The Hum.

The Hum.

I wanna talk to you about ‘The Hum’ and a conversation that happened that made me realize I lost it. You might not be following right away with this whole ‘hum’ business, and I wish I could explain it in a single word what that noise was, but by the end, you’ll know what I mean. Let me talk to you about Peter. 

Peter. 

Peter’s got the hum. Peter’s a New England white guy with a big beard and heavy eyelids that makes him look high—and he acted it too. Not that he smoked; he just wasn't cold to the world, wasn't warm to it, just a man going through the motions—content—and I envied that. Peter’s new to the office so I don’t know him very well; We both had girlfriends and I’m the one who did his in processing paperwork so we had little chats every now and again. Once, we talked about living with our romantic partners; this would be his first time and I was on my second. 

“You ever live with a girl before?” I’d asked. He’d shrugged. “Yeah. My roommate was a girl.” His voice was a gruff one, and he had a stick-country accent. Pennsylvania probably. 

I smiled. “That’s not what I meant. But how was that?” 

He didn’t return the favor, but his eyes gave away the amusement. A joke passed between us silently.

I looked away from him at my computer and said, “There’s just stuff that you gotta deal with. I never had bathroom trash cans before women started living with me. Or that they’ll clean the whole house randomly and then expect you to do the same. Nobody tells you that.” 

He looked away from me and smirked a little. Just for a second. “My girl’s not like that, she knows I’m a simple man. Just leave me alone with my video games and I’m happy.” 

We laughed. I quietly laughed at myself for being the same way a long time ago. I thought about the interim after childhood and before the pain of reality set in. I was 19, and I had a big group of friends I played too many video games with—Now I was smirking too. “They won’t just let you do that, especially your girlfriend.” 

His newness to the shop meant he didn’t have much to do, so he was watching a YouTube video about a guy digging a pool with his hands. His eyes were there with his hands drumming the table and his smile came back for a second. “Well if she doesn’t want me around, and I still got my video games, there’s not much she can do. What’s she gonna do? Break up with me?” 

An unexpected scoffing laugh left my mouth before I could stop it. There he was, that guy, with all the hum he could ask for. 

In the moment, I found him unaware of the coming issues I reckoned he'd have to deal with. I saw him as I was back then—when I could see it all falling apart with Lilly and I decided to just ride the lightning— and I guess I was trying to stress that the lightning hurt like hell. 

I'm sure he'll be fine; he's not me and might not have to learn the same lessons. I don’t know what it means to not chase perfect anymore, and I’m jealous of the guy. He’s got no itch to be That Guy, The Man. Not like Jacob thinks he is. 

Jacob 

Jacob has the hum too. He’s a chubby Latin-American guy with waves, a childlike smile, and a patchy beard. When you see him you’d think he's drenched in innocence. It's not that he wasn't experienced with life (he was older than me) but it was as if something terrible about living caught me and had eluded him. He reminded me of me when I was a kid and I thought I was the best thing since sliced cheese.

When he first got to San Antonio we didn't talk. He'd sat on the other side of the room and we didn’t have much business together; it wasn't until a short conversation about the office's discipline methods that I got him alone talking about life. He was friendly to me, and by the end we had an understanding of dislike towards the people who drank too much corporate Kool-Aid and did the enterprise by the book. He’d gotten in trouble for something or other by his supervisor, an old buddy of mine. 

“I wanted to get you alone because I’ve been here a long time, and there’s something like a cult here.” I’d said to him. I’d thought about what I’d say when I learned about his issues, and I scripted it out on a notepad to kind of memorize and collect thoughts before I came to him. 

“There’s these people who think they’re ‘The Law’. And they’ll screw you over like they did to you when you first got here. There’s really not much we can do about it, but you can learn from them—that one day you’re going to be ‘The Law’ and you get to decide if you’re going to act like it. And even if you are ‘The Law’, if you act like ‘The Law’, you’re gonna be a crappy person to other people.”

This was coming from personal experience with another co-worker in that office, so this was cathartic for me just as much as I felt it was good advice for him. 

“Yeah man,” he said, and stretched, “I had to deal with that in Germany. I had a couple of power hungry females that got all buddy-buddy with other power hungry females and had a little girls club going. Got a lot of shit for it. Thanks for the heads up that it’s like that here too man. I think I’ll be good though, I’ll just keep my head down.” I didn’t like the first time he said “females”, or any time after. 

For context: This was the only office I've ever been to past training. Jacob was from an overseas office that was more relaxed about discipline. I figured this informed his attitude at work, so the warning was scripted on my end and appreciated on his. After this conversation, he told me how great Germany was and that he would "Ganges Khan" through Europe on his days off. After hearing that, I figured this last shop also informed his attitudes on women. 

Jacob talked about women like they were just stories, damsels swooning over him like he was a knight in shining armor. I didn't say anything. Guys like Jacob don't listen to arguments in the middle of story-swapping conversations. He’s not a bad guy for it, he just doesn’t have to think about it; the consequences don’t ever catch up to him. I felt jealous—He was so untouched and naÏve and unbothered by what was right and what was wrong, what he did and what they did. Innocent, somehow. I wanted that, deep down. 

It's not like I'm all high and mighty, either. I also had experiences with women that affected me, and I used to be cocky and self-sure and jolly. The pull and push of a man wanting a woman had propelled me along for my whole life, honestly. Hell, I was only there in San Antonio because of a woman. My first woman. 

Lilly. 

Lilly

I’d met Lilly in high school, back when she and I had the hum. I was a dumb kid with a stupid smirk on my face all the time; my peers were all black and brown and latino and I was a novelty, a white kid coming in sophomore year from Hawaii. You might think it wouldn’t be a fun time, but I liked being different, and I liked fitting in, and when I got to do both I felt invincible. The world was mine now that I was out of my mom’s and stepdad’s house and into my dad and stepmom’s; they let me cut my hair and wear clean clothes and run a twenