A Wish For Us

by Tillie Cole

Music always seeped into me like damp drizzle on a cold day.

I stayed there, heart in my throat, as he played, face stoic but traitorous tears displaying his pain. His fingers never hit a wrong note. He was perfect as he told me a story I would never know, yet completely understood.

Cromwell Dean was the hope I had always dreamed him to be.

Cromwell Dean was in so much pain that it took away his joy to play music that he’d once loved. Pain that caused him to shed tears.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and ran my fingertips over the keys. They didn’t make a sound. “I can just play,” I whispered. I glanced up at Dad. I lifted my hands. “They just know what to do.” I pointed to my head. “I just follow the colors. The tastes.” I pointed at my chest, my stomach. “How they make me feel.”

Bonnie had been there with me when I was breaking apart. I hadn’t known what to do. I needed to leave, needed to push her away too. I didn’t need anyone in my life. I was better off alone. But in that moment, I wanted her near.

Her voice was violet blue. I closed my eyes. It was my favorite color to hear.

I had to forget it ever happened. But when my eyes wandered to Bonnie again, to her pretty face and thick dark hair,

Manners cost nothing, son. Always be gracious with those who want to help.

“I’m not trying to counsel you, Cromwell. I just want you to realize the gift you’ve been given.”

“This is your arena. You’re just too pissed and hurt to accept it right now.”

I hated talking about my family. Hell, I hated talking, full stop.

I was confused. I didn’t want to stay in, but I didn’t want to go out. I wanted to climb out of my skin, just be someone else for a while. I was sick of being me.

“Did you miss me?” I turned to Bonnie, firstly not knowing why the hell she asked that. And secondly, not knowing what the hell to say.

“You just play what’s in your heart, don’t you? You don’t need music? You simply just . . . play.” His blank face told me everything. He had no clue that other people didn’t do that.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. He closed his eyes, and an almost silent choked sound came from his mouth. That simple sound destroyed me. It conveyed a glimpse at the agony he held inside his heart.

Some are not meant for this life for too long. A fleeting glimpse, a silent birdsong. Souls too pure, they burn out too bright, Bodies so fragile, losing the fight. Hearts lose their beats, rhythms too slow, Angels they come, it’s time to go. Lift from this place, to the heavens and skies, Smothered in peace, where nobody dies. Hope left behind in the ones they have loved, No longer caged, now wings of a dove. Wings, white as snow, sprout from my heart. Wings, spreading wide, now to depart. Tears in my eyes, I give one last glance. I lived, and I loved, and danced life’s sweet dance . . .

“Synesthesia,” she whispered, and I heard the awe in her voice. “You’re a synesthete.” She didn’t put it to me as a question.

“Chromesthesia,” I said. Bonnie looked up, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. I inhaled through my nose and resigned myself to admitting it. “The type of synesthesia I have. Mainly chromesthesia.” “You see sound.” A small smile pulled on her lips. “You see color when music plays.” I nodded. A quick breath left her mouth.

“Your senses mix together, hearing and sight and taste.” She shook her head. “It’s incredible.”

“You can’t fight the colors you were born to see.”

“Cromwell?” He looked up. I could feel my cheeks burning before I even spoke. “What color is my voice?” Cromwell stared at me, eyes full of some kind of light I couldn’t decipher. That small, beautiful smile pulled on his lips again, and he said, “Violet blue.”

“Cromwell?” I asked, and he turned my way. “What’s your favorite? Your favorite color to see?” “Violet blue,” he said in an instant. Violet blue. His favorite color to see . . . and also the sound of my voice. If my failing heart hadn’t let him in before, it did just then.

“But your music made me see you, Cromwell. It called me to you. The boy who hears color.”

“I should never have let it get that far. But even though it is failing, losing strength, my heart latched itself to yours, and I had to know what it was like. To be with you.” She sniffed and a tear fell. “You made me feel so cherished.”

“Don’t let her go if she means that much to you, Cromwell. Bonnie needs you now, more than ever.”

“This could be something special that only you can give her. Music, Cromwell. It can be both a healer and a comfort. If you care for her, like I’m assuming you do, you have the gifts to make this time truly memorable for her.

Perfection with an imperfect heart.

“Maybe you’re the guardian angel that has arrived to get her through all this.”

“She’s everything, East. Fucking everything!”

“She can only be as strong as her heart lets her be.”

Until Bonnie Farraday walked into my life on a beach in Brighton and started bringing me something I didn’t even know I needed—silver. Happiness. Her.

Some saw synesthesia as a God-given gift. Some parts were; that I couldn’t deny. But this part, the part that made my emotions so strong I couldn’t take it, was a curse. I could see them. Feel them. Taste them. And it was too much.

She was my God-given gift. The girl that brought me back life.

“And the way he looks at you.” “How?” “Like you’re his air. Like you’re the water to whatever hellfire lives inside him.”

“He’s . . . he shows me he cares in many ways. He holds my hand and refuses to let go. He wants to be with me, even if all we do is sit in silence. And best yet, he shows me he cares in the only way he knows how.” I stared at my piano, and I could see him sitting there in my mind’s eye, his fingers at home on the ivory keys. “He brings music to my silent world, East.” I smiled, feeling my chest shimmer. “He plays music for me that says more to my heart than his words ever could.”

“He says I’m the one who inspires him to play. I’m the one who’s brought something inside him back to life.”

“It’s hard for your brother, and your papa, to deal with. The fact that we can’t protect you. Can’t heal you.”

We hadn’t been together long, but when your time is finite, love is felt stronger, faster, deeper.

I didn’t want to be dark and empty inside anymore. I no longer wanted the anger. I wanted to live.

“You helped my music rediscover its soul.”

“How can a heart be so damaged, yet feel so impossibly full? How can a heart be failing when it’s filled with so much life?”

“She made me want to play again.” I smacked my fist over my chest . . . over my still-working heart. “She made me listen to the music inside me again. She made me play. She inspired me . . . She made me me again.”

“I love her. She’s my silver.”

“I can’t live without you.”

“To be forever in love . . . and to be forever loved.” I gave a watery smile. “That is now my dream.”

When the threat of death hung over you, you realized that your true dreams weren’t so grand. And they all came down to one thing—love. Material possessions and idealistic goals faded away like a dying star. Love was what remained. Life’s purpose was to love.

“I love you.” My voice cracked on the last word. “I love you, and I refuse to let you leave me here without you.”

So I would wait. I’d wait for her to wake. And we’d pray for a heart. Or I was pretty sure I’d lose the beat in mine.

“I’m gonna make it,” I forced out. Easton nodded, and I ran my finger over his bandage. “I’ll live for us both . . .”