A Mango-Shaped Space (18 page)

“Why don’t we all try to make the spirit of Thanksgiving last year round?” my father suggests, retrieving his towel and shaking it out. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Sure, Dad,” Zack says. “No problem.”

For the rest of the night we try to be nice to each other. This requires that the three of us stay at opposite ends of the house. Zack is on the computer, Beth is showing Mom some new yoga moves, and I’m throwing every item of clothing I have onto the floor in search of the perfect outfit for tomorrow night. I finally wind up sneaking into Beth’s room and taking her blue-and-white-striped dress from the back of her closet. She outgrew it two years ago but has always refused to let me have it. Throwing off my clothes, I slip the dress over my head and look at myself in her full-length mirror. The sleeves are a little long, but other than that it fits fine. A little twirl makes the skirt flare up. The dress makes me feel something I usually don’t —
girly.
Laughter from downstairs reminds me I only have a small window of time to act if I want permission to wear the dress. I quickly change back into my own clothes and bring the dress downstairs with me. Beth is still in the living room in a pose she calls a “downward-facing dog.” I ask sweetly if I can borrow the dress, and she has no choice but to say yes since Mom is in the room and it’s Thanksgiving and all. I can feel her glaring at my back as I go up the stairs, but I don’t care. I’m feeling girly, and I’m going to meet a boy tomorrow night.

Chapter Thirteen

The rhythm of the rain on the windshield of Dad’s truck would almost be soothing if I weren’t so crazed with anticipation. I’m trying not to fidget because every time I shift in my seat the torn vinyl scratches the backs of my legs. Dad’s truck might handle better in the rain than Mom’s car, but no one would call it comfortable. The ride to the university seems endless, and it’s so dark out that I can’t even watch the scenery.

“Are we almost there yet?” I ask for the tenth time. Neither of my parents bothers to answer me. In fact, they haven’t answered me the last eight times. It’s not my fault it’s too dark and rainy to figure out where we are. Maybe I should have worn pants. Jerry said that most synesthetes are female, but the only ones I know about — Billy and Adam — are boys. What if I’m the only girl at the meeting? I’m sure I’m the youngest. What if I say something stupid? Maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all.

Finally my mother points out a sign on the side of the road that says
UNIVERSITY HOUSE
, 2
MILES.
Jerry rented the building from the school for the weekend and said it has a cozy atmosphere. As we pull up alongside the house, I can see smoke billowing out of the chimney. I step out of the car, push open my umbrella, and shiver.

The door opens as we approach it, and Debbie pops her head out. She beams at me and waves us in. I can hear voices talking and laughing in the next room.

“You must be Mr. Winchell,” Debbie says, pumping my dad’s hand. She then turns to my mother. “We’re so glad you both could come. Everyone else is here already, Mia. Ready to meet them?”

My legs don’t seem to want to move. I nod mutely.

“Here, let me take your coat first.”

I slip off my coat and pass it to Debbie along with my dripping umbrella. She squeezes them into a small closet and leans her weight against the door to close it. Then she links her arm in mine and leads me toward the other room. My parents follow a few steps behind.

“Here we are,” she announces. I stare into what looks like a normal living room with couches, chairs, and a fireplace. About fifteen unfamiliar faces turn toward us. The talking gradually stops as they wait for Debbie to introduce me. I’d say three quarters of the group are women, of which I’m by far the youngest. I see Adam right away, since he’s the only other teenager in the room. He looks a little like Roger, except his face is rounder and he has darker hair. He also has a big smile that covers practically the whole bottom half of his face. I guess he knows who I am too. I scan the other faces but don’t see Jerry anywhere. I’m relieved to see that the glows around everyone are so faint that they won’t distract me.

“This is Mia Winchell,” Debbie says, pushing me in front of her. “She’s been working with us here in Chicago.”

“Hi, Mia,” everyone says.

“Hi,” I answer in a small voice. I quickly see I’m dressed appropriately and relax a little. My parents slip over to the folding chairs in the corner.

Jerry enters from the other end of the room with a tray of food, and his face lights up when he sees me.

“Mia! Grab a spot on the couch. Helen will move over, won’t you, Helen?”

