Kaleidoscope

By: K.C. Gray

It tasted sweet, almost too sweet, like unadulterated sugar went into it. And then, at the end, it

had a hint of something like cayenne, as though Emeril had a hand in the name. James sucked

on his jaw and the saliva washed down the back of his throat. He said her name again, letting the

vowels hang in the air as his glands poured out more saliva with the taste.

Dr. Alesia Rorie pulled a tissue up from the container in the middle of her desk and walked over

to James’ seat. She nodded as he finished saying her name. She wiped around his mouth. He

pulled away as a pure white flashed.

“That’s right, and you’re James.”

He nodded and pointed to himself. “James.” He smiled as the taste of strawberries poured

through. James began to rub the arm of the chair. The seat and back had fabric, dull gray from

use, but the arm was wood. The texture changed slightly and as he pushed his fingers over the

surface, colors embedded itself into his vision. Cyan with the straight running grains, periwinkle

with the ones sideways, burnt orange with the places that ran in all different ways. The

kaleidoscope of colors calmed him down.

Alesia kneeled beside Michael’s chair. His wife had died two weeks ago. Alesia often worked
with these types of cases: single parents unable to offer the attention children like James

demanded. In the past years, the percentage of children born with a mental illness had risen to

60%. They were intelligent, but found it difficult to see the world that others saw.

“Mr. Carver, we can help him,” Alesia said, “but there are tests we have to run to determine his

specific needs. You’ll have to sign a contract first, giving us permission to treat him in the ways

we feel necessary.”

Michael only nodded. The waiting list would normally mean a five-month wait just for an initial

consultation, but something about the case interested Alesia. James had severe synaesthesia, yet

he had a higher level of awareness than most children with the illness. He could have full

conversations, Michael had written, yet look at mathematical problems and have the answer in

less than a second. The prospect of what James could tell them more than warranted him being

moved up the list. She handed Michael the contract and leaned back against her desk as he

looked over it. She squeezed her fingers into a ball, hoping he wouldn’t pay any attention to the

one clause.

Michael looked over it quickly and then handed it to James.

“Anything in there you don’t like?” Michael asked.

James took the forms, and his eyes glazed over at the touch. Alesia pulled herself up onto her

desk and leaned forward. If James could understand the contract and express his feelings then he
was exactly what they were looking for. At 9-years-old, he would be required to stay with them

until he turned 18. The things he could tell them in that time.

The colors were too much for him. He laid the forms in his lap and looked down at it. The

words almost went straight to his mind without him having to read a single one. A glance and he

understood everything necessary to fulfill the concepts. He looked up at Alesia, and then over at

his father without moving his head. His eyes rolled around as he took everything in. Would he

have to stay in that office if he “qualified” for living there? He wouldn’t mind staying with

Alesia. Even the thought of her name caused his glands to overreact. He sucked on his jaw as he

looked back down at the contract.

“Turn,” he said. He pointed up with his right hand as he spoke. Michael turned the page for him

and laid the contract back in his lap. The cotton pressed against his skin under the weight, but it

was the fabric that caused him the least visual discomfort. “Turn.” He kept his hand pointing up

this time, which his father knew meant he wanted just a glimpse at each page. Michael turned

each one, allowing only a couple of seconds to pass before he turned the page again.

Alesia pressed her hand over her mouth. She knew that as smart as James may be,

Michael couldn’t possibly allow him to read the contract and decide it on his own. Michael
turned to the last page. He glanced up to Alesia and smiled.

“Don’t worry, Dr. I’m going to choose, just wanted to get his reaction. You’d be

surprised how much he understands.”

She could only nod. James pulled down his hand. His head hung low, to the point where

he should have been looking at his lap, where the contract lay, but his eyes focused on her.

Michael laid his hand on James’ arm, and James laid his head back against the headrest and

closed his eyes. “Did anything about this bother you?”

James shook his head at first, but as Michael removed his hand, James’ head shot up. He

turned to Michael, allowing his eyes to stay focused on the desk in front of him, and said, “You.”

Michael scanned the contract again, flipping back and forward randomly.

