The man with the bunch of smiles nodded at Fran. She smiled back weakly and looked down at her trousers. They were grass. She wasn't sure she liked them. She picked a piece of thread from them and dropped it to the floor. It lay there, curled up like a worm.
鈥淔ran?鈥 the receptionist said her name. Fran looked up and the receptionist joyed at her. She was wearing a jumper the colour of happiness today. It seemed to have rubbed off on her mood. 鈥淭he doctor will see you now.鈥
Fran got up from the small plastic chair and walked down the narrow, dull corridor. There were pictures on the wall but they were soulless. Nothing to see. There was a plaque on her doctor's door. Dr Graham, it said. She knocked, rapping her knuckles twice.
鈥淐ome in.鈥
She opened the door and walked in. The room was small and envious. There was only one window. It drank the light.
鈥淗ello, Dr. Cracker,鈥 she said. His mouth twitched, annoyed, and he pointed at the chair. She sat down. The leather moused under her jeans.
鈥淵ou haven't been taking your medicine,鈥 he said.
Fran looked away.
鈥淚 don't like it,鈥 she said. 鈥淚 don't see why I have to take it if I don't want to.鈥
Dr Graham leant forwards, bracing his hands on his knees.
鈥淚t helps you, Fran. You know that.鈥
She shook her head.
鈥淚 don't need help. I'm fine. I just see things differently.鈥
He slumped back into his chair with a sigh. His fear coloured hair framed his bony face.
鈥淒oesn't it cause problems at work?鈥 he asked. 鈥淵our mother said you'd gotten a job in a kitchen.鈥
Fran nodded and smiled. 鈥淵es. I love it and my鈥roblem鈥oesn't bother anyone. The chef says it's interesting, to see his food in a different way. He didn't even know steak was purple. He thought it would be red.鈥
The doctor looked frustrated. He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He picked up a pen and made a note on his pad. Then he pointed it at her forehead.
鈥淗ow's your head.鈥
Fran reached up and touched her forehead. The thick scar ran along her temple from hairline to eyebrow.
鈥淚t cabbages sometimes,鈥 she said. 鈥淣ot as much as it used to.鈥
The doctor made another note. He pretended to be absorbed in them and threw the next question at her when she wasn't prepared.
鈥淒o you feel guilty still, about your son?鈥 he asked.
Fran's throat closed up. Tears welled in her eyes and dripped down her face. They tasted like spring.
The doctor handed her a tissue.
鈥淵ou have to face it, Fran,鈥 he said. 鈥淭hat is where your problem comes from. You don't have synthesia in its medical form. You're just trying to avoid facing your grief, your guilt over being the driver that day.鈥 He stopped.
Fran wiped her eyes and sniffed. He reached out and touched her fingers. 鈥淭ell me how you feel, right now?鈥
She blew her nose, balled it up and wiped her eyes.
鈥淟ike salted glass.鈥
