Chapter Text
There really wasn’t much to me anymore. Eat—sleep—rinse—repeat. That and noise.
The hum of florescent lights can be irritating. Could drive someone to madness. It is driving me to madness. I am mad—at least officially. Ella doesn’t say so, but I can read her face like a book and that is because we’re both medical professionals. Even without the credentials, I can’t switch off that medical brain of mine. She reprimands me for that sometimes, but I crumple the papers up and toss them in the bin. Gets my message across, I think. I hope.
John, you need to learn to read lips.
I smile despite myself. It’s bitter, I think. Pick up, fold, crumple, move on.
How is your sister?
I sigh. Shake my head mutely. She sighs as well. We’re a bit of a Sigh Fest these days. We hit brick walls with my therapy—probably my fault. It doesn’t much matter.
This isn’t going to work, John.
I quirk an ironic smile that lasts but a second. I know. Award for Doctor Obvious goes to you, Ella. Bravo. I’ve become rude of late, but, ha, no one has to know that. Only me.
Just me.
The bright sun makes me squint as I cross a park as a shortcut to my home. Or “box,” if you prefer; I know I don’t. Dimming my other senses makes the noise more acute, so I speed up to shorten the experience. The intensity of the buzz rises, overwhelming the longer it continues. It’s as if a horde of insects are descending upon me, and that quickens my breath. I’m almost panicking now; must move faster. A few squawks of birds break into the din, and that’s enough to get my breath back for a moment. I am not paying enough attention to notice the face of the man on the bench that I pass. He skips ahead of me, as much as a man of his stature could skip.
Our eyes meet and he looks expectant. I suppress a sigh and stand straighter. He’s speaking, but of course none of it makes sense to me—just a jumble of a few sounds that I can still hear. It’s like someone switching quickly between radio stations. It’s garbled English—maybe—and it’s absurd. He clearly has no idea he sounds like a buffoon to me. Again, rude. Probably unforgivably so, were I speaking rather than thinking. I lean on my cane heavily and point to my left ear with an annoyed expression.
The man blinks and recoils a little, but only for a second. In the next he’s pulling out a business card that I look at doubtfully.Michael Stamford, it reads. I stare in confusion for a moment before I place him, and then I’m afraid that a rather silly expression of understanding comes over my face. Mike. It is my old friend from university. Lovely. Just what I bloody need.
An hour later finds us at the Criterion drinking coffee and scribbling notes on a pad of paper. I nod politely through our meeting and even at his suggestion of a flat share. He is also mad, of course, because that is a mad suggestion.
Who would want me for a flat mate?
Mike smiles at me and then laughs which sounds like a mother hen clucking. I can’t help whatever expression is on my face after picturing Mike with feathers on, flapping about in a tizzy. It’s almost enough to make me laugh. Mike picks up his pen and writes. He turns it toward me.
I think there’s someone you ought to meet.