Tasting Colours

She's lost the map. It was around here a second ago. Ok, maybe two days ago or so but still, it's not like she threw it out. It's small, but noticeable: laminated, mutlicoloured, flexible. That was the point of buying it, so it would fit into her pocket yet fold out into something large enough to navigate by. That's the third thing she's lost in a week. Misplaced, hopefully. If everything happens in threes she's topped out, won the trifecta. Why is it the simple things are the most confounding for Ally? Pack a bag, write a list, fold the laundry. These things paralyze her when they go even slightly off center. She's doing better now, even Jordan thinks so. The CT and the meditation, the yoga and painting, all of it seems to be helping. Ally knows, though, she's simply built this way. There is no wrong, no right, just this. She stumbles and falters, begins again or changes focus completely and starts anew, somewhere, somehow, in some way else. Her own direction.  Since she was a little girl Ally hears things in colour, sees language and pictures with flavours. A street sign dances in turquoise and indigo and tastes like melting mango sherbet in her mouth. A sudden shift in the horizon and Ally sees exploding rainbows streaming from the sky, generally from left to right. Maps help. Being able to chart a course on coloured lines and grids notated with symbols and pictograms is as if someone is speaking Ally's language. A kindred spirit in sound, sight and taste. Chaos comes undone and organizes itself into patterns of colour and shape. Coconut butter is the north south. Mint chocolate and stracciatella are west to east and east to west. She must find the map. It's got to be around here somewhere.