Wail of a Tale

Babies are often described as ‘little miracles’.  Mostly by their parents and therefore their grandparents, but nonetheless, they are considered to be heavenly gifts.  New parents won’t stop talking about how wonderful their lives have become because of their baby.  How their day gets blessed just from small things like the way the baby laughs at a piece of dust or rolls over into a wall and instead of crying just keeps rolling.  Dozens of small, seemingly insignificant moments piled up into impossible to replace memories.  

They are described this way despite being monstrous beings capable of deafening an adult human with a single cry.  Any regular citizen can tell you of multiple occurrences in their life when a crying child could be heard, invading the communal airspace.  It is in one of these times that we find Darren Howl.  

First, a little bit about Darren Howl.  Darren is a mild mannered office worker who lives in a quaint apartment building beside a park that has a bench placed in just the right spot for the sun to warm the metal enough to be comfortable and not skin scorching.  After a long day of answering phone calls and forwarding emails, Darren likes to sit on this bench and enjoy the late afternoon sun while eating the fruit he didn’t get a chance to eat during lunch.  Darren is as mellow as they come.  If he was crossing the street and a speeding car took a turn too fast and hit him, Darren would apologize for being an inconvenience.  Darren is the type of person to apologize to a lamppost that he bumped into while moving off to the side so that the obnoxious group of friends who are taking up the sidewalk can pass by.  

We find Darren standing in one corner of the mirrored elevator of his apartment building wishing that he wasn’t such a nice person.  More precisely, he’s wishing that he wasn’t such a pushover as a rather gruesome and eye opening conversation with a recent ex had informed him.  Up until that unfortunate night, Darren hadn’t considered himself to be a pushover.  Overly nice maybe, but not a pushover.  He likes to think that if push comes to shove, he would stand up for himself.  

Of course, now is not the time to be standing up for himself.

Darren, as subtly as possible, moves his eyes to look at the supposed bundle of joy in the opposite corner of the elevator.  For a short moment, he can see why parents hold such a high level of pride when it comes to their children.  The way that the baby’s comically small button nose wrinkled as it took in the rather drab smell of the elevator almost makes Darren smile.  In fact, he can feel the beginnings of one forming, the corners of his lips twisting up.  Then the baby opens its mouth.  

An ear shattering, soul crushing, brain in a vice squeezing cry rips through the tremendously tiny elevator. It takes all of Darren’s will power not to cover his ears.  Instead, he begins to sing a song to himself.  Not out loud, no, that would be a bit odd.  No, Darren begins singing in his head.  The loud and dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury fills his mind, the highest of notes blending in with the cries of the baby.  Through the strange remix of Bohemian Rhapsody, he hears the ding of the elevator doors.  Taking care to not rush out, Darren passes the kerfuffled parent who flashes him a look that he takes as a silent apology.  Darren politely sends a silent acceptance in return, hopefully also telling them that it really was no problem and that he understands their situation as much as a single man with no children can.  

Leaving the howling baby behind Darren hustles towards the crowded bus stop on the corner, hoping that not everyone standing there will be boarding the same bus as him.  He knows deep down in his heart of hearts that the majority of them will be joining him on his commute to work but maybe, for some reason or another, none of them are and he’ll be able to choose a seat at the back where he can catch up on some much needed sleep.  The watch on his wrist vibrates, signalling the hour.  Within the next minutes, three busses rumble up to the curb taking their designated passengers.  By the time Darren’s bus arrives he’s disappointed to see that the number of people standing in wait has not gone down enough to warrant Darren a seated position.  So when the bus rolls up and the doors slide open, Darren stumbles into the stuffy bus.  As he’s being pushed along he can’t help but think about how nice his time on the park bench will be at the end of the day.  

Darren takes a deep breath and revels in the warm, prickly feeling that the sun leaves on his skin.  He tilts his head back and closes his eyes.  The wind blows through his hair and whisks him away, no job, no crowded bus rides, no crying children.  For a moment, it’s just him on his bench.  

When he opens his eyes he’s unsure of what he’s looking at.  In front of him stands a small child, three years old at most.  It stands before him with a forgotten slice of what appears to be an apple clutched in its meaty hand, its eyes boring into Darren.  Without understanding why or how Darren keeps up the strange staring contest.  For reasons unbeknownst to him, he can’t break it.  (later on, while he’s laying in bed thinking back on this beguiling moment, he’ll come to the conclusion that small children are nature’s idea of a practical joke gone wrong and that what started off as a funny prank has now mutated and evolved into a creature similar to a gorgon or a banshee) 

“Robert!  Stop bothering that poor man!” A woman yells as she jogs towards the staring child.  “I’m so sorry, was he bothering you?”

