Alphabet Towers, Part II
“Although more common than other rare forms, ordinal-linguistic personification is not a commonly found type of synesthesia. These synesthetes involuntarily apply personalities to sounds, graphemes, tastes, and even days of the week. The level of specificity in personality description varies from person to person, as some may be very vague as opposed to highly developed descriptions. In slightly rarer forms, synesthetes apply genders to the subject in question.”
-Preeti Arunapuram
P opened the door slowly, careful not to let his keys rattle in the lock. Every click of the knob and creak in the floor sounded like thunder, especially in the darkness of the apartment. Closing the door behind him, P slipped out of his shoes and made his way towards the dark kitchen. He was still feeling the effects of the four Cosmos he downed after dinner and the journey took him a little longer than usual. P considered just going to his room and passing out on the bed, but he knew he had to rehydrate himself to avoid what could be a very inconvenient hangover.
At the risk of making too much noise, P decided on lukewarm tap water. He stood at the sink in the dark kitchen, replaying the night’s events in his head. The alcohol made some parts foggier than others, but the whole experience left him glowing. Dinner had been amazing, and the company even more amazing. P failed to remember a date that had gone as well as this. And that goodnight kiss…
“Where the HELL have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
P dropped the glass in the sink, shattering it to pieces. “Jesus Christ, Ma, don’t do that!” The light flipped on and P could see his finger was cut.
“It’s a Wednesday night, who stays out this late on a Wednesday night?” O went to the sink and grabbed P’s hand. “And look at this. Have you been drinking? I can smell it. You’re so drunk you can’t hold a glass!”
“Ma, stop. You scared me and I dropped it. Why are you sneaking around in the dark like that, anyway?” P rinsed off his finger as O started gathering the glass from the sink.
“I heard the door open and I thought it was either you or the Night Stalker. The news said that there’s another one of those rapers on the loose and I’m a prime target, you know. An old lady by herself in the middle of the night.”
P wrapped a towel around his finger and sat at the kitchen table. He glanced at the doorway and noticed a cast-iron frying pan on the floor; O must have dropped it when he dropped the glass. P started laughing; picturing his mother with a frying pan under her bed for protection was too much to handle.
“Sure, laugh it up, P. But what am I supposed to do when you’re out drinking at all hours of the night?”
“It’s midnight, Ma. I had a date, I told you this before I left this morning. I also told you when you called me at work this afternoon.” P rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “By the way, when my assistant tells you I’m in a meeting, I’m actually in a meeting. You don’t need to accuse her of hiding me.”
O wiped off the counter and put the kettle on the stove. “That girl has a bad attitude. Every time I call there she’s short with me. Doesn’t she know who I am?”
P put his head on the table, trying to ignore the headache that was forming in his temple. “She does, Ma. Calm down, I’ll talk to her.”
P usually held out a little longer in these discussions with his mother, but it was late and he didn’t have the energy. He tried to tell himself that she meant well, but it seemed like she was seeping into every aspect of his life – the calls at work, rearranging the furniture, trying to set him up with her friend’s very-married nephew – it was overwhelming. The date was the first thing he’d had to himself since O moved in six months ago, and he wanted to keep it that way. P lifted his head from the table and saw a steaming mug in front of him.
O turned off the stove and put the tea box away. “We only have five glasses now, so we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get a new set. I hated those glasses, anyway.” O pulled out a chair and joined P at the table. “So! Why don’t you tell me how your date went?”
“I just want to live my life the way I want. I should be able to do that, right?” V sat on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at her parents. Her lip throbbed and talking was becoming increasingly difficult.
S laughed and ran his hand through his graying hair. “No, that’s completely incorrect. You’re 16. You live your life the way we think your life should be lived until you’re 18. Then you move out, and then you can live how you want to live.”
“What part of you thought this was a good idea?” U sat down next to her daughter, hoping to somehow rationalize this latest act of rebellion. U encouraged her kids to be individuals and she tolerated things like purple hair and unusual fashion experiments, but this was just dangerous.
“I’ve wanted a piercing since I was 10, Mom, you know that. I had the money so I got it done. I think it looks awesome.”
V could feel her lip starting to swell, but she trusted the friend that told her this was normal.
S paced in front of the couch, trying to suppress the slight feeling of satisfaction seeing his daughter suffer for the dumb decision she made. “How much did you pay for that?”
“$10. The shop I went to was having a sale.”
U laughed. “The ‘shop’? Want to try that again? Also, what legit piercing shops offer sales?”
V’s face turned redder and she started to sweat. “Wait…what do you mean?”
“We know what happened. Your brother…”
V jumped off the couch and charged towards the hallway. “T! I told you not to say anything! Get out here now!” V would have dragged her younger brother out of his room herself, but the pain in her lip was spreading to her face and neck, making her weak. She plopped back on the couch between her parents.
T slowly walked into the living room, avoiding the angry gaze of his sister. “I’m sorry, but I was worried about you, so I had to tell Dad.” When he did look at V, he was shocked at how bad the piercing actually looked. The inflammation didn’t come through in the picture she had texted him a few hours before.
“I’m glad T came to me, because this was a really stupid thing to do. It’s one thing to get pierced without permission, but in the back of a car? In the parking lot of a Baker’s Square? What the hell, V?”
When U noticed the guilt on her son’s face, she affectionately squeezed his hand. “You did the right thing, T.”
“But how can I trust him now? He’s a narc!” V tried to revive the anger towards her brother, but the new hole in her lip overwhelmed her thoughts. “All I wanted him to do was to make sure we used the right ring. I figured he could just look it up since he’s into all that researching shit.”
“That’s enough, V. We’ll talk punishment later, but for now you need to have that looked at.” U moved V’s head so she could get a better look at the piercing, and inadvertently brushed against it. V let out a yelp of pain and started to cry.
T felt bad for breaking the trust V had in him, but even at 12 year old, he knew it was in her best interest. As U and S went in the other room to call the doctor, T sat next to his sister.
“I think I can see your lip actually throbbing, it’s kind of cool,” T said, in efforts to lighten the mood. V let out a pathetic half-laugh, half-sob and put her head on T’s shoulder.
“You know you’re just contributing to my oppression, T.”
“I know, V. I know.”