The noise was driving me insane. I wished that my wife would switch off the TV. I wished that my neighbors would stop going in and out of their houses or start their cars. I wished that they would stop mowing their lawns over the weekend.
“I am trying to work here!” I shouted to my family who were watching a cartoon in the living room. A slight sound vacuum issued as my wife switched off the TV. My two kids barely protested. Soon I heard the front door open and shut, and I looked out the window. It was drizzling but I could see that my wife had dressed the girls up in raincoats and wellingtons so I guessed that they were going to the park.
Damned the distractions. I turned back to my writing and was engrossed for maybe an hour or so, until the doorbell rang. I cursed. Lisa must have forgotten to take the keys with her again. Well, let them stand out there, I thought. Again it rang. I got up with a rage that boiled me to a sweat. As I crossed the living room, I kicked a soft toy out of my way then snapped the door knob hard.
“What!” I yelled, even before the door swung open.
A grey-haired man flashing a mouthful of dentures said, “Pardon me, sir. But I hear that you have some problems with noise in the neighborhood.”
I calmed down. “Yes, this place is full of inconsiderate people.”
“Well that is why I came, because I thought that you might need my service.”
A salesman. Perfect, my sarcastic mind roared, just what I needed to mess up my dateline. “Whatever you are selling, mister, I am not interested,” I said and slammed the door in his face.
As I turned to walk back to my study, his smiling voice said, “Well if you change your mind,” a piece of folded paper slipped under the door, “so you’ll know how to find me.”
The gall, my temper again flared, and I snapped up the leaflet with the intent of stuffing it down his throat. I slammed open the door and glared down the empty driveway. I stepped outside, a little baffled, and looked up and down the front yard, but he was nowhere in sight. I returned back into the house.
As I sat down once more at my desk, I realized with a start that I had brought in the leaflet with me. I was about to tear it when I saw the title ‘Take Charge of Your Perspective’. Curiosity perked, I looked inside. It was an introduction for a new clinic in our neighborhood. Apparently they did procedures that supposedly help people control back their lives. Two whole columns were used to describe how the level of sensitivity of our five senses dictates the way we feel. I scrutinized a picture of the inside of the clinic, an organization chart and a procedure chart. Then I studied the names of the three surgeons listed in the back page. Their qualifications were impressive, but were they real.
The lock in the front door clicked open and I heard my wife shushed the girls into silence as they entered. Feeling a little guilty, I opened the top drawer and placed the leaflet inside. Then I got up and went into the kitchen, where my wife was setting the table for three.
When she saw me leaning against the doorframe she asked, “Would you join us tonight?”
“Yeh, sure. What’s for dinner?”
“I got some cold cuts at the Deli. There’s also corn bread and salad.”
“Sounds great,” I said as I sat down. I watched Lisa tear off the shop labels and portion out our dinner into plates. She was a good cook and I missed her cooking, however the sounds coming from the kitchen was a huge distraction, so I made her stop. Lisa, being ever supportive, complied, and for the past year we had been eating takeouts.
In the middle of the silent dinner, Julia my elder girl said to Lisa, “Mom can I go to Amy’s place tomorrow?”
“I want to go too,” Judy whined.
Julia turned to her and said, “No, you can’t. Find your own friend to stay with.”
“That’s enough, girls,” Lisa said firmly. “Yes, Julia, you may go. Judy, you have to stay home with mommy.”
Again conversation ceased until I asked, “Julia, what do you mean when you said find your own friend to stay with?”
She stole a glance at Lisa, who kept her head down. Then she said, “I don’t mean anything, daddy. It’s just that Judy is such a bother when she is around.”
“She is young,” I pressed.
“Yeh,” she agreed, “That’s why I told her to get her own friend.”
“To stay with?”
Lisa’s fork clattered onto the plate. “John, please. They are only children. They say things they don’t mean.”
“Then they should learn to say it right. We can’t baby them forever.”
Lisa again picked up her fork and without looking up from her plate, she said to Julia, “Explain to daddy what you really mean, Julia, and this time do it properly.”
Julia stared at Lisa’s bowed head with a little furrow on her brow. Finally she said, “I don’t like living here. It is worse than being in Mrs. Richards English class.”
Lisa’s head snapped up when I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it down on the table. After some moments of silent rage, I said, “Do you know how hard I work, to get you your TV, your video games and your toys?”
Judy said, “What’s the use of having them if we can’t play with them?”
Julia added, “That is why we want to go to our friends’ home, so we can play them.”
I turned to Lisa for support but she remained silent and kept her head bowed throughout. I pushed the chair back and stormed back to my study. Soon I heard the water tap running then the house fell silent. I stared blindly at my computer screen. Was this really what life had become for me, for my family? I turned and looked out the window. My neighbor had just opened the front door and was even now being besieged by his three children and two dogs. For some reason, I was suddenly envious of the racket they made around him.