Michael rubbed his face with his hand after several minutes. “I’m going to need a few

days to read over this.”

Alesia didn’t know what to say at first. She wanted James, and if Michael found that part

of the contract she knew she would lose him.

“Of course,” she slid off of her desk. “May I ask, what just happened? What exactly did

he say to you?”
 Michael smiled and just nodded his head. “So as soon as I’m done, I’ll let you know if

I’m willing to sign it or not.”

She could only laugh nervously. “Okay. Just be quick. We only have a limited amount

of space left, and plenty of people are waiting.”

He only nodded again before they stood and left.

Alesia sat down and pulled up her files. The translucent folders hung over the desk and

directly in front of her. With a twitch of her fingers, she pulled up James’ photo and the

comments Michael had made about him. He had sent it in the previous week. He included a

video of James solving mathematical problems, and afterwards he spoke to Michael about his

favorite ones. They were algebraic, but none that Alesia understood. She had sent the video to a

colleague who worked with the children in math. After checking the answers with his computer,

he told her that it was unfathomable that James could know them let alone solve them at a

glance. Most of the children could work math problems without any help, but James was above

and beyond them.

Alesia walked to the door leading to the school room where all of the children studied.

Carl sat at the table with one of the boys, Fredrick. Carl would type numbers into the computer,

but ask them directly to Fredrick. The number would flow out of Fredrick as quickly as they

would pop up on the computer. Carl could work basic math problems without any help, but

anything more difficult than multiplication and he was at a loss.

Alesia leaned against the door frame as she watched. All of the children slept in a room on the

ground floor. The government consolidated as much as possible; anyone who worked for them

slept in the building they worked in. It felt like a dorm, with all 25 workers having their own

room, but sharing a community bathroom and kitchen.

As one of the lucky ones, Alesia grew up in a home and then moving to Small Miracles after

college. Her parents then had to move to a large plantation outside of city limits for the elderly

so that their house could go to another family. Even there, the homeless created a sea.

They all lived in the streets, bumping into one another, eating whatever the government felt it

could give out: cans of food which were missing the labels, semi-fermented fruit, among other

things Alesia hated to think about.

When population growth first became a problem, the homeless were all moved underground.

The government tried their best to put them out of sight so that the issue could be ignored for a

while. It didn’t take long for 2 to become 4, 4 to 8, 8 to 16 and so on and so on, except in the

thousands; as though God no longer paid attention and “be fruitful and multiply” became a curse.

People no longer wanted to be underground and the government couldn’t stop them. They took

up so much space, touching just about every bit of land on Earth.

* * *
 Spenser, a 6-ft tall furry dog standing up on two feet, danced on the Platform Video with

a group of children. The PV was muted. James loved the show, loved to see the vibrant colors

in normal range, instead of as though they were a part of his eyes: but he couldn’t handle tasting

the voices, Spenser’s in particular. It was one of the few that not only had a taste, but a feel.

Sand-like, almost, but it also felt thick in the back of his throat as a strong ashy taste surfaced.

He swiped his cheek, trying to get rid of what always felt like a piece of spider web. His hands

never caused him discomfort, but he sat as still as possible on the couch, standing every now and

again when the fabric patterns of the couch became embedded in his thighs.

The doorbell rang, and the metallic, almost like a penny but slightly more palatable, taste set

James jaw. He walked to the front door and waited. His father’s footsteps were barely audible

as he walked from his bedroom upstairs. Carpet covered every room in the house, but he could

still taste something. It always seemed like a figment of his imagination, though. For a split

second, his mouth over-ran with taste, but it left so quickly he could never find a comparison.

Michael took light steps down the stairs. He smiled at James when he reached the bottom.

James allowed him to push the hair out of his face. “You want our guest to see you in your

boxers? Go put some clothes on.”

James went upstairs. He couldn’t hear the door shut, but he heard Simon’s mumbled voice.

After he dressed, he went back down stairs and sat down on the couch next to Simon. He kept

his head facing the TV, but he looked at Michael; his eyes almost burned as they made that

stretch. Simon nodded towards him, but didn’t speak.

