Taste that Sound is in Town!

I was sauntering through the city street by the river in Terral when a magic shop stood out to me. I’d never been inside a magic shop before, so I slid inside.

There were books about casting rites, dancing, charms, ingredients for potions, and even audiotapes.

There was a tape called Taste that Sound; the cover was a tongue licking an ear. Weird. I liked weird things. I wanted to know if I could sample the audiotape, but I was hesitant, and nervous. I’d never asked about magic before, yet something about the river outside the shop made me calm enough to ask.

“Mind if I sample this?” I asked the man at the front counter.

“No free samples. Magic is permanent.”

Tasting sound—the idea made my belly rumble.

With the purchase complete, I headed home and slipped the tape into my bedroom stereo.

Through the stereo system, a soft, hypnotic sorceress voiced instructions for the ritual, “Please position the musical instrument you wish to enchant next to a sandwich.”

A knock came at the bedroom door.

I opened the door and was greeted by the birthday girl, my roommate, Jasanda, an entitled princess.

“What are you listening to? Sounds odd, and why aren’t you practicing the guitar for my party tonight?” Jasanda demanded.

I paused for a moment.

“Now, place the sandwich into the instrument.” More enchanting commands rang out.

“On second thought, I’ll leave you to your rehearsal ritual… However, strange…. Don’t be late.” Jasanda flipped her raven black hair as she left. Her hair’s aroma resembled a fresh citric breeze as it wafted past.

I simply stared, baffled at how quickly she checked in and left.

“Next, place a cheesecake underneath the instrument.”

Cheesecake. Man, this whole thing is making me hungry. I should be enchanting my voice, not my guitar.

I hope this works.

Two hours passed…and I was now being instructed to balance the guitar mid-air with my two feet—shoeless—while chanting, “Nacho Sundae Music Topping. Nacho Sundae Music Popping. Nacho Sundae Milky Bop Bop.”

Jasanda flung the door open. “What the hell are you doing?”

I simply committed to my chanting, “Nacho Sundae Milky Bop Bop… Nacho Sundae Milky Bop Bop…”

“If you don’t make it in time, I’m going to kill you. The party starts in an hour. Don’t be late.” There was no citric smell coming from well-conditioned hair this time. No. Only the gust from the bedroom door being slammed greeted me.

“Now, your chanting is complete. Your instrument will produce taste instead of sound. Congratulations! Please Dial 1-800-MOR-MUSIC for any additional sensory shifting spells.”

The world was eerie—quiet, and some of the cheesecake from before had snuck onto my feet.

I heard keys jingle and a loud, “DON’T BE LATE!” Another door slammed.

So I had about twenty to thirty minutes to practice ‘Happy Birthday’.

I went straight to E minor topside, second fret, followed by a piece of C major, then slid through an augmented version of G major, and finally a piece of F-mix-G. It wasn't Happy Birthday, but I hadn’t stopped fantasizing about its taste.

Straight-up cake. I cycled through the noted accents, my pinky playfully tickling strawberry jam out.

It worked! The spell—the ritual! Sounds be damned!

It wasn't just cake that the spell allowed me to bake—I could cook carrot stew, ripple open some broccoli cheese, and strum out early-morning cereal melodies. Whew. The kitchen was open! My tongue felt like it was blessed by the synesthesia.

I arrived with maybe five minutes to spare.

“Glad you made it, weirdo. You ready to play or what?” Jasanda ‘kindly’ greeted me.

“Oh, I’m ready to play,” I grinned.

“Well—” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the stage and crossed her arms, “then get up there.” She might as well have tapped her foot too.

I played the first taste that came to mind. Broccoli cheddar.

A few guests eating lemon cake immediately set down their plates. Disgust and confusion riddled their cheekbones.

Whispers began burbling around the party as some people went to drink sparkling wine and got broccoli cheddar instead.

I snapped a few chords and laid down a spoonful of peanut butter. One guest, with a mouth half-full and growing in horror, asked, “Is there peanut butter in the hot dogs?” His panic was clear as he mentioned an allergy and the emergency room.

"Oops," I thought.

I graced the taste and began shifting the notes to vanilla ice cream.

Jasanda gave me a nasty look—probably for simply existing.

I couldn’t help but bring up cheesy broccoli again.

One glowering woman erupted mid-chorus, “I spent the better part of all day protecting the flavor of maple syrup in my mouth today! My husband kissed me after he made us pancakes! Now, your music is pouring cheesy broccoli into my mouth!”

Mrs. Angry-About-Syrup was leaving when I yelled back, “Oh! My bad!” My hands shifted quickly to breakfast mode, causing notes to ring out maple syrup.

The stage still felt new and solid under my feet—like I was standing on a massive dinner plate.

I drizzled some poetry into the sympathetic bass line, giving it accents from the thinner guitar strings.

It was like seeing starlight.

The woman’s face, disgusted and offended, shook itself back, and reemerged as a sensuous smile. I could tell the breakfast was restored.

Not only was she restored, but she was stunned. “H—How?”

“Sorry, folks, the guitar seems to be out of tune.” I passed by Jasanda and played a nasty note.

Seeing Jasanda barf on her birthday was worth the bewildering taste at the end.