by Tillie Cole
“Cromwell . . .” Bonnie’s voice sliced through my thoughts. Her hand came up to my cheek, and she turned her head. She had tear tracks down her cheeks. Her lashes were clumped together from the wetness, and her lips were red. Bonnie always had the most peculiar color of lips. Such a deep red that they almost looked unnatural.
Her hand was a damn furnace on my skin. I turned into her palm, and a quick gasp of breath escaped Bonnie’s mouth. “That was beautiful,” she said and dropped her hand. It ran over my fingers that lay on the guitar’s neck.
“These hands,” she said. I could only see her cheeks move from this angle, but I knew she was smiling. “The music they can create.” She sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
My chest expanded, something inside of it swelling at her words. Her finger ran over and over my hand until she finally pulled it away. She yawned, and I could see her eyes were getting small from tiredness. “I’m exhausted, Cromwell. I need to go home.”
I didn’t. For the first time in I didn’t know how long, I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay in this music room. Because I wasn’t sure what would happen when we left it. I wasn’t sure if the anger would return. The need to run from all of this.
I didn’t know if Bonnie would walk away. After the way I’d treated her, I thought she might.
“Cromwell?” Bonnie pushed. I couldn’t hold on to this moment any longer. I pulled my hands back from the guitar. I needed to get off the stool. I moved my legs, but before I got up, I moved my mouth to her ear.
“I like your song, Farraday,” I whispered and caught her quick exhale.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the peach and vanilla. Bonnie arched into my chest. I dropped my head, running my nose down her neck until my mouth was at her bare shoulder. I brushed my lips over the pale soft skin, then I kissed it once and moved back off the stool.
I got the guitar case off the floor and took the guitar from Bonnie’s hands. She hadn’t moved off the stool. When the guitar was packed, I finally looked down at her. She’d been watching me the whole time. I could tell by the embarrassed expression on her face. “I’ll walk you back,” I said.
Bonnie got up. Her feet faltered. She pushed her arm out. I grabbed hold of her, pulling her to my side to keep her steady. She was out of breath and seemed too hot.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said nervously. She tried to push away from me.
I kept my arm around her. “I might just keep you here to make sure you don’t fall.”
Bonnie smiled a little and sank back into my side. I walked her back to her dorm. The night was quiet. I didn’t know what time it was. But it must have been three or four in the morning.
Bonnie didn’t say a thing. Not until she stopped dead and looked up at me. “I wish I knew,” she said, voice strained. She needed to get home. She needed to sleep.
“Knew what?”
“What it’s like for you to see them.” She gazed off to the distance, lost in thought. “To hear colors.”
“I . . . I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “It’s normal to me. I don’t know what it would be like to not see them.” I shrugged. “It’d be weird.”
“It’d be dull.” Bonnie fell back into step beside me. “Believe me, Cromwell. It would be a dream of mine to step into your world for just a brief moment. To see what you hear . . . a dream.”
We arrived at Bonnie’s dorm. “You have a room on your own?”
Bonnie’s head ducked, but she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Lucky you.”
She smiled. “You don’t like my twin?”
My lip twitched. “He’s okay.”
Bonnie took her guitar from me. She stood in the doorway, head down and nervous. “Thank you,” she said, looking up at me through her long lashes. “Thank you for tonight . . .” I nodded. I tried to get myself to move. My feet had other plans. “I guess I’ll see you in class on Monday.” She turned to go inside, but before she could, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath.
“Night, Farraday.”
I had only walked a few feet before she said, “Cromwell?” I turned. “What’s your favorite? Your favorite color to see?”
I didn’t even think before I spoke the words. “Violet blue.”
She smiled and went into her dorm. I watched her go, dumbstruck at what I’d just said.
Violet blue.
I didn’t go home. I kept walking. I walked until I arrived at the spot by the lake that Easton showed me. I sat down on the grass and watched as the sun began to rise.
