A Mango-Shaped Space
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Mia Winchell has synesthesia, the mingling of perceptions whereby a person can see sounds, smell colors, or taste shapes. Forced to reveal her condition, she must look to herself to develop an understanding and appreciation of her gift in this coming-of-age novel.
different instruments. The colors he uses are flatter, more primary than the ones I usually see, but they’re still pretty close. In history we are divided into groups of four and told that each group will have to present a big project at the end of the marking period. It will be based on an event in American history that America would rather forget. Roger Carson is in my group, along with Jonah Finley and Laura Hoffson, who is always the first to volunteer the answer in class. Roger and I glance
yesterday after you left school early.” Guilt flickers across her face. I recognize it from that time she literally got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She takes a deep breath. “Well, Kimberly was asking me what was going on with you, and at first I told her I didn’t know — because I didn’t know — but then when I did know and I was so mad at you … well, I told her the truth. About you seeing the colors.” “How could you do that?” A dark cloud of dread descends upon me. “I’m really
tired.” At that minute Mango saunters into the room and heads straight for his food bowl. Zack shrugs. I bend down and examine him. Poor Mango. Maybe he’s suffering from middle cat syndrome and peed to get attention. Being chased with a broom probably wasn’t the kind of attention he had been hoping for. “Five minutes till the bus,” Mom yells from upstairs. I cringe and sit down across from Zack. “Hey, can you show me how you get the thermometer to read like you’re sick? I really don’t want to
centers of the body intersect, and I can tell when they’re not flowing properly. That’s how I know where to put the needles in and how to rotate them. Do you understand?” I tell her I do, even though it all sounds pretty bizarre. All the talk about energy flow reminds me of Beth’s yoga stuff. I can’t believe I’m doing something that Beth might agree with! Faith directs me to lie down and tells me that for our first session she’s only going to leave the needles in for ten minutes. I close my eyes
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