“Oh, not at all,” Darren assures as Robert is picked up by his mother.  Darren looks up and smiles at the woman to make sure that she knows he wasn’t bothered.  

“Thank goodness.  Still, I’m so sorry.  He seems to be going through a staring phase, he’ll just look at anything!”  She laughs.  “But hey, I’d rather that than the constant crying.  You know?”

Darren nods.  He isn’t sure why this woman thinks that he would know but he doesn’t bother to ask.  She says goodbye to him and apologizes to him once more.  Darren waves goodbye.  His hand freezes midair as he once again makes eye contact with Robert, who has his head snuggled against his mother’s neck in a way that allows him to continue staring at Darren.  It isn’t until both mother and Robert have disappeared around a corner that Darren decides that he has spent enough time outside and packs himself up.  With a sort of half walk half gallop, Darren travels the short distance between his apartment building and the park in no time at all and is back in his room.  Safe from the chilling eyes of any wandering babies.  

Finally, Darren can unwind.  With a flick of his feet, his shoes are sailing through the air like demented doves.  They land ungracefully at the other end of the room but Darren doesn’t care, his mind already set on what he’ll be drinking tonight.  He decides on a cold beer that has been in the back of the fridge for longer than he’d care to admit.  One satisfying pop, fizzle and a bit too much foam later, Darren is comfortably sitting in bed sipping his second drink and reading a comic book.  He’s enjoying himself, something that doesn’t happen very often so he allows a bit of revelry.  

Then, off in the distance, a cry rings through the night.  

Darren ignores it.  He thinks that if he ignores it, then it won’t be real.  Of course, as we all know, that’s now how the world works.  Not long after, another cry emanates through the walls.  Then another.  And another.  Soon, a chorus of crying babies is serenading Darren.  Disgruntled, upset and slightly tipsy he tosses the comic books aside and buries his head underneath as many pillows as he can grab.  This tactic works for a few moments until the next wave of cries begins.  With a defeated sigh, Darren burrows beneath his covers and does his best to put himself to sleep through a series of chants that mostly consist of telling himself to fall asleep.  After what seems like hours, Darren finally begins to feel the heavy hand of fatigue working its way over him.  The last thought on his mind, how much easier it would be if he had a superpower to get away from everything.  

The bus to work was less full than the previous day and for that Darren was thankful.  He even got in a short nap.  This unexpected start to his day gave Darren such a rush that his coworkers noticed an uncharacteristically positive pep to his step.  That pep was instantly tarnished as soon as he boarded the bus that would take him home.  

Darren counted four babies as he walked up the middle aisle to a seat in the back.  There weren’t any single seats available so he took one beside a man in a baseball cap.  The man didn’t seem to notice Darren as he sat down, his attention glued to something outside the window.  Darren didn’t mind, he was too preoccupied with the sight of a fifth baby being wheeled in by a rather stressed looking father.  Now with five babies and the possibility of more, Darren mentally prepares himself for the audible audacity too come.  Surprisingly, nothing happens for the first leg of the trip.  It isn’t until the bus is stalled by some ongoing construction that everything begins to fall apart.  

To start off the metaphorical trainwreck, Darren’s phone dies.  It isn’t a major setback, but Darren prefers to listen to music when he travels only because it’s another way for him to block out the cries.  Slightly annoyed by his ill-preparedness he unplugs his earbuds and puts them back in his bag.  Almost on cue, a drill begins doing its job.  The repetitive nature of the drill can be soothing to some, but to almost everyone else it is an irritating noise that is equal to forks being scraped across a plate or the classic sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.  Amongst the population of people annoyed by the sound of concrete being drilled, are three out of five babies.  We won’t go into the complicated details of the two babies that didn’t seem to mind the loud and intrusive sound of drills.  Maybe they were used to loud noises at home, maybe they were so deep in their sleep that they wouldn’t have been able to hear it if the drills were right beside them.  What’s important is that three out of five babies began to cry almost simultaneously.  There wasn’t a collective sigh, but if there was Darren’s contribution would have been the loudest.  That would have been the second uncharacteristic thing of him to do that day, but after having his nearly perfect day ruined in an instant, Darren wasn’t up for caring about how others thought of him, or if he was being an inconvenience.  

“That’s gotta be rough, eh?”

Darren turns to look at the man in the baseball cap.  “I’m sorry?”

The man nods his capped head towards the three crying babies.  “That.  It’s gotta be rough having to deal with that all the time.”

“I guess so,” Darren shrugs.  Then without thinking, he adds.  “Kind of rough for the rest of us too.”

The man in the baseball cap smiles, his mouth twisting up so that his lips uncover some teeth.  For a second it looks like a sinister sneer but the man laughs and his entire demeanour shifts.  “Watch this,” He says.  

