Deodourant

It's all in your head – that’s what they always said to her when she overthought and stressed. They’re half-right: Esther’s truth was that reality is all in our heads; in any environment a plethora of simultaneous sensations are picked up by her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and skin which then input into her mind. The output is a projection generated as her brain dances with activity to maintain and update the image in real-time.

She liked riddles and absurd questions, and one of them would find itself revisiting her head.

If a tree were to fall in a forest and no one was around, would it make a sound? No matter how many debates this sparked amongst groups of people, Esther thought the answer was yes, definitely. The tree does make a sound, but no brain would have projected the sound, thus it goes unheard. Now what if you were in a forest with your friend and the tree fell on them; would the fallen tree make a sound? What an incomplete inadequate question, for you would be able to describe the moment as if you could vividly see it, smell it, hear it, taste it, and feel it.

This question plagued her given that she lived by herself. Her mother was always there for her to fall back on, but this had not been the case in about ten years. She was the lone tree and if she were to fall, she would make a sound – but no one would hear her.

They say time travel doesn’t exist. They say a lot of things, don’t they? They’re half-right; time travel doesn’t exist as a way of transport – but it existed in her head. No one could tell her about the rules of life for the truth is that whatever goes on in her head is her reality. Bringing her hands close to her face she smelled the palm-sized box and the scent of old oak (with some dust) took her away from that lonely apartment with the lit candle and that one floorboard that was looser than the others and she dissociated; her mind and soul were ripped from the present and her eyes projected a cold day from warm times.

Green in summer, white in winter; the trees were hands reaching out of the earth to hold layers and layers of snow above the ground. Looking through the front door, from the inside, she could see the untouched scenery, a beautiful fresh winter's day. The view of a picturesque white world and pristine snow was enough to make Esther smile, but despite the numbing and biting cold, she felt comfortable and heat radiated from her body. After a minute surveying the outdoors through a door frame, she realised where she was when she heard a familiar voice. Her smile remained but her eyes watered up at the nostalgia.

"You've got your hat, gloves, scarf. Make sure you button your coat up." She chuckled hearing her mum’s usual recitation before she would leave the house. Her mother helped her with her coat buttons and Esther could feel her mother’s hands brushing against her as she worked her way up to the top of her jacket. This was her mother’s way of saying 'I love you' without overusing the words, a simple yet meaningful, caring gesture. Stopping her from doing up the last button, Esther held her mother’s hands and kissed the back of them before saying “I love you, mum.” She began to choke up knowing that this would be the last time she saw her – she didn’t know this at the time but a retrospective view changes everything.

This memory had an unwelcome smell of vanilla, an out of place odour that wasn’t present that day. To hide her confusion as well as her sorrow, she pulled her mother in for a hug. Don’t let her see your pain, Esther thought, don’t ruin these last precious moments. Pleasantly surprised, her mother wrapped her arms around her daughter and held tight. For her it was the first night that her little girl was leaving home, it was bound to be emotional. She was amazed how difficult it seemed for Esther and attempted to comfort her: “Hold on to your keys for this place, you’re always welcome back.” Her eyes shut and they both held on to each other; she held her daughter tight knowing she wouldn’t get the opportunity often, anymore. Esther held tight because this was the last hug they shared. The longer the hug lasted, the stronger a creamy aroma got. This smell wasn’t there all those years ago, Esther thought.

When you want something to last, you’ll find that time goes quicker. Laughter ends quickly yet pain lingers for eons. What was five minutes in a warm embrace felt like mere moments and Esther found herself pulling back, slowly, knowing she can’t change the past, only relive it. This was the moment her sentimental mum gave her the box – it looked very similar to the one she was holding in the present, just less dusty. The same pattern was etched into the oak, a careful knife carving of lines of trees. At the thought of the box she returned back to the present, back to the now overpowering smell of vanilla, back to her dimly candle-lit flat and the mysterious yet dusty box in hand.

