Can’t Hear a Thing

There was nothing but silence.
The plane hesitantly nosed its way through the clouds, peering down as if unsure, looping gracefully, and gently touched down on the runway with a tenderness of a groom brushing the cheek of his beloved at the altar.
Applause erupted, but the pilots didnt hear it.
Nor did Simon Chapman, whose ears had clogged during the flight.
Simon kept pinching his nose and blowing: air escaped everywhere but where he needed it, and his head remained filled with that maddening white noise.
Hed returned from visiting his mother early that morning, just in time to gather himself for work.
His wife, Emily, hadnt slept, darting around their flat frantically rearranging things.
Simon moved into the kitchen, assembling his packed lunch.
His hearing stubbornly refused to return.
Ive had enough!
I cant stand it anymore!
This lifeyour salary, barely enough for tea and toast, our flat lost in the back end of nowhere.
I thought what I felt was everlasting love, turns out its just some infection Ive caught! Emily hurled her confessions at Simons back while he quietly transferred potatoes from the pan into his Thermos.
Im leaving for Ben.
You dont know himhe doesnt know youbut hes wonderful.
With him, I have real feelings.
The kind ones supposed to have!
And dont you worry, Im leaving you faithful; nothings happened between us.
Im leaving honourably, so you wont have anything to spread about meespecially to your mother.
Simon finished his lunch, packed it into his bag, and started brewing coffee.
Arent you going to say anything?
Ive poured my whole soul out here.
Em love!
Could you iron my jeans for me? Simon called out.
What?
Jeans?!
You Im talking about feelings, and you ask about ironing?
Well, thats just grand!
I thought, maybe youd try to stop me.
With her parting words, Emily seized her bag, muddling her handbag with the one Simon had prepared for work, and stormed out.
Only when the flat vibrated from the slammed door did Simon realise she was gone.
Wheres she off to, so early?
What about my jeans?
Blastwheres my lunch? Simon mused, muddling through the morning breakup.
Disheartened by the missing Thermoses, Simon left for work, trousers creased and stiff.
In the lift, he greeted the head of their building associationa woman whose monthly demands made it seem she still sent money straight to the ancient realms.
Rumour had it her perfume could revive horses or smoke out enemies like something from the old Mongol campaigns.
Simon held his breath, entered, and turned to face the door as it closed, the lift descending like a gas chamber.
You havent paid for the pest control.
The exterminators come today for the whole building, the chairwoman piped up.
Simon silently watched the lift rubber seal melt from her overpowering perfume.
Youll need to transfer me the money by this evening, all right? she pressed.
Simon remained mute.
She leaned in and loudly declared right in his ear, I expect your transfer by days end.
Congratulations.
Where are they transferring youback to Leeds? Simon perked up.
He honestly believed the rumours about her being a descendant of Genghis Khan.
She rattled off at Simon, her words flying past him, just fragments: -git, -don, -ing, -off,which sounded like something ancient and foreign.
Simon didnt bother deciphering, merely nodded along as at some modern art exhibit.
The lift doors opened; Simon lunged out for fresh air, as the chairwoman trundled off to collect her dues.
Simon was an electrician.
The past week he was assigned at a site where the clientlacking creative chops and financial meansstill wanted a masterpiece.
The materials and plans the client supplied were second-rate, with an undercurrent of rot.
Simon wasnt alone in his misery.
Alongside him, a plumber and two decorators had landed in this creative dead end.
While Simon chased wires through walls and the others sweated in other rooms, the client arrived, fresh off an all-night birthday bash, and in high spirits decided to inspect progress.
Its all wrong! he thundered, stomping his feet.
The sockets should be in a chessboard pattern!
The chandeliers three degrees off the centre!
Do it as I say or you wont be paid!
He stormed into every room, spouting peculiar ideas and threats, then locked himself in the nursery and promptly fell asleep atop the bags of plaster.
Seven hours later, the client woke, opened the door and saw the results of his midnight vision: the living room and kitchen now connected with a new passage; a guest toilet had appeared in the combined bathroom.
His clothes were whited from plaster, his face pale with shock.
He remembered nothing of his instructions and accused the builders of lyinguntil they showed video evidence.
Only Simon had made no changes; all directions passed him by, unheard amidst the noise in his head.
Whether from sudden emotion or sheer despair, the client gifted Simon a modest bonus for resisting drunken creativity, and fired the others for lack of backbone.
Compromised, though, he paid everyone in full.
That evening, famished and spent, Simon caved and headed for the doctor, desperate to rejoin the world of sound.
On his way, a furious local dog tried to scare him with loud barkingbut in Simons silent world, people and animals acted like a pantomime cast.
Without sound, it was impossible to sense the dog’s intentions, so Simon simply strode on, light and untroubled.
Eventually, the dog grew bored and dropped away.
May the sounds be with you! said the doctor, repairing Simons ears with drills.
Restored, Simon rushed home.
On the way, he pulled his unexpected bonus from his wallet, bought a sausage roll and a modest bouquet for Emily.
At the entrance, the sorrowful neighbour was waiting.
Have you heard the news? he asked Simon.
Ive not heard anything all day, Simon replied, poking his pinky in his ear.
Mrs Migunovathe old Queen herselfcollected dues from the entire building then vanished into the sunset.
Moved to another city, cut all ties.
She planned it all aheadwalked all seven blocks.
Did you pay her?
No, I hadnt, Simon shook his head.
She kept on about some transfer this morning but I didnt catch any of it.
Lucky you.
I paid, fool that I am.
Only consolation: while she took so long traipsing between floors, the cockroaches mustve died off from her perfume anyway, chuckled the neighbour.
Could be worse.
The flat greeted Simon with inviting scents and an unexpectedly gentle wife.
Forgive me, you daft soul, I must have lost my mindsomething just came over me, dont ask what.
Solar flares, maybe.
Anyway, I want to take all my words back and promise, I did nothing foolish.
Theres no Ben.
I went to my sisters, let off some steam, got my head straight.
And youhandled it just right, like a proper man.
Thats what sobered me up.
Will you forgive your silly wife?
Emily showered Simons face with warm kisses and invited him to the laid table.
Honestly, I didnt hear a thing, Simon confessed, feeling he was granted an undeserved reward.
Thank you! Emily gripped him fiercely.
What a day, Simon mused, having done nothing out of the ordinary.
Maybe I should go deaf more often.
Life would be a fair bit easier.Emily laughed, the kind of laughter that makes walls warmer and seasons softer.
Well, next time, lets just pretend, and spare the medical bills, she said, folding her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder.
He felt the weight of all that had been said and unsaid settle gently, transformed into something lighter, something almost sweet.
Outside, the city buzzed and hummed and barked and rattled, but inside their little kitchen, everything was as clear and calm as the coffee cooling in his cup.
The sausage roll, slightly squashed, sat between thema peace offering, a lunch reclaimed.
Simon tore it in half and handed her the bigger piece.
For you, Emily.
No Ben, no drama.
Just ussound or silenceand sausage rolls.
She took it, smiling, and for a moment, Simon wondered if the best thing in life wasnt being able to hear, but to listen.
He leaned in, letting her words wash over him, letting the day fold itself into a story worth retellinga day that began in silence but ended in laughter, forgiveness, and the soft promise of tomorrow.