I mused over how I should balance my work with my family needs. Should I schedule some noise time into my writing schedule? But that was not an option for me this year, especially since I am a contributing columnist to two magazines and three weekly newsletters. I work twelve-hour days as it was now. I also happened to love my work, so changing my profession was unthinkable. My eyes were drawn to the drawer, and I slid it open. The leaflet must had been printed with some luminescent ink because it glowed in the dimming light. I stared at the phone number. Maybe I should go listen to what they have to say, at the very least keep an open mind.
A residential home, I thought, as I slowed my car. My skepticism abated a little as I saw a signboard to the side showing Penvil, Taylors & Mark Md., Phd., Certified Surgeons. A well-dressed man in his forties walked out of the front door with the old man who had come to my place. I watched them talk back and forth on the porch until the younger man finally offered his hand with a smile. Then he strode down the short driveway towards a new red Toyota.
The old man waved and was just about to turn back into the house when he saw me climb out of my car. He stood waiting with both hands behind his back and a big smile on his face. The moment I stepped on to the porch, he reached out and shook my hand.
“Hullo, Mr Paulson. I am so glad you drop by.”
“How do you know my name?” I asked as I put my hand back into my back pocket. “I never introduced myself to you, Mr…”
“Taylors, at your service. I read your name on your mailbox.” He turned, opened the door and invited me in with a wave. “Come in. I think you will like what you will hear.”
The wooden floor was waxed to a high gloss and, instead of cozy furnishing the foyer was lined with modern red straight back chairs. The side that typically led into a living room was walled off with two large book shelves that overlapped each other, allowing just enough space between them for one person to pass through. In front of these shelves was a small reception counter. For a moment I wondered why the foyer space felt airier than I expected. Then I realized that the standard staircase had been replaced with a spiraling one and that the wall to the kitchen had been knocked down.
“This is a strange place for a clinic,” I remarked.
“It is homey. My partners and I fell in love with the place when we first saw it. It took a while to set it up though, because we need to get a permit to operate from here.”
I shrugged. “Yeh, I guess.”
He rubbed his hands together. “So, how can we help you today?”
“Well, your leaflet said that you can help me get control back for my life. I was wondering how you intend to do that with surgery.”
“Your problem is with noise right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll need to talk with Dr Mark. He can explain things better to you.” He pulled out a wide folder from behind the counter and opened it to the last written page. He held up a pen for me, but as I stared at the rows of names and phone numbers, I hesitated.
“The first consultation is free,” Taylors said. “If you don’t like our recommendations, you can cross out your name on your way out. You only need to put in your phone number if you are interested in a follow-up.”
“Why do you need me to put in my name?”
“It is just a way to help us track how many people are actually interested in our service. An old fashion way of collecting data, but we prefer it that way.”
I took the pen from his fingers and rolled it between mine as I read through the list. At first glance I can tell that eight out of thirty-five people had crossed out their names. I turned the page and stopped.
“Bill comes here?”
Taylors looked at the name I pointed. “Yes, he had a surgery done here last month.”
“Oh,” I said, as I recalled the happy greetings he got the night before. Then I realized that I had not seen his kids’ babysitter for the past two weeks or so. He was staying home at night which was unusual for him, and if he did go out his kids would be with him which was more unusual. I cleared my throat. “What did he do?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Paulson. Doctor’s Patient’s privileged information. Though I can tell you, he came in twice again after that and was pleased with the result.”
“I see,” I coughed. I turned the pages back and wrote down my name.
“Thank you,” Taylors said as he snapped the ledger shut and led me through the narrow opening between the shelves and into a sunny white living room that had been converted into an office. An elderly man sitting behind the desk and holding up an x-ray to the open window turned and smiled.
Taylors said, “This is Dr Mark, Mr Paulson.”
Mark stood up and indicated a seat for me. Taylors left us.
“How can I help you, Mr Paulson?”
“Well. I have been having a lot of problems dealing with noise. I mean, I need quiet to focus and concentrate on my work but the noises in my neighborhood and in my home is driving me insane.” I paused to see the effect of my words. Seeing no change in his expression, I asked, “Is that selfish?”
“No, not at all. Modern life is overwhelming because all forms of entertainment and activity nowadays involve a high amount of noise emission. It’s not like in the past when people read or nap to relax. The home used to be quiet, relaxing havens but now it is like a high pressure cooker.”
“That is absolutely right. But I can’t avoid those sounds where I live.”
He touched the tip of his fingers together and pressed a pair of them to his lips. Then he said, “How desperate are you to find a solution to your problem?”
