Nonsensical

Short story about a young boy dealing with a condition and the teacher who helps him.

Saylor Yandell walked into the music room with the rest of his second grade class and sat where instructed.

"Today we are going to learn a song and then talk about how it makes us feel," Mrs. Neidermier announced.

"Music is more than just notes or words or tunes." The pretty, young teacher picked up a large cardboard box and placed it on her desk. "We'll all choose an instrument and begin."

Rushing forward with the other children, Saylor was jostled about and shoved just like many of the others.

"Please, please," Mrs. Neidermier raised her voice to be heard over the din of excitement. "There's enough for everyone."

Noticing the woman's frustration, Saylor stepped back and waited patiently for the group to disperse. She tousled his already disheveled blonde hair and mouthed the words, 'Thank you'.

Finally, peeking into the box, Saylor viewed the one lone and lonely instrument. The triangle. He frowned slightly. The triangle? Of course no one wanted the triangle. It wasn't like the cymbals that made a great big clanging noise. It wasn't like a drum that made a great big booming noise. And it wasn't even like the flute that made shrill yet sweet sounds. The triangle wasn't orange, lime green or yellow but a dull, muddy brown.

The classroom turned into a cacophony of disjointed sounds and a nightmare of swirling colors, scents and feelings.

"Okay, children," Mrs. Neidermier clapped her hands together. "Ready?"

Slowly and methodically, she swayed her hips and tapped her high-heeled toe to a recording of 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' and proceeded to educate her pupils on the finer points of teamwork in recreating the tune.

The girls giggled at the screech of mistakes and mishaps; the boys fidgeted and guffawed. All except for Saylor.

Mrs. Neidermier glanced at her quiet, sensitive and favorite student. His green eyes shined in the fluorescent lighting. They seemed glassy; odd.

Waving her baton with a flourish, she counted, "A one, two, three. One, two, three." A grin spread across her rosy cheeks at the efforts of the quite amateurish prodigies.

As the lesson came to a close, moans and groans ensued as the instruments were returned to their cardboard home. The teacher replayed the recording of the song and turned the volume to Low so she could be heard.

"So how does this song make you feel?" She didn't direct the question to anyone in particular.

"It's sweet," a little red-haired girl in the front row bounced.

"Awkward," a freckle-faced boy sporting a Superman tee-shirt shouted.

"My Mom sings it to my baby sister at bedtime," a snaggle-toothed girl with a large green bow in her dark hair exclaimed. "It's relaxing."

Mrs. Neidermier nodded in satisfaction. Each answer was interesting and showed the class had been attentive.

Saylor raised his hand sheepishly. "Purple," he announced.

"Excuse me?" The teacher didn't think she had heard the boy correctly.

Saylor's cheeks reddened. "When I hear the song, I see purple."

The tiny room erupted in raucous laughter.

"Weirdo."

"Stupid."

"Dumbo."

Tears welled in Saylor's green eyes as the bell rang, indicating the end of the music hour. Children tumbled out the door before they could be scolded for their name-calling.

Her heart swelling with sadness, Mrs. Neidermier walked to the chalkboard and scratched out letters, numbers and words in elegant handwriting.

Saylor watched in a confused awe.

Pointing to the letter 'L', the teacher asked the young boy what he was seeing.

"I see the letter L and its gray," he said matter-of-factly.

She pointed to the number 635. Saylor repeated the number and added that it tasted like cotton candy. Then pointing to the word 'Learn', Mrs. Neidermier stood silently, awaiting another answer.

"Learn," the boy read. "It sounds like a car horn honking." Saylor hung his head and looked into the palms of his shaky hands. "Am I a weirdo and stupid?" His voice trembled. "Like they all said?"

"Oh, goodness no!" The woman bellowed as she crossed the room and knelt at Saylor's knees. "I believe you just process things differently than most people." She gathered the boy's hands into her own. "Of course you would have to be tested but I have a strong suspicion that you have something called Synesthesia."

"Synes-what?" Saylor began to shake violently.

"Don't worry," Mrs. Neidermier cooed. "It's not a disease or anything. It just means that your senses: sight, touch, taste, smell and hearing are all connected and kind of, well, mixed up in a way."

"So how do you know about this umm, thing? I never heard of it." He looked into the woman's compassionate blue eyes.

"Because I have Synesthesia," she explained. "I was diagnosed with it when I was just about your age."

Saylor smiled, the biggest most sincere smile he had smiled in a long, long time.

Author's Note

Please give an overall review on this short story. This is a very real condition that some people do suffer from. Thank you!