Helen is about sixty years old and is wearing the most colorful patchwork dress I’ve ever seen.

“Sure I will,” Helen says, scooping up her skirt and patting the space beside her. I walk into the room and sit, amazed I didn’t trip over the people sitting on the floor. Helen pats me on the knee, and her long earrings swish back and forth.

“Now that we’re all here,” Jerry says, settling into a chair by the fire, “let’s go around one last time and introduce ourselves.”

The group groans good-naturedly. Jerry adds, “This time please go into more detail about your own synesthesia.”

The introductions begin, and if the kids at school think
I’m
strange, they wouldn’t
believe
some of these people. One woman sees colors and shapes whenever she eats cold food. Another woman swears that her numbers not only have color, but also have personalities. Three other people in the room jump up and swear
their
numbers have personalities too. A lively debate arises over whether the number eight is shy or a flirt. I listen in awe, stealing glances at Adam whenever possible.

“Eight is definitely a flirt,” one of the women declares. “Because three is shy, four is rude, and two is, like, your buddy. I hated taking math in school because I always felt bad making numbers who didn’t like each other work together.”

“I felt the same way,” a guy in his twenties adds. “Try explaining to your math teacher that you feel guilty pairing a six with a two!”

I can see my parents’ raised eyebrows from across the room. I’m glad they won’t be here for the next two days. I give a quick shake of my head to indicate that they don’t have to worry — my numbers do not have personalities. Not that it wouldn’t make things interesting, but I have enough problems with math without adding guilt to the mix.

When Adam’s turn comes he speaks clearly and makes eye contact with everyone around the circle. I’m impressed. He must have a lot of confidence.

I’m so engrossed in what people are saying that I don’t realize it’s almost my turn to speak until Helen stands up next to me. She clears her throat and then recites a poem from Shakespeare. At least I’m assuming it’s from Shakespeare, since we don’t start reading him until ninth grade. After the poem she wipes a small tear from the corner of her eye and says, “I’ve been reading poetry since I was a young girl. I choose the poems with the prettiest-colored words. Then it’s like a beautiful garden of colors appears before my very eyes.”

My turn has arrived. I babble for a few minutes about my colors, wishing I could tell them about seeing the pheromones. But I don’t dare tell them with my parents in the room. People are nodding as I speak, and it’s so cool to be in a whole roomful of people who understand me. Adam gives me a thumbs-up when I’m done.

The last person to speak is a man who looks about my father’s age but is much heavier. He explains that color rules his life. He picks his friends based on whether he likes or dislikes the colors of their names. He even chooses his food that way. “Unfortunately,” he says, pointing to his large belly, “my favorite color is the pale green of the word
chocolate!
” He adds that he has to turn off his car radio in order to concentrate in traffic. Half of the room nods in agreement. I’ll have to remember that when I take my driving test in three years.

People start yelling things out now. The oldest man in the room — he looks like he’s around seventy — says he married his first wife because her name tasted like peanut butter. Then he met this other woman whose name tasted like peaches, his favorite food, so he divorced the first one and married the second! One woman brags that she can read and write upside down and backward, and that when she writes with her right hand, her left hand can follow along and write the same sentence backward. Three other women call out that they do that too. I hadn’t thought about it in years, but I used to do that when I was little. It never crossed my mind that it might be connected to my colors. I guess whatever “wires” are mixed up in my brain are responsible for all sorts of strange things.

Jerry waits until the room quiets down and asks, “Does anyone want to share their word-pictures? Let’s raise our hands this time.”

Three hands shoot up, but then they all start talking at once. I guess I’m about to find out what a word-picture is.

“The name
Jerry
is like a big sugar cube with chopsticks sticking out of it …”

“No, it’s not, it’s like a bicycle pump with a red handle …” “No way, it’s a big pillow with the stuffing being squeezed out.” The rest of us look at one another and shrug. I imagine their heads must get pretty crowded if every word has a picture with it. Since we have an early day tomorrow, Jerry tells us to mingle for a little while and then call it a night. The rest of the weekend will be taken up with experiments. I feel like I’m part of an elite club and can’t wait for tomorrow. It hardly seems possible that I had once wanted my synesthesia to go away. Adam motions me over to the fireplace, where he holds out his hand.

