Disappearance

There was something more important to Derek than his homework; It was the soft buzzing sound resonating from the lamp dimly lighting his desk. In fact, depending on his mood, every sound that filtered through his ears arrived like music. The music of sound was a space where he could breathe calmly. He could lay or sit in his pajamas and let the soundwaves carry him through the minutes and hours of his life.

He could listen to the sweeping and chaotic orchestral movements of Beethoven, or listen to the calm ambiance of space music for hours without losing himself. It would feel as if he had escaped to another realm of being, as if the planes that carried touch and taste and smell and see beckoned to the broaching glom of sonic spaciousness.

His joy was, perhaps then, upset by his gradual hearing loss. As he had reached his early twenties, doctors gave him grave personal news; his hearing was being lost, one decibel after another. By the time he reached thirty years old, he would no longer be able to hear the high-pitched melodies that overfilled the brims of every song he loved. When thirty-five would arrive, the loss would be all of it.

The next realization hit harder—save his hearing or save his walking. As he sat at his desk journaling and reflecting on his life, everything remained frozen into the late nighttime hours. One a.m. struck and he could feel no different than he did before. The weight of his choices dimmed his optimism. He could either lose hearing or hiking, and he clung to both throughout the entirety of his life thus far.

His desk remained lit softly by the lamp. As the buzz droned at just the right tone, Derek could make sense of where its resonance lay in relation to his quiet office room and the faint doom metal music droning along in neighboring apartments.

Would it be the last night to hear the roaring commotions of his drunk, heavy metal neighbors? Or would it be tomorrow that he would arrive by wheelchair, arms and hands rolling him along, unable to walk, but able to hear?

—

They cut a chunk of flesh out, then let the wounds settle with gauze and overriding sanitizer, the same as when wounds are healed with water, cotton balls, and a bandaid. Whether this was comfortable didn’t matter to Derek. What mattered was something was being done. Something necessary. He had waited as both his hearing and imbalances wore him down. Whether he was slamming his shoulder into doorways or slipping and sliding on solid concrete, he would finally come to be himself.

The only perceptible sense that followed was a muffled numbness. His eyes were closed even as the vague shadowy darkness of the hanging lamplight still shone through from above. He could make out some of what the surgeons were saying, but he couldn’t remember any of it.

He heard the alleyway piano of Chopin’s “Nocturne” as it stretched through his neuroanatomical pathways. He could feel the piano keys be pressed down as the short composition swept through varying degrees of contemplative curiosity and joyfulness. Yet all he could do was feel it. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t perform it. He couldn’t hear it beyond the confines of his mind.

He lay on the hospital bed entrenched in lack of control. He felt no pain as anesthesia put him under. Would he be himself after the week was over, or would he be someone unrecognizable both physically and mentally?

—

The kitchen light in his apartment remained on and created stretched strings of shadows across the living room.

Back at his apartment, he collapsed onto the couch. The sofa sunk inward, his cheeks squished against an assortment of square and rustic red pillows embroidered with dark green flowers. The glass coffee table sat in front of him, and the TV screen remained blank. His vision blurred as he blacked out again, this time succumbing to the encroaching dark of the early evening.

This was life as he wanted it. He trailed through his cocoon of dreams. He crossed the slopes of mountains, traversed the halls of castles, and fled through the depths of space in a fighter ship through faster-than-light galactic police chases. This was the space where the sounds of the mind overtook him. Spaceship thrusters, neighing horses, the crumbling steps of rock, dirt, bushes, and grass illuminated the vast dynamics of his sleep state.

—

While he was limited in his mobility, this time he managed to make his way over to his neighbor’s door and knock. As the door opened, symphonic metal blared through the speakers from the corner kitchen, and his neighbor looked at Derek with intrigued surprise.

“Hey, Derek! Long time no see. What happened? Why are you in a wheelchair?” Asked his neighbor Terrence. Terrence looked at Derek and listened intently

Derek replied, “It was either I lose my hearing or I lose my walking. I chose to keep my hearing.”

“Well, all the better for it! Come on in!” Shouted Terrence.

The music shifted to classic rock, and a 1970s acoustic guitar echoed through the speakers. Since Derek lived on the ground floor, he had no staircases to walk up.

The music continued, coagulating with the rustling wind outside the apartment. A window in Terrence’s apartment had a riverside view in the distance, and Derek sat between both the couch and window. Terrence stood in the kitchen and searched through the fridge, looking to find a drink for Derek.

Terrence grabbed sparkling water for Derek. Derek didn’t drink liquor, but he did enjoy the fizz and scent of orange sparkling water.

“Tell me, Derek, what are you going to do now that you can’t walk?”

“I’m probably going to do what I’ve always done. Sit on the couch and wonder about life. Music and sound are great tools for contemplation.”

“I, totally, agree! Music is life my dude. We only have so much time to make for ourselves on this Earth. Might as well make it in music.”

Derek agreed with the sentiment. He took a small gulp of his sparkling water and let the fizz settle on his tongue before swallowing. He resided in the momentary silence between Terrence and himself.

He continued to listen as the song over the bluetooth speaker increased in volume and intensity. It strung through various strummed chords before ascending into a lengthy guitar solo.

Derek heard the fridge as the buzz of electricity ran through the backside of it. He looked out the window and heard the river swishing and swashing a mile away.