Birds sang and brought flickers of bright orange to my head. Cars passed, bringing scarlet reds. The same canoeist I always saw paddled in the distance, and I breathed in deeply. I tasted the freshness of the air and the green of the grass. It was keeping the walls from climbing back up. I tipped my head forward and pushed my fingers through my hair. I didn’t like how shaky I felt. Too many emotions were rushing through me, mixing the colors until I wasn’t able to tell them apart . . .
“I don’t want it anymore,” I snapped at my dad as he stood next to the stage.
I pulled on my bow tie and stormed past him. “I missed my footie match with my mates today.” I started pacing. “Instead I had to be here.” I pointed at the hall that was packed with people. All of them older than me by at least twenty years.
“Cromwell, I know you’re pissed off. But, son, the chance this is giving you. The music . . . You’re so talented. I can’t say it enough times.”
“I know you can’t! It’s all you ever talk about. This is all I ever do!” I balled my hands into fists. “I’m starting to hate music.” I hit my head with my hand. “I fucking hate these colors. I wish I never had them at all!”
My dad put his hands in the air. “I get it, son. I do. But I’m just looking out for your future. I don’t think you see your own potential—”
“And Tyler Lewis? Why is he here now? Why has he been trying to work with me?”
“Because he can help you, son. I’m an officer in the British Army. I have no idea how to foster your talent. How to help you realize your potential.” He shook his head. “I don’t see the colors like you. I can’t even play ‘Chopsticks’ on the piano. I’m out of my league.” He sighed. “Lewis can help you be the best you can be. I promise . . . I love you, son. Everything I do is only ever for you . . .”
I blinked away the memory and felt my stomach sink. I sat for two hours just watching the lake. I grabbed a breakfast burrito on the way home, but then stopped at the music building. My emotions warred inside me. I wanted so badly to accept all this again—the music, the love of playing, the passion of composing. But the darkness I’d had for three years always lurked near, ready to bring the anger and snatch it all away. But then Bonnie’s face flashed in my head, and a sense of calmness washed through me. I let myself inside and saw the light on in Lewis’s office.
My jaw clenched as I raised my hand to knock. I stopped for a second and just breathed. What the hell are you doing, Dean? I asked myself. But then I thought of Farraday’s smile, and my knuckles hit wood.
“Come in?” The permission to enter was a cross between a question and command. I pushed the door open. Lewis stood behind his desk, sheets of music spread on the tabletop. He was wearing glasses. I’d never seen him wear them before.
“Cromwell?” he said in surprise. His stuff was all over the place. He looked like he hadn’t been to sleep at all.
Join the club.
“Lewis.” I sat down on the seat opposite him. He watched me warily. He sat down, gathering his sheets of music.
I caught sight of them as he did. He stopped and turned them to face me. “What do you think?” I could tell by his tone that he didn’t think I’d answer. But when I saw his scribbled notes on the manuscript paper, I couldn’t look away. He had parts for almost a full orchestra. My eyes ran over the notes, the colored pattern of the music playing in my head. I looked at them all,
synergizing them into the symphony it was being written to be.
“It’s good.” I was putting it mildly. It was beyond good. And by the look on Lewis’s face, he knew it.
“Still in its infancy, but so far, I’m happy with it.”
I looked at that picture of him in the Royal Albert Hall. I always did when I came in here. It held so many memories for me. “What’s it for?” I pointed at the music Lewis was putting into piles.
“The National Philharmonic is playing a huge gala concert in Charleston in a few months, celebrating new music. They’ve asked me to conduct. And I’ve agreed.”
I frowned. “I thought you didn’t conduct your music anymore.”
“I don’t.” He laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been in a better place in recent years . . .” He didn’t finish that sentence, but I knew it was in relation to his drug and alcohol problems. “I thought I’d give it a go.” He leaned forward and put his folded arms on the table. “It’s Sunday morning, Cromwell. And you look like you’ve been up all night too. How can I help you?”
