A Life of Silence

The streets were always noisy, but I never noticed. It was 1:03 PM. The bus was already thirteen minutes late. I looked at my watch again, just to make certain that it still worked. It did. The city was busy as usual; angry taxi drivers stuck in the lunch-hour traffic, men and women hurrying to their next business appointments with their coat-tails flying behind them, and Sam Hedgerson selling his warm, steaming hot dogs on the corner. 

They never quite smelled fresh, and the color was always slightly more dull than they should have been, but no one visited Sam just for his cheap food. His crooked smile was welcoming and put everyone at ease. Judging by his customers' interactions and expressions, he possessed an incredible talent for making them feel like they were part of his family. For those who actually knew him, he was considered a dear friend and an essential part of the city, and for those who didn’t, they still always felt as if he had been their dearest friend for a lifetime. On the front of his cart, his name was spelled out in large, red letters. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known it. 

I took a deep breath. The slight scent of urine, dirt, and smoke always berated my nostrils, but it didn’t bother me. This was my city. My home. My everything. 

I always sat this way as I waited patiently for the incessantly late bus; my hands folded politely on my lap, my feet crossed, positioned underneath the green metal bench. It was hard and uncomfortable, but I refused to arrive at the bus stop on time. It was early, or never. I enjoyed the peaceful and quiet time alone, watching and wondering where everyone was off to in such a hurry. 

The air was cold and a slight breeze blew through the city. My nose was slightly red and puffy, and the edges were dried and stung from blowing into my handkerchief a few too many times. I enjoyed the cold. It was invigorating and made me feel alive. Perhaps it was only to make up for what I’d lost, but I am not one to ruminate on regret. 

A young woman with blonde hair and a newspaper appeared from my left and sat next to me and smiled. It was obviously out of politeness as she immediately went back to reading her paper. After she realized how late the bus was, she attempted to speak to me, I assume just trying to say hello. I didn’t answer. She wouldn’t understand me anyway. I smiled back and held up my watch again. It was now 1:10. I didn’t like to waste my time and decided it was long past due for a smoke. 

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my wooden pipe. I put the stem into my mouth and struck a match which momentarily lit up my face. The faint warmth of the fire grazed my cheek before disappearing as I passed it over my tobacco. I took a few puffs to get it started and threw my match away. If the woman sitting beside me asked me to stop smoking, I didn’t hear it. I watched the smoke billow and curl as I blew it into the air. The tobacco was fresh but cheap. A little more bitter than I had hoped for, but it’s all I could afford these days. 

I was lucky when Ms. Derson gave me a job at her own shop, despite my shortcomings. It was the only position in town where you were not required to speak to anyone else. It didn’t pay well, but a person in my condition couldn't be choosy and I was lucky to not be out on the street begging for money. 

Despite my father being the cause of my difficulties, I am glad of the one useful thing he did pass on to me. 

Watches. 

I can fix watches better than anyone in the city, but no one comes to you for business if they can’t talk with you. People are quite distrusting if you can’t at least idly chat about the weather, let alone ask how their children are doing. But I have gotten along just fine with Ms. Derson, tuning and fixing old watches that her customers brought in. She gave me my own workbench in the back of her shop and lets me sleep on the old, worn couch in the corner as long as I behave. I always have. I never understood why she had been so good to me. Her husband died over a decade ago and I think she just likes to have the company. Although I prefer to imagine that she lets me stay purely out of the goodness of her heart. 

Everyone around me suddenly jumped and looked toward the street. I studied the pedestrians' faces to see their expressions in hopes of better understanding what had happened. It took me a while to figure it out. Another automobile accident. The two drivers stormed out of their cars and gestured angrily at each other. I didn’t know what they were saying. 

I bent forward and looked down the street hoping for the bus to arrive. It was now 1:15. There were only more taxis and cars. 

I sat upright again, adjusting my plaid hat, and stared intently at the pairs of strangers standing and sitting in front of each other, smiling, their mouths moving, their teeth yellow and dull. I could only imagine what they were saying. Perhaps they were speaking of their families, talking about their loved ones or their jobs. It was an odd thing, ever wondering what people said to each other on a daily basis. 

My hands slowly reached up and touched both of my ears. I could feel them. I could see them in the mirror. But they weren’t the same as everyone else's. I felt like a fraud. 

Lost in my own thoughts, I hadn't realized that the bus had silently crept up on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the blonde woman gathering her things and stood up. My head lifted, and a smile graced my lips. It finally arrived. 

I checked my watch. 1:26.

Emptying my pipe, I stowed it away and rose to my feet. Grabbing my leather briefcase, I pulled up the lapels of my black and gray checkered coat to try and keep out as much wind as I could from my face. 

As I climbed into the bus, the conductor greeted me with a smile as I handed him my fare and returned the favor. 

Thomas. 

It was one of the very few names of anyone I knew. I wasn’t sure if he ever knew mine, but I hoped that he did. 

Thomas signed Hello with his hands and gestured down the aisle of the bus. I signed Hello Thomas back and graciously walked down the aisle to take my seat. 

Thomas didn’t know much sign language, but he did his best to make me feel welcome and heard. There was nothing special or unusual about my day, but as I took my seat and looked out the window, I felt content and happy.