The Static of Four

Leo slumped in the hard plastic chair, the kind that always squeaked when you shifted your weight, which he did constantly. His eyes were glued to the whiteboard, but they didn’t actually *see* the numbers there. Not really. What he saw was a jumble, a squall. Mr. Harrison, his after-school tutor for math, was patient, too patient sometimes, which just made the knot in Leo’s stomach tighten. Mr. Harrison's voice, usually a low rumble, was starting to grate, each syllable a tiny hammer tap behind Leo’s eyes.

"Okay, Leo. One more time. If we have… four bags of apples, and each bag has four apples… how many apples do we have in total?" Mr. Harrison pointed to the equation he’d written: 4 x 4 = ?

The number ‘4’. Oh, God, ‘4’. Leo hated the number ‘4’ with a deep, visceral loathing. Every other number had its own flavor, sure, its own color. ‘3’ was bright green, like grass after rain, and tasted like mint. ‘7’ was a sharp, tangy red, a bite of cranberry. But ‘4’? ‘4’ was a suffocating, dull blue, like the deep end of a swimming pool on a cold day. And the taste… the taste of ‘4’ was metallic, acrid, like licking an old penny, or maybe the side of a battery. A sort of buzzing static on his tongue, chilling his teeth.

Right now, with two ‘4’s staring him down, the taste was a mouthful, overwhelming. It coated his tongue, made his gums tingle, a heavy, cold presence in his mouth. He could feel it in his molars, almost hear the hum of it in his ears. The whiteboard itself seemed to shimmer with this blue static, the chalk dust around the ‘4’s almost sparking. He blinked, hard, trying to clear his vision, to clear his mouth, to just make the taste go away.

"Leo?" Mr. Harrison's voice was softer now, concerned. He’d seen the rigid set of Leo’s jaw, the way his fingers were digging into the flesh of his palms. He knew this wasn't stubbornness. He just didn't know what it *was*.

Leo squeezed his eyes shut. "It's… it's too much," he mumbled, the metallic taste making his voice sound thick, muffled. He could barely taste the spit in his own mouth. He could barely breathe past the electric tang. How was he supposed to multiply something that was already choking him? How did anyone just *see* a four? It wasn’t just a line and two crossbars. It was an assault. A heavy, blue, buzzing, mouth-drying, metallic attack.

"Too much of what, son?" Mr. Harrison pulled up a chair beside him, his voice low, steady. He wasn't yelling, wasn't frustrated, not yet anyway. He just watched Leo, patiently, with those tired, kind eyes.

Leo shook his head, a single, desperate jerk. "The blue. It's so… blue. And it tastes… it tastes like old coins. Like when you stick a penny in your mouth? That." He finally opened his eyes, risking a glance at Mr. Harrison. The man just sat there, listening, a frown of pure confusion on his face. "And when there’s two of them, like that, it's twice as much. It’s like eating a whole jar of pennies. I can't… I can't think past it."

Mr. Harrison leaned back, slowly. He ran a hand over his thinning hair. "You mean… the number four… you see it as blue? And you taste pennies? Every time?" His voice was careful, like he was talking to a wild bird he didn’t want to startle. Leo nodded, miserably. "And other numbers have… tastes and colors too?"

"Yeah," Leo mumbled, feeling a blush creep up his neck. This was it. This was where Mr. Harrison called his mom, told her Leo was officially crazy. "Like '3' is green, tastes like grass. '7' is red, like, sharp red, tastes like cranberry juice. But '4'… '4' is the worst. Always has been. Ever since I remember seeing it, it just… hits you. Hard. With the blue and the metal."

Mr. Harrison was quiet for a long moment, watching the whiteboard, then watching Leo. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't angry. He just looked… thoughtful. And maybe a little sad, like he was just now understanding a pain Leo had carried for years. "So," he said, slowly, as if piecing together a broken vase, "when you see 4 x 4, it's not just a math problem, it's… an experience. A really unpleasant one."

Leo nodded, grateful, surprised. "Yeah. Exactly. How am I supposed to figure out 16 when my mouth is full of rust and buzzing?"

Mr. Harrison finally cracked a small smile, a real one, not just a patient tutor's smile. "Well," he said, pushing himself up, walking over to the board. He picked up a blue marker. "Maybe… maybe we don't start with the number '4'. Maybe we start with something else. Something less… metallic." He erased the chalk '4's and, with the blue marker, drew four small, round, vibrant green apples. Then, next to them, four more green apples. "How about that, Leo? How about we try counting apples for a bit, before we get to the numbers? We can taste those apples, instead of the static."

The blue taste was still there, a dull hum at the back of his throat, but looking at the bright green apples, the imagined taste of crisp sweetness was a welcome change. It didn’t make the ‘4’ go away, but for the first time, Leo felt like someone actually saw the blue. And maybe, just maybe, they could figure out how to spit it out, together.