I stared down at my hands in my lap. My blood was rushing through my veins so fast I could hear it in my ears. Lewis waited for me to speak. I didn’t know how the hell to explain. I almost got up and left, but Bonnie’s face came into my head and had me rooted to the seat.
I played with my tongue ring, then blurted, “I have synesthesia.”
Lewis’s eyebrows rose.
He nodded. And by the lack of shock on his face, I knew. “My dad . . .” I shook my head. I even let out a single laugh. “He told you, didn’t he?”
Lewis was wearing an expression I didn’t recognize. Pity maybe? Sympathy? “Yeah, I knew,” he said. “Your father . . .” He watched me closely. I didn’t blame him. I’d almost torn his throat out the last time he’d mentioned him. When he saw I was keeping my shit together, he added, “He contacted me when I was in England on one of my tours.”
“The Albert Hall.” I pointed at the picture on his wall. “He brought me to meet you. We all came. Me, Mum, and Dad. He was on leave from the army.”
Lewis gave me a tight smile. “Yeah. I invited you to the show. But I wasn’t—” He sighed. “I wasn’t in a good place then. I’d been using for years by that point.” He looked up at the picture. “I almost died that night. Took so much heroin that my agent found me on a hotel floor.” His face paled. “I was minutes from death.” He faced me again. “It was a turning point for me.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“I remembered you. I have no memory of that night at all, yet I remembered meeting you. The boy with synesthesia and the ability to play anything he picked up.” He pointed at me with his hands steepled. “The boy who, by ten years old, could compose masterpieces.”
Icy coldness ran through me.
“I failed your father, Cromwell. It was years before I was in a better place to help. I contacted him. I even came to England, but you were already falling out of love with composition.” He met my eyes. “When I heard of his death . . . I wanted to honor the agreement I made with him years ago. To help you. To help you with your talent.”
My chest was tight. It always was when I thought of my dad. “I kept in touch with your mother. We talked, and I told her about my teaching here in Jefferson. That’s when I offered you the place.” Lewis ran his hand through his hair again. “I knew you had synesthesia.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I knew you now fought classical music. I wondered when it would all finally get the better of you.” He gave me an accepting smile. “You can’t fight the colors you were born to see.”
I wasn’t ready to talk about all that yet. I was here for another reason. “I want to be able to explain it to someone. What I see when I hear music. I want to explain. But I have no idea how.”
Lewis’s eyes narrowed. For a second I thought he was going to ask me who. But the guy knew to keep out of my business. “It’s hard if you don’t have it. It’s hard to explain if you do. How do you know how to explain the absence of something you’ve always lived with?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s why I’m here. Wanted to know if you had any suggestions. You’re a music teacher, after all. You’ve surely heard of it before. No doubt studied it or some shit.”
He smirked. “Or some shit.”
Lewis got up and took a leaflet out of a rack on his wall. He put it in front of me. It was for a museum just outside of town. “You’re in luck, Mr. Dean.” I scanned the leaflet. It was advertising an exhibition on synesthesia.
“You have to be kidding me. There’s an exhibition on it?”
“Not yet. But it’s almost done.” He sat back down. “It’s a complete sensory experience, created by an artist friend of mine. It’s really quite something.”
“But it’s not open.” I blew out a frustrated breath.
“I can get you an early viewing if you’d like.” Lewis shrugged. “He might like more feedback from another synesthete. It could benefit everyone.”
“When?” I asked, pulse starting to race.
“Next weekend should be fine. I’ll ask him.”
I took the leaflet and put it in my pocket. I got to my feet. “You sure it’s good? That it’ll explain what I see and hear?”
“It might be different. Synesthetes often see things slightly differently to each other; there are no rules, after all. The exhibition may not show the exact colors you see for certain notes.”
“Then how do you know it’s any good?”
He smiled. “Because it’s based on me.”