James always saw Simon’s discomfort. Simon started coming over after James’ mother passed

away. When all the guests had left, Simon was left to watch Michael fall apart. James

particularly remembered Michael’s cries tasting like the sweetest pineapples.

Michael sat with his head against the back of the chair he sat in. Simon held the contract in his

hand.

“I’m going to have to think about this,” Michael said.

“Can’t believe you’re thinking about this at all.”

The PV gave off a flash of red and blue colors, but James couldn’t look away from them.

Michael leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “James. If you had to,

you would be okay with staying with Dr. Rorie?”

He nodded. If not that, he wanted to always hear her name.

Michael motioned towards the kitchen, in the other room. Simon stood. Michael said,

“James, we’ll be in the other room, but you stay here and watch your show.

They spoke in low voices, almost mumbled, and the sounds mixed in James’ mouth like a

stew. If he concentrated, he could taste different things.

* * *

Alesia sat at her desk. Her table top computer lit up the game in which she had to touch the tiles

in order from darkest to lightest. She just needed to take her mind off of Michael’s follow-up

visit. For the last couple of days, she wondered about Michael and James. He had called the

previous morning, and despite the urgency she felt, she had him wait a day just to not seem

desperate. His voice had told her he had found the clause. A tenseness built up in his vocal

cords, as though they may snap at any moment, yet he spoke as though nothing had bothered

him. He didn’t bring it up, and neither did she.

The mittens rubbed his hand, but the fabric muted some of the colors. The air around

him filled with a translucence, like looking just over the tip of a flame. James held onto

Michael’s hands as they left the substation. Simon walked behind them. Simon and Michael

hadn’t spoken to one another since they met at the previous met-train stop.

The met-train moved quietly enough, running off of magnets only, but the people’s chatter filled

his mouth with sweetness one moment and sour the next. Not so much of a Chinese nature, but

more of cotton candy and spoiled milk. The earmuffs dulled the flavors down enough for him to

last the travel into city limits.

Above ground, in the city, the homeless went about their lives in the middle of the street. The

colors shifted from hues of blues and purples to a cacophony of every color imaginable. It still

didn’t hinder his sight, but the shift always left him a little dazed.

No cars had traveled the streets for some time. Government ruled it out due to the

increasing number of drivers which only led to a higher pollution. Substations supplemented the

need for cars, which were used only on highways over distances of more than 500 miles.

Michael pulled James a little closer to him. People pushed past one another on the

sidewalks as they went to work, leaving the street to be occupied by the homeless. As some

people passed, they pressed against his shoulder or arm or pushed him into Michael. Each time,

a shocking color pattern flashed before him: plaid in pinks, circles of ocean hues, strange jagged

shapes taking on a web of different colors. He relented and pressed into Michael with his eyes

closed. Michael’s clothes were not as soothing as his touch, which brought to James’ eyes

shades of beige. Recently, the color placated him, reminding him of his mom. Her hums had

always satisfied and cleansed his palate from other sounds, and her skin’s touch had an even

more muted shade of beige that barely brought any change to his sight. When she would hold

him in her lap, he could understand for just that amount of time exactly how they saw things.

Michael touched James’ shoulder, and then took his covered hand once more. The

people had thinned out on the sidewalk, and they could walk side by side again. The homeless

filled every inch of the four lane road, laying out sleeping bags, putting up tents, setting up their

cooking tools. They lived their life in a long rolling concrete sea, traveling up and down the flow
of the road, only getting on the sidewalk if they had a Government worker to lead them to a

newly opened home or a job that may be right for them.

A man lay out on a blanket with more holes than material and more wrinkles on his face

than on his clothes. Dark crevices ran down his face where his skin hung low. Each line jiggled

as he lay there on his back. One arm was across his chest while the other was out to his side, the

arm bent and outside the area of the blanket. His chest moved up, then down, and something

moved at his temple. Powder blue, but almost gray in its oversaturation of white. James stopped

walking, his hand still held by Michael. Michael yanked him a little before stopping. It had

been a long time since he had seen one so pure. But this one seemed purer than that with the hint

of blue in it.

Michael kneeled beside him, “I told you, James, you can’t just stare like that. Come on,

let’s go.”