Her mother’s last words to her echoed in her head, each as impactful as a bullet. I’ll call you tomorrow. She waited days for that call and her attempts weren’t being answered. That’s when she knew something was wrong. Pushing what happened to the side she decided to focus on the heirloom. Her mum wanted her to have the box and whatever was inside. Apparently, whatever is inside is over two hundred years old. Esther could never bring herself to open it – it never felt like the right time.

Leaning over to the table nearby she blew out the vanilla candle and the flame danced and panicked before disappearing. An ember remained on the candle wire as grey ashy smoke teetered and rose, dissipating into the air after momentarily floating. Esther could imagine the rubbery smoke wafting towards her and pictured it sifting up her nose as an overpowering layer washed all traces of vanilla from her nose. Her now dark apartment seemed huge, too big and empty for just one person. In the left corner of her eye something new stood in front of her window. Turning to inspect the object she realised it was life-like, a shadowy silhouette that danced and vibrated the same way the flame did before extinguishing. The figure was tall and expressionless, intimidating and surreal. The dark inhuman humanoid evaporated and dark trails of smoke grew closer until the figure reappeared. It now loomed over her, or rather she felt herself sinking into it, sinking into her mind.

Emotions offer clarity and confusion. Sometimes they amplify a memory so you remember it well, or even perfectly. One great phenomenon that has existed as long as humanity itself is a false memory; false memories are a product of self-trickery. They are often used as coping mechanisms or a way to deal with any unanswered questions. Sometimes terrible things happen and sometimes people like to find someone to blame; perhaps no one was to blame, but not in Esther’s head.

Esther found herself standing in front of a tree. The sun was overhead like a silver spot in the sky yet her vision seemed painted over. Although she could see snow paces ahead, the tree wasn’t holding any, nor was there any at her feet. A thick dark layer hung in the air and her acorn eyes had a layer of water in reaction to the heat in the air and she wondered what memory this was. It was still winter but it was warm, and then she focused on the tree. She pointed her index finger out and scraped it against the tree, and upon pulling her finger towards her eye she realised where she was. Black dust pasted her finger from the tree, which stood weak and charred. The smell of smoke crowded her nose as if the candle she lit earlier was a portal to a chimney filling her room.

Her eyes grew wide and her whole body froze. She turned slowly as if she attempted to fight her own movement. She felt like she was in a nightmare and although her body turned, she could not stop it. And there it was, her mother’s house. Once a sweet little remote cottage camouflaged in the snow with white walls and a less discreet roof coloured an orange-maroon. The house she grew up in.

Now a ruin. The skeleton of the place remained; some walls defiant against the fire. The roof had collapsed and a radius of snow melted and the resulting water evaporated in the intense fury of heat. Sounds of crackling and crunching intermittently pounded in her ears as she imagined her injured mother trapped in a circle of fire. She imagined her mother pleading with a creature, an apathetic block of inhumanity just standing at the doorway. That is how she imagined it happening, someone or something had to be blamed.

The tree’s dead branches grew and extended around her body, holding her. Charred wood spiralled around her body leaving her chest and head open. And then the daunting murderous silhouette appeared from behind one of the ‘defiant’ walls. Edging closer and closer and closer until it stood toe to toe with Esther. It pulled back what looked like an arm before propelling it to her head and Esther could taste her own fear but also hatred for this monster. She shut her eyes and gave into it.

Nothing happened. The air felt clearer and she no longer felt bound. Her heart was still drumming and she was sure that if the ground could feel then it would have been able to feel each beat. Lifting her eyelids, she found herself in the present, yet again. Her jaw tightened at the thought of the figure and her heart still drummed quickly. Drum drum drum drum, she began to breathe deeply and slowly, trying to regain control and calm herself down. A teardrop collected in her left eye and fall down her face, and when it reached the bottom of her cheek it fell onto the box.

Was she ready to open it?

Memories maketh the man and sensations send us back. You never truly lose someone for they stay alive within your head. All the good times and the bad times, and the times that never happened. It’s all in your head.