My feet were cemented to the ground as what he said sank into my sleep-deprived brain. My eyes widened and drifted to the picture above his desk, the one with all the colors. “You too?”
Lewis nodded. “It was why I wanted to meet you all those years ago. I’ve met other synesthetes in my life, but none that shared such a similar type to me.”
I stared at Lewis. I didn’t know if it was because of the shared synesthesia, but I suddenly saw him differently. Not as the professor that kept poking his nose into my business, or the infamous composer who gave it all up for drugs. But as a fellow musician. Someone who followed colors like me. I stared at the composition on his desk and wondered what color story he saw.
“Er . . . thanks.” I turned for the door. Just before I left, I asked, “What color is D?”
Lewis smiled. “Azure.”
I huffed a laugh. “Ruby red.”
Lewis nodded. I closed the door and made my way back to the dorm. A synesthesia exhibition. Perfect. Now I only had to find a way to get Bonnie to come with me.
She wanted to know what I saw when I heard music.
The thought of letting someone else in that close still rubbed me the wrong way, and the walls began to build once more. But then I remembered her song, and her face when she found out the truth about me. And I pushed them down. Keeping her face in my head.
And I fell asleep smelling peach and vanilla, and tasting sugar-sweetness on my tongue.
Chapter Fourteen
Bonnie
I didn’t know why I was looking in the mirror. I didn’t know why I cared what I looked like. I was fully aware that Saturday night was just a fluke. That Cromwell Dean would be his usual self today.
Yet here I was, checking my hair in the mirror. My hair was down and pulled to one side. I wore my jeans and a pink sweater. I had my silver hoops in my ears. I rolled my eyes at my pathetic-ness. Then my stomach fell.
You shouldn’t be doing this to either yourself or him.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I ducked out of my room. The sky was bright, the sun shining and not a cloud to be seen. Students milled about the quad. “Bonn!” Easton came up behind me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked. “You weren’t in the cafeteria this morning.” I stopped and looked at my brother, using his appearance as my excuse to pause. Truth was, I was out of breath from just a few steps.
Easton
shrugged. “Wasn’t in my room last night, Bonn. Let’s just save you the details about all that.”
“Thank you,” I said sarcastically, and he smiled. “I feel like I never see you lately.” I really looked at my brother. He had dark circles under his eyes. I put my hand on his bicep. “You okay?”
He winked. “Always, Bonn.” He started walking, guiding me with his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll walk you to class.”
My breathing became labored again after only a few feet. I held back the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened to fill my eyes. It was too soon. It was all happening too fast.
I hadn’t expected things to progress so quickly.
I tipped my head up and looked at the treetops. At the birds flying among them and the rustling of the turning leaves. Like summer was changing to fall, I too was losing my sun. A fated leaf, destined to fall.
Easton brought me to the music building. “Catch you later in the cafeteria, yeah?”
I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah.” It was our standing date. Our chance each day to see each other. To catch up. If I went a day without Easton, life didn’t seem right. Easton ruffled my carefully styled hair. “East!” I admonished and rolled my eyes as he ran away, laughing. Students passed by me, entering the music building. But I watched him go. Running to a girl I didn’t know and giving her his usual bright smile and god-awful pick-up lines.
My heart seemed to crack down the center. I had no idea how to tell him. I would never be able to find the words. Because I knew it would break him too. I’d held off for months. Telling myself every day that today would be the day. That I would muster up the strength. But the day never came.
And I knew it wouldn’t be long until the choice was taken from me.
He would know soon enough.
Darkness loomed over me as I thought about Easton. He was bold and larger than life on the outside, but I knew him differently. I knew the fragility that resided within him. I knew of his demons. Of the blackness that threatened to consume him.
Finding out about me . . . it would destroy him.
Easton’s loud laughter sailed on the wind to my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up at the sound, but I couldn’t help but smile. His energy, when good, could light up the sky.