Michael pulled at his hand, but James simply loosened his grip. The man’s chest moved up, and

the blob crept back into his head. James knew he shouldn’t stare, but he wanted to see it.

“James, please, we have to get going, and you can’t just stare at people. It’s not polite.”

The man’s chest stopped again, and the blob seeped partially back out. It wasn’t quite jello-like,

and not cloud-like. The solidity of it was astounding to James. The man’s head could be seen

past it, but it couldn’t quite be called translucent and there wasn’t a sound it resembled. It just
was, on its own volition. Michael moved the earmuffs slightly off of James’ ear. The rubbing

caused static-like amber, but the blob was unclouded by it. The blob couldn’t be touched.

“I told you about this, before, remember the last time you stopped and watched? I told you about

how Mom and I use to live here. How we worked hard and saved up money, and finally a house

opened up. Remember that?” his voice poured out like gravy. “Let’s move on, and I’ll tell you,

again, all about living there.”

A woman called out from the streets, “Is he touched in the head? My boy is like that, too. Just

isn’t right.”

Michael yelled out, his voice sent a wave of nausea through James, “He’s as right as you are.”

He turned back to James, “Please. Please, we have to get going,” but the blob still played peek-

a-boo in time with the stopping and starting of the man breathing. He just wanted to see it.

“James,” his voice deepened, and James knew it to be authoritative, bringing instantly a deep feel

to the taste and commanding his attention, but still he couldn’t turn away. “Look at me.” Brown

took over his sight as Michael held his chin and tried to turn his face. It looked like a burlap sack

had been thrown over his head. James pushed against him, flailing his arms and crying out. His

hands connected with softer parts of Michael’s face, and Michael let go. James’ sight came

back. The blob appeared again, but this time it stayed out longer as the man’s chest quit moving.

Michael raised his voice in a flurry, speaking words that James hardly ever tasted. One in
particular felt smooth against his tongue, neither overpowering his taste buds nor leaving any of

them untouched. He smiled, savoring the rare taste in conjunction with the sight of the blob.

Simon kneeled beside James, “It’s okay Mike. James, what do you see Buddy?”

The man’s chest never started moving again, and the blob popped out like dough squeezed from

a container. It fell onto the ground and dissolved down through the concrete.

“What is it that you see?” Simon asked again.

“It’s a whole one.”

“What’s a whole one? What does that mean?”

James could only smile. It disappeared with the last little bit following the rest, as though it

stayed whole throughout the trip through the concrete. He walked to Michael and held out his

hand.

Alesia’s assistant buzzed into her office several minutes before Michael was scheduled to

show up. She answered, hearing that he was waiting for her in the front room. She played her

game a little longer, trying to take away some of her desperation. Her nerves calmed down, and
she used the intercom to let the assistant know that Michael could come in.

Alesia wanted to see James again. She would use more time finding out his level of

comprehension as well as witnessing his communication skills. She turned off her computer as

Michael walked in alone. He had aged quite a bit since she had spoken with him several days

ago. It looked as though the decision seeped into his bones and caused a curve to his spine that

shouldn’t have happened for several more decades. He sat down where he had the last time. She

simply waited for him to start.

“So,” Michael sighed, heavily. “Any way we can take out that clause. It’s the one thing

that’s keeping me from signing.”

“No. And it’s only if we see a need to. Mr. Carver, of the thousands of children we deal

with, only fifty actually live here.”

“And of those fifty, how many got moved up a very long list.”

Alesia couldn’t say anything. The percentage was significantly higher.

Michael said, “I can’t lose him.”

“You can always come visit. You’d lose him anyway, if you don’t. We both know that

with the cost of the school he attends now, you won’t have the money to afford your house. We
will pay for everything even if he doesn’t have to move here.”

“Cut it,” Michael’s eyes became slits as his brows squeezed down. “Don’t play games; I

know how smart he is.”

“Okay, well then, we’ll pay everything, and you can focus on your job more. It’s a

struggle living with only one income and two people.”

“What is it you want? What do you expect from him? Will there be tests?”

