Intermingled Quotes

“Shaking my head, I grinned in my defiance, and the room and the whole world became soft and buzzing, lights dangerously unfocused. Our shadows intermingled, a Chagall on the pale wood floor. My thoughts sudden and intriguing, like a rainbow you see for only a second—”
― Aspen Matis, Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir

“The fragrance started off bright and happy, fresh-cut grass and sunshine, iced hibiscus tea, the best of a Sunday afternoon. Lavender and rose released their sweetness into the air so serenely you knew there was not a weed within ten yards of them. The scents filtered out through the store, and as Victoria and I watched, the customers began putting down their phones, looking about with greater interest, smiling at one another.
"Well, you certainly made them friendly," Victoria said.
I just smiled.
The fragrance began to deepen. Vanilla, the clarion call of mothers in aprons and after-school cookies warm from the oven. The women's expressions softened.
Your life can be like this, the fragrance said. Your children will love you.
Then, slowly, lazily, in came the scent of jasmine.
Victoria tilted her head. "Hello, troublemaker," she said.
It floated out across the room, heavy and sensual, the essence of beautiful, younger women. Women who birthed children and wore bikinis within a month, or worse yet, never had children at all, their stomachs taut, their breasts ripe. Women who drew the wandering eyes of husbands.
Then, even as the customers began shifting away from each other with polite, nervous smiles, there came another scent, lurking inside the jasmine, where it always waited- a touch of indole. A trail that led you downward, into the dirt.
But not enough- the fragrance was still too sweet. It hovered in the store, off-kilter.
"Hmm," Victoria said, her eyebrows pulling together.
"Wait," I said.
The want of balance was like an ache in the air. The fragrance reached out, searching, begging for completion. It didn't want sweet. It didn't want nice.
And then, out of the skin, the sweat, the very heat of the women's thoughts, came the missing base note. Keen edged as a knife, it rose to meet the sweetness.
Jealousy.
As we watched, one of the women picked up a cashmere throw and clutched it to her chest. Another sat down on a leather couch, her arms spread out like a claim jumper. Mine.
"Brilliant," Victoria said, stifling a laugh. "Absolutely brilliant.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper