What do you mean there was a note after all?

As soon as I arrive home, I grab the spare key, look for some money and go back to pay the taxi driver. I discover why I traveled in continuous silence when I enter the bathroom and look at my face. I have all my makeup smudged and my eyes swollen from so much crying. I quickly turn on the shower, take off my dirty clothes, and step into the hot water. I rinse my face, enjoying the warmth of the water, which manages to wake me up a bit and my brain begins to function. The person who attacked me on that street did not look like Mauricio; their eyes were completely different. With a clearer mind and craving for answers, I step out of the bathroom, take my work phone and dial the number I’ve been avoiding since the death of my parents. Soon, the ongoing ringtone is interrupted by a recording.

“You have reached Allegra. At the moment, I’m not at home and won’t be available until September 13th. I’ll respond to your message upon my return. If you’re ‘Emma Problema’, look for the note.”

A beep announces that the recording has begun, but I hang up and call again. The message repeats, making it clear that my grandmother always walks three steps ahead of me.

I head to the kitchen and take the box, then return to my room. Sitting on the bed, I discover something written on the inside of the lid:

“Dear Emma: I can bet my life that something has gone terribly wrong, and now you’re desperately searching for answers that you should have sought from the beginning. In the same way that I am certain of that, I am also certain that you are okay. After all, you’re reading this. When you were little, you loved being in my workshop, sniffing every fragrance I created, trying to make your own blends. Everything I’ve told you, and you’ve come to believe as myths and superstitions, is true. Each fragrance has the power to change your destiny, for better or for worse. Remember, everything you seek is hidden in your memory. I love you, my girl.”

I read the note over and over again, wracking my brain trying to figure out what my grandmother is talking about, but my mind refuses to cooperate. Eventually, sleep overtakes me, and my subconscious takes over to find answers.

҉

My fingers quickly scan the titles of the fragrances. My grandmother is busy with other things and won’t notice my intrusion. I search for that perfume that can make everything I want come true. I want to have that puppy that my parents have said “no” so many times. Finally, I give up with my index finger and start to leaf through the book slowly. Soon, a page with strange symbols and color codes catches my attention and the puppy takes a back seat. I start to read with difficulty, my grandmother’s handwriting is cryptic.

“Magic blood and colors make up our world, with dangerous scents and sensations in the wrong hands. Beware of the being that watches, the one who sniffs the air in search of power! Remember the colors, those that determine your destiny, your fortune. Combine, create, and use with care, not too much or too little, just enough to avoid danger. Red: health. Pink: unconditional love. Orange: passion. Purple: strength, determination. Green: luck, fortune. Blue: temperance, logic. Yellow: happiness, comforting memories. Black...”

“Emma Problemas! What are you doing with my diary?” my grandmother scolds, snatching the notebook from my hands.

I look at her with guilty eyes, unable to deny something she has witnessed.

“I wanted my parents to say ‘yes’ to me having a puppy, I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” she whispers with the sweetest voice, “your parents love you and know what’s right for you. When the time is right, they’ll probably give you one.”

“Grandma, do perfumes really have powers?” I ask, doubting that they are just stories from my grandmother like my parents say.

“Of course they do, it’s just that only very few can see it,” she replies, leaving the notebook on the highest shelf, the one she knows I can’t reach.

“What is the black perfume for, grandma?” I ask, refusing to leave the information incomplete.

“I hope you never have to find out,” she answers with a flat voice. “Now go play, today is a beautiful day,” she adds, ending the conversation.

I wake up remembering every detail, as if that conversation had just happened seconds ago and not more than twenty years ago. I quickly turn on the light, search for a paper and write down the color code, then I calmly think about that warning.

“Magic blood and colors make up our world, with dangerous scents and sensations in the wrong hands. Beware of the being that watches, the one who sniffs the air in search of power!” I read aloud, trying to understand. “At least I’m not the only crazy one,” I murmur, setting aside the paper and turning off the light again.