“Not physical ones, but mental, yes. I can’t be specific.”

Michael leaned forward, placing his face in his hands. Alesia gripped her hand rest.

Sometimes she didn’t want to take away children from their parents, but she had seen the results,

the level of understanding they had of the world, and everyone would benefit from their

knowledge. The world population had exploded, and with the explosion those without mental

defects lost the deeper capacities of understanding and knowledge and had to rely more on

computers, while those like James lost the capacity of interaction but gained intelligence.

“Michael, you have my promise, James will be taken care of,” her voice melted out and

although she meant it, it felt almost deceitful. She wanted James.

“Can he get a shorter stay?”

 “No.”

The center of his eyes almost turned into dots as he stared at her. She adjusted her weight

and turned the chair slightly to her right. Her foot hung loosely over the floor panic button,

which would instantly notify security if she needed them. He stood from his seat, his shoulders

hunched over as he walked toward her desk. Usually, the mothers ran to her desk in a fury while

yelling, but by then they had already signed and it was too late.

“What good is this place then? Losing him is my only option?” his voice purred and his

eyes shined.

“Can’t change anything in the contract, Mr. Carver, but every day you can be here with

your son during his free time.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “You can talk with him

and see how he likes it here. I’m sorry to say it, but you have no other choice.” She leaned into

her desk leaving her face a foot away from his. “You can wait until you lose your house, but by

then, what? How long did you wait to get this house in the first place?”

Michael turned and stomped to the door like one of the children when the schedule was

off even a little. He opened the door in one swoop, and the door bounced back from the

doorstop. Alesia ran to the door after him.

Alesia leaned against the doorframe as Michael kneeled. He pulled James to him.
Another man stood. James pushed against Michael and screamed out in frustration.

“I’m so sorry,” Michael said. He let go. He pulled the mittens off of him and held his

hands. James seemed to calm down at his touch. “I’m so sorry.” The man handed Michael the

contract, which he took to the front counter. It seemed too easy. She could only understand it

was the cost of the school and the fact that life on the street would make it far more difficult to

raise James, although people did it every day. Michael walked James over to Alesia.

“Do you…” she couldn’t look him in the eyes, not after winning his son. “I can show

you around if you like.

He sniffed and wiped his cheeks. “Yeah. Sure.”

Alesia kneeled down in front of James. “Do you want to see the place? Would you like

that?”

James’ eyes turned away from her, but he smiled.

“Let’s go, then,” she held her hand out to him. Even though he had met her once before,

he grabbed her hand without hesitation.

 Everything moved with a rippling effect, kind of like when water flowed over the

windows when it rained. It wasn’t overrun with water, it just shimmied. They walked through

her office and into another room which opened out into a space bigger than his house. Other

children sat next to adults and worked at tables. There were toys in the room, too. They sat in a

small square corner with enough room for one table.

“This is the group room,” Alesia said. “Every day they spend about eight hours here,

going over homework, playing, eating, everything.

“This is it?” Michael asked. “You expect me to believe that you take care of thousands

of children in a room like this?”

“This is for the fifty who live here. The others’ go to another section of the building for

school. But for James, his schedule will be limited to avoid too much distraction. We want to

make sure that,” she stopped so abruptly, James thought that maybe she forgot what she was

saying. He pointed toward the smart board. Some of the children were sitting in front of it

staring, not saying anything. James’ finger twitched as numbers filled his mind. A small pin-

sized, bright, white light flashed in his eyes. It grew to an orange-sized ball, and then exploded

into pieces like a daffodil parachute ball that had been blown. Each separate piece took on

various shades of green. Each of those split up into tinier versions and turned shades of yellow.

“Let me show you where he will be sleeping,” Alesia said. James walked toward the

smart board and pulled her along. Each time the little pieces of colors broke, they changed to a
different color and became less and less visible, but at the same time taking up more space.

Alesia followed him to the board. “You know,” she said, “they all could just stay here

and stare at this. Pi: just the symbol. I wish I could see what they see. I’m hoping that James

can tell me.”

The obstruction all but disappeared as the fragments became so small; that was him and

all of the children like him. Fragments of fragments of fragments.