after the incident and gradually faded over the years. No one really knows what caused my special case, right? I suppose I am more normal than not, but just by stating that I put myself an unfavorable position, don’t I?
In any case, it wasn’t very likely that I’d see her or ever see her again. But it is not a bad thing, perhaps. I went home and finished up editing some papers for that high school kid I mentioned last time. I believe his writing is getting worse, but I suppose that doesn’t matter to him. He pays me to do my job, so I will. I have a few more midterm papers to look over. This month’s paycheck will help out a lot.
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I really don’t understand what’s going on with Leon. Today Dr. Phillip came back with the violin girl. Ci, was it? I thought we were done with the violin, but Dr. Phillip said you asked her to come back to play us a few pieces. I was happy, and most of the other were as well. But Leon acted funny. In the beginning, he sat down with the rest of us. He had no particular expression on his face, but he seem like he didn’t mind listening. Ci smiled and bowed before she started playing. It was a cheerful melody, and several kids started clapping. I couldn’t see an image, but the colors appearing in my head gave me an impression of flowers dotting a grassy field. I was happy. But while everyone else seemed like they were enjoying the music, Leon stood up and left the room. What was the matter?
Ci stopped playing momentarily and resumed when Dr. Phillip gestured to her encouragingly to continue. After her performance was over, Dr. Phillip did an evaluation with each of us individually. I looked for Leon, but when I found him, he was talking to you. You led him to your office, and I watched as you led Ci in a few minutes afterwards.
Does her violin playing invoke something very unpleasant for Leon? I was so worried. And then you walk out of your office and spotted me. I gave you a confused look.
And you smiled at me.
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“Does my playing upset you?”
“No.”
Ci looks at me with her brow slightly pinches together. “Then, does it sound bad to you?”
“No.”
Her eyes were unspeakably clear for a moment, but she says nothing. She looks at me as a painful smile arched her lips to a small wane. She turns around and retrieves her violin. I watch her slow movements with no particular expectation or wonderment. She closes her eyes and starts playing.
The melody was not cheerful or happy as it was a moment ago. Instead, the music was fleeting but ever so present. As if I’ve listened to this tune yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that as well. As if I’ve heard it all my life, but missed it all but now. She opens her eyes now but is not looking at anything in particular. She is not playing for herself or anyone else now. The tangy bitterness I tasted the other day returns with an accompanying favor, an unexplainable sensation that burns the tongue. I place a hand on top of my chest. My heart isn’t pounding any faster, but a hollowness starts to squeeze something there. Unevenly. Unreasonably.
I don’t really understand what’s going on, but the more I look at her expression, the more I am unable to tear my eyes from her face. She is not beautiful, maybe slightly pretty, but nothing out of the ordinary. Why can’t I stop looking at her as she looks right pass me.
Slowly, her music fades, and so does the taste I cannot describe. She is looking at me again, the same way she did when I first heard her play the violin.
“That’s the same song you played the other day.”
She looks at me as if what I said was funny.
“Why didn’t you play that for the others?”
“Because,” she smiles as she says this, “humans want to be reminded of happy things.”
“And you don’t want to be.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“No, I want to be.” She packs up her violin and started to head towards the door. She stops two paces from me, and says with neither regret nor remorse, “but I can no longer remember the feeling.”
She walks pass me and exits the room. I feel as if the world and everything else continues, but I’ve taken one step to the side and stilled in everlasting time.