“We haven’t been formally introduced,” he says in a pretend grown-up voice.

I reach out to shake his hand. He grabs it and kisses the back of it. He actually kisses my hand! Fortunately my parents have wandered out of the room or else I’d be mortified.

“Charmed, Miss Winchell,” he says, lightly dropping my hand. “Adam Dickson at your service.” He tugs at the collar of his thick sweater. “It’s a little hot in here, isn’t it? The rain has stopped; maybe we should go outside for some air?” It
has
gotten a little stuffy in the room. Of course it could be because we’re standing in front of the fire. Before I can say anything, Adam takes my hand and leads me out a back door and into a little courtyard. I’m so energized that I barely feel the cold. We sit down on a bench that had been partially sheltered from the rain. I’ve never been in the dark with a boy before. Well, other than Zack of course. My palms are sweating, and I wipe them on my dress.

“So this is pretty great, right?” Adam says. I’m not sure if he means the meeting or us sitting on the bench together.

“Uh-huh,” I say, figuring it’s a safe answer.

“Where did this come from?” he asks, lightly touching my friendship bracelet. His fingers graze my arm, and I shiver a little as I tell him about the bracelet.

“Are you cold?” he asks, moving a little closer. “We should have grabbed a bottle of wine from inside; they never would have noticed. That would warm you right up.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I tell him. “Didn’t you get really sick the last time you drank?”

“Oh, that. I was just a kid then.”

Before I can ask what he thinks he is now, he says, “You look just like I thought you would. Am I like you pictured?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really —”

“Mia?” he interrupts.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?” I ask a little too loudly.

“Never mind,” he says, looking across the yard.

“No, I mean, it’s okay. I mean, yes, you can.” I stop rambling and he smiles at me. If my palms weren’t already sweating, they would be right now. It was about time I had my first kiss. It seems fitting that it should be with another synesthete, since we understand each other so well.

I close my eyes and feel his lips touch mine. Our noses bump and I giggle.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, smiling.

I shake my head, afraid to say anything stupid. He leans in to kiss me again.

Suddenly I hear footsteps behind us. “Mia!”

I cringe and pull away from Adam. My mother doesn’t look happy to see me kissing a strange boy on a bench in the dark.

I hurry to introduce Adam, explaining that we knew each other already.

“That’s great,” she snaps, and practically drags me away by my sleeve. All I can do is wave good-bye.

“See you tomorrow, Mia,” he calls out after us. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Winchell.”

My mother grunts in reply and hands me my coat. I wonder if she’s this hard on Beth’s boyfriends. Not that Adam is my boyfriend or anything. I don’t even know if I want him to be.

I think about whether or not I’d want him as a boyfriend the whole ride home. I’m still thinking about it as I pick through the Thanksgiving leftovers. Not surprisingly, there’s a lot of the tofu loaf left. It actually tastes better the day after. Maybe it tastes better because everything tastes better when you are wearing old flannel pajamas at midnight.

It suddenly dawns on me that I have to get up again in six hours in order to get to the university by nine o’clock. I quickly rewrap what’s left of the tofu loaf and toss my fork into the sink. On the way out of the kitchen I pass Mango’s food dish and see that it’s still mostly full from this morning. I bet he’s still stuffed from all the Thanksgiving table scraps Zack fed him when our parents weren’t looking. There’s a thin orange glow in front of the food dish, the last trace of my “magic” powers. I think it’s very interesting that everyone else’s glow is almost completely gone, but I can still see Mango’s.

My thick socks are perfect for skating in the smooth hallway, and I have to grab onto the staircase to avoid crashing into the front door. As I come to a stop the full moon shining through the living-room window beckons to me. Even though it’s freezing outside, I feel like sitting out on the front porch.

Grabbing my coat from the front closet, I quietly open the front door and slip outside. The top step seems dry enough, so I sit down and watch the clouds pass quickly in front of the moon. It seems impossible to believe I was just in a room with fourteen other people just like me. I can’t wait to tell them about the acupuncture, which, as cool as it was, did get to be pretty distracting. But if my abilities had been stronger tonight, I would have been able to see exactly what Adam was feeling when he kissed me. That could have been useful.