Darren watches in confused silence as the man points at the three babies, then at Darren then at Darren’s ears.  The man’s brow furrows with concentration as if he’s attempting a difficult math problem and not aimlessly pointing at people on a bus.  All of a sudden the man stops, turning to smile at Darren.  He waits expectantly like a child waiting on a parent to congratulate them after performing a gruelling task. 

“So?” He prompts, his voice giddy with excitement.  

Still confused, Darren frowns at the man.  “So?” He echoes.  

The man flicks Darren’s ear, an action that takes Darren a moment to digest.  Only when the man in the baseball cap taps his own ear does Darren understand what he is being prompted to do.  So with an exasperated sigh, Darren listens.  After not hearing anything besides the constant construction Darren rolls his eyes at the man.  

“I don’t hear anything except construction,” Darren replies wishing that he had taken the time to charge his phone before leaving work.  

“Exactly!” The man bubbles nearly jumping out of his seat.  “You only hear the construction!”

Darren smiles politely utterly confused by the man’s excitement over the sudden lack of crying babies.  The man giggles profusely as he watches the smile slowly disappear from Darren’s face as the gradual realization sets in.  

“I only hear construction,” Darren repeats quietly.  His eyes dart to the three out of five babies only to widen first with shock then panic as he sees their mouths open in silent screams.  “Why can I only hear construction?”

The man chuckles and gestures for Darren to lean closer, so Darren obliges.  “I have the power to filter out crying children.”

Quite suddenly, Darren takes in the man sitting beside him.  There isn’t anything immediately off putting about him.  His clothes seem freshly cleaned and he smells perfectly fine.  There isn’t even a shaggy beard decorating the man’s face.  Darren frowns at the man then at himself as he thinks about the biased image of a homeless individual that he has just conjured up.  

“So everyone on the bus can’t hear the babies?” Darren questions, giving the man the benefit of the doubt.  

“Oh heavens no, just you.  Can you imagine if the entire bus couldn’t hear them?  Those poor babies could be crying for a good reason and their parents wouldn’t be able to hear.  No, it’s just you.”

“But what if I need to hear the baby crying?”

This time the man in the baseball cap sighs.  “You know, the last person I gave this to didn’t question it as much.  But if you must know, you’ll be able to hear the cries if you urgently need to.”

“Okay, but how does-”

“I don’t know how it works,” The man interjects.  “I point and you don’t hear babies crying.  Is that not good enough?”

Darren silently nods, not wanting to seem ungrateful.  The man smiles before reaching up to pull the wire to signal the bus driver to stop. 

“This is your stop, no?” The man says, still smiling.  

“Y-yes, thank you.” Darren stutters, gathering his belongings as the bus slows.  

“Don’t worry about it.  Before you go, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Darren thinks for a moment, then with a smile of his own, he looks up at the man and tells him his plans.  The man in the baseball cap laughs and claps his hands, satisfied with Darren’s answer.  The bus doors swing open and Darren steps off.  Before he takes another step forward he looks back at the bus.  It’s already a fair distance away, but Darren catches a glimpse of the man’s cap through the window.  Perplexed by how his day has gone Darren skips his time on the park bench and opts to cook a slightly more complex dinner than he is used too.  

That night, Darren Howl slept through the night.  For the first time in months, he was not woken in the middle of the night by a blood curdling symphony that only Lucifer himself could have composed.  He woke up refreshed and ready to seize the day.  From that day on, Darren woke up ready and refreshed.  He no longer was burdened by the wailing babies of his neighbours and he felt great. 

Years go by, Darren has moved out of the apartment and into a small house.  After a few weeks of uninterrupted sleep, Darren found himself more energetic, more prepared for life.  He began standing up for himself more, and for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.  It’s amazing what a good sleep can do, isn’t it?  He still takes the bus to work and that’s where we find him right now.  

Darren sits in a window seat, watching the world pass by.  He doesn’t have earbuds plugged in, he has no need to drown anything out anymore.  A young woman sits down beside him.  He looks over and smiles at her, a greeting he hopes was perceived as pleasant.  She smiles back and looks down at her phone.  Darren in turn goes back to looking out the window.  As the bus begins to move forward it drives over a pothole.  

An ear-piercing wail rises up from the front of the bus.  

Darren is taken aback and looks at the crying baby.  The woman beside him sighs deeply.  Darren looks at the woman and sees how tired she is, the stresses of her life weighing down on her shoulders.  He turns to her.  

“That must be rough, huh?”

The woman looks at him, confused.  “I’m sorry?”

“That. It must be tough having to deal with that all the time.”

“I guess so,” She shrugs.  “It isn’t easy for anyone else either.”

Darren smiles.

“Watch this.”