Synaesthesia Magazine Americana - Page 68


“The salt. It’s coming out of my arms, crystalling on my skin.”

“Mother,” I said and I must’ve sort of choked a bit.

“It’s Nantucket air,” she said. “Just the time of year.”

She pushed up the sleeves on her cardigan and reached into her pocket and pulled out her shucking knife. She scraped at her arms with her shucking knife. You know how sharp she keeps that blade? She ran it along one arm and then switched hand and scraped the other arm, chipping off bits of salt. Then she stood up and brushed it all off her onto the rug.

My mouth dried so bad I thought my face was gonna break. I went to get some water but there’s something wrong with the pressure and it just dribbled from the faucet, so I fingered droplets to my lips.

She touched my back and said, “You get some rest. The steamer makes folks sleepy, I reckon.” Code Red, guys. Steamer. Code Red.

“Well I’ll have a little lie-down,” I said.

“All the better,” she said.

So here I am at my old desk, sending out an SOS to you guys.

But the keys are sticking and jamming on my keyboard.

I can see her in the screen. She’s at the doorway, scraping at her arms with her shucking knife, scattering the salt.

The keys are sticking. It’s growing and cracking between the letters on the keyboard. The salt. Code Red.

William Davidson lives in York and works as an English tutor for deaf students.