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Zoe Marlowe

I could smell the aftershave along with early morning coffee.

Conflicting odors, though they be intoxicating to me sometimes.

Then, there’s always that smell of rain, oh yes, that one is the best.

I can’t really think of anything else that smells quite like it.

I remember post-surgically struggling to smell anything at all.

Gone! Just dead nerves, unable to smell even the most pungent curry.

Well, perhaps I didn’t miss too much over the month of “blank” air.

I felt a bit jealous on hearing ‘Ooh, doesn’t that fresh bread smell great?”

I sat in the surgeon’s chair as he pulled out seemingly miles of bloody gauze.

Getting dizzy, I suddenly passed out, but the doctor just adjusted the chair.

And then I was back, still not enjoying the blackish blood I was seeing ooze.

“Ugh,” I said. “Will this be over soon?” He nodded “Yes.” Thank God, phew.

I closed my eyes and remembered Thanksgiving dinner at my mom’s. Great food!

It tasted odd, because no aroma could penetrate my heavily gauzed-packed nostrils.

Taste is so dependent upon smell, I’d always heard that but never understood.

Until that moment I had the turkey and gravy that tasted like a salty mirage.

For thirty days I tried to imagine what was going to be the first odor I would inhale.

When my olfactory nerve healed up and was intact once again to catch it all.

I thought to myself, roses, or, no, wait...perhaps I will smell fresh-baked bread!

Sadly, I was instead on a busy street smelling a garbage truck that went past.

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