Chapter 12: Before the Brand
Adrienne
The first place we lived after the accident felt sterile and devoid of familiar scents. There was no musty mold, no dust, and not even detergent—just a void that hung heavy in the air, as if the walls had forgotten their memories.
Noah remained silent for three days, curled up on the old pullout couch while I unpacked the kitchen, arranging mismatched mugs in a semblance of order. I longed for some control in the silence that surrounded us, broken only by the groans of old pipes and distant barking.
Noah barely touched the meals I prepared—lightly scrambled eggs and golden brown toast—but I continued to cook, learning to do it quietly. On the fourth day, I found him on the cold bathroom floor, cradling my beloved shampoo bottle.
“I remember this,” he murmured. “You used to use it after swim meets.” His voice was tentative, each word a struggle to reclaim connection. I sat beside him, feeling the weight of shared memories, realizing how scent could bridge our pain.
That night, I opened a new notebook, determined to document our experiences.
Entry 001: Noah responded positively to the lavender and bergamot shampoo after 3.5 days of silence. Emotional recall was evident, even without eye contact. Observation: Scent may penetrate trauma barriers more effectively than spoken words.
By the end of the week, I had six essential oils—pure and genuine. Each day, I wore different scents and observed Noah’s reactions: he moved closer to me with vanilla and chamomile, but flinched at the scent of peppermint. I meticulously noted each response, tracking the emerging patterns in our chaotic lives.
Entry 004: A soothing blend appears to help lower anxiety. Rapid breathing decreased in 2.5 minutes, and the subject remained unaware that it was not a placebo. Eye contact is improving.
It was no longer just working; it was transforming him. I crafted my first real formula while Noah slept soundly on the couch. I moved around my makeshift workstation at the kitchen table, using meticulously labeled ingredients: O1, O2, O3. I blended bergamot, cedarwood, and vetiver to create a calming, earthy scent, and applied it to a cotton strip.
That night, wearing the blend, I felt Noah shift next to me without prompting, as if sensing something beyond his conscious awareness. I watched, knowing it was changing him.
The next morning, he surprised me by making toast and asking if I wanted some, as though everything was normal. I took the toast, documenting the moment in my notebook. In the quiet apartment I shared with him, I embraced the stillness as I cooked simple meals for us. Noah wasn’t very vocal, but he ate what I prepared. The fourth day after the initial introduction of the new formula, I found him on the bathroom floor, holding my shampoo bottle. “I remember this,” he said, voice hoarse. “You used to use it after swim meets.” That’s when I realized scent wasn’t just about memory; it was a connection.
That night, I opened a new, personal notebook.
Entry 005
Noah showed a notable response to the combination of lavender and bergamot in the shampoo I used. After three and a half days of silence, a breakthrough occurred as his verbal memory was triggered, leading to a strong emotional recall. Even though he avoided making eye contact, I could sense a shift in his demeanor; his vocal tone softened, revealing a layer of vulnerability. This observation led me to ponder the possibility that scent might penetrate trauma barriers more effectively than spoken language.
As the weeks progressed, I found myself grappling with a sense of purpose in my observations. It was not quite therapy; it felt more like a form of research, albeit one that sought a deeper, almost instinctual connection. I wanted to map out something tangible in the midst of our chaotic lives, a pattern to decipher when everything else felt like noise.
By the end of the week, I had acquired six of the highest-quality essential oils from a reputable supplier, ensuring they were pure, clinical, and unadulterated, free from additives and branding. I deliberately chose to avoid any labels, focusing solely on results rather than preconceived notions about each scent.
I made a point to wear a different combination of oils every two days, applying them subtly behind my ears, at the base of my throat, and on the inside of my wrists. This was a personal experiment; I chose not to disclose my actions to Noah, instead opting to observe his reactions closely.
The effect was striking. When I wore vanilla and chamomile, there was a marked shift in his behavior; he sat closer to me, almost instinctively seeking comfort. Conversely, when I applied peppermint, I noticed an immediate flinch, a visceral reaction that I couldn’t ignore. I meticulously recorded my observations, fully aware that this journey was uncharted territory, but I felt compelled to continue.
Entry 008
The calming blend I created appears to help lower anxiety. Noah’s rapid breathing slowed in just 2.5 minutes. This wasn’t a placebo effect; he didn’t know I was testing anything on him. I also noticed his eye contact improving.
The formula was changing him, and I liked that I could do this.
I created my first real blend on a Tuesday while Noah slept soundly. I carefully worked at the kitchen table, labeling everything with small black tape: 01, 02, 03. No names, just numbers.
I mixed bergamot, cedarwood, and a drop of vetiver. The scent was calming and earthy. I diluted it with fractionated coconut oil and rolled it onto a cotton strip, no bottles, just pure scent. I wore it that night. Noah sat beside me on the couch without saying anything, close but not touching, as if he sensed something. The next morning, he made toast and asked, “Want a piece?” as if it were a normal Tuesday. I almost said no, but accepted, writing down that moment as if it were important.
Focus Point Entry 010
Formula 014J: A blend of three parts bergamot, two parts Cedar, and one part vetiver. This scent fosters closeness and meaningful conversations, with lasting effects and no distress for Noah.
I closed the journal and inhaled the scent on my wrist. It felt like control in a bottle, warm, quiet, and clean, not about manipulation.
The next day, I applied it for myself, a line on my collarbone, checking the mirror multiple times. The scent was cool and steady, as if it were aware of its influence.
\-YOU NEED TO REMEMBER WHY-
Currently, I am sitting in the kitchen with tea and my journal, reminiscing over my makeshift lab that I made so many weeks ago. “Addy,” you need to remember the difference that you have made in Noah’s Life. Then push past that great memory and remember how you imagined your life would shift. Now, focus on what you are looking for in others' reactions: their breathing, pupils, and tone of voice. What if you never had to explain yourself again? What if people just leaned in? Don’t feel guilty. Feel alive. You did this for Noah. Now live your life.