The hair on my nape stood on end. “I work hard for my family, but lately I realized that they are not happy.”
“Why is that?”
I pressed my lips together and looked away for a moment. “I think it’s because I want them to be quiet.” I let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my sweating palms on my pants. “Can you help me?”
“I can help you reduce the noise level.”
“I’ve tried all kinds of ear plugs, even industrial level ones. Most don’t work and the ones that do are very uncomfortable to wear for long periods.”
He leaned forward. “I can take some of your hearing away.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “You mean make me deaf?”
“Yes. But not so deaf that you can’t use a hearing aid.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked as I half-rose from my seat.
“Seriously, Mr Paulson. Can you think of any other way out of your predicament, other than separating yourself from your family and living in a remote area?”
I stared, as my mind grappled over every other option I could think of. Finally I said, “I can soundproof the study room.”
“Of course you can. It will take weeks to do it properly. Your work will be disrupted, and on top of that, you will still not be able to rest properly at night because of your sensitive hearing.”
I almost vocally admitted that he was right. I stared, and stared, and stared, most probably looking like a trapped deer staring into the bright headlights. I said, “If I lost my hearing, how am I going to talk to my kids and my wife. We would all have to learn sign language.”
“Like I said, you will have a hearing aid. One of those behind-the-ear aids. That way if you are working, you can just take it off and if you want to be with your family, you can put it back on.”
“But what if there is a fire? What if the doorbell or the phone rings?”
“I am not going to make you blind. You can fix a flashing light in your study. You can fix ten if you wish because the price of fixing them is really cheap.”
“I… I can’t decide now.”
“That’s alright, Mr Paulson.” He reached down into a drawer and pulled out two pamphlets. “You can read this first before you decide on anything.”
I reached for the papers and stared at the diagram of an ear and the picture of a hearing aid. What should I do, I wondered then the faces of my family flashed through my mind. A little tentatively I asked, “Do you have to cut into my ears?”
“No. I will only be blasting loud noises of about 115 decibels through a pair of headphones for fifteen minutes. This should kill a fair amount of hair in the inner ear. “
“How long will it take to do?”
“It will take me only twenty minutes to do the actual procedure. But if you plan to drive yourself then you will need to rest for an extra half-hour, because there may be a bit of dizziness or even a headache.”
“But if I don’t get dizzy, I can go the moment you’re done right?”
“Technically yes, but I prefer to be extra careful, because I am not sure how your body will react.”
“What if there is a complication?”
“We will call for an ambulance to take you to the hospital. This clinic is insured against such problems.”
Again I looked at the pamphlet. Part of me wanted to do it while another part rebelled against it. “Can you reverse the procedure?”
“No, I am sorry. I am afraid that is impossible.”
“I think my neighbor, Bill King, was here. Did he do a procedure?”
“Yes he did and he was happy to have done it.”
I bit my lip. “What did he do?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that. I am not free to divulge the information.”
“Oh.” I stared down at my trembling hands.
“You don’t have to make a decision now. Go home and weigh what you need against what you have to sacrifice. Usually what we define as right or wrong are only things we learn from society. Society is made up of people, and people can be wrong you know.”
I agreed with him so much that my chest felt tight and I had to take a deep breath to relax it. I wanted to argue, to rant at him for even suggesting that I should self-injure myself but I couldn’t. He sat there, watching my every move and I wondered if he could read my mind. I looked into his unsmiling face and made my decision.
A week after my third and last procedure, I invited Bill and his kids over for a barbeque.
“Feels great doesn’t it,” he said as he stood by watching me flip burgers.
“Oh yes. It is so easy to work now. I am even ahead of two datelines. The kids are playing more at home too.”
He grinned. “Yeh, my girl was invited to the little slumber party Lisa did the day before.”
I smiled and scooped the done chicken wings into a platter. “What about you?” I asked. “What did you do?”
He winked. “Something that makes me stay home.”
I frowned. “What? A weak bladder?”
He laughed. “Close but not quite. I mean, being a single red-blooded father can be tough. It gets lonely.”
“Yeh?” I said, trying to encourage him on, but having no inkling about the turn of conversation.
He shrugged. “The women I usually end up with all wanted to be with me, but not my kids. I’ve been with three women since my wife died and they all didn’t get along with my family. I just asked for help to stop me from being lonely.”
Slowly, it dawned on me that I didn’t want to know what kind of surgery he had done. He took the platter of wings from me then placed it on the wooden table next to the potato salad before joining the kids for a game of football. I could hear the burgers sizzling, I could hear my wife cheering, I could hear our new dog yelping, and I could shut out all that sound with the flick of a button. I was happy; yet why did I feel the need to lie to my family and friends about how I lost my hearing.
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