Hearing

Hearing

Quiet, quiet...full of quiet. I hear (thank God!), but the world is more muffled now. An ocean rages in my right ear like the immenseness of sound caught in the cavity of a shell. It distracts me, but seeing as how the wind is always there I could view it as a companion.

*Everything depends on how we see it.

This is my hearing now. This is my life. On the street I can still hear the sirens, still sense the humming of public works, still feel the pushing of the bus as it roars to a stop.

I just may stare and blink as you speak. I may ask you to repeat. Or not. Many people do (or don't). My grandfather did. It's not a tragedy.

My ear is all folded inside, there isn't enough space to hear fully. Ear plugs pop out and ear phones don't sit comfortably so they slide out. On a bus trip I became frustrated and kept trying to stuff them in my ear uselessly until I gave up. I realized I could listen with my left ear, leaving the right ear phone to sit in my lap. Maybe I will invest in a portable pair that cover my ears.

 There's always a solution.

A minute ago there was the blub, blub of boiling water, the clang, clang of pots in the kitchen, the thud, thud of the cabinet drawers closing. But my ear stretches to the other room for something, for a missing sound.

Ah, there it is–the coffee percolating to join the already pungent aroma reaching my nostrils.

I guess my ear will be full of stretching from now on, but I feel lucky it has something to tend toward and eventually land on. I imagine myself listening with dog ears, one perked up to the sounds in the now and one jerked back to catch the noise behind.

Maybe in the aftermath of life my hearing will return: the gushing, rushing clamor mixed with the delicate fluttering of butterfly wings and an "I love you" sliding from under one's breath...

Until then, I will try to treasure every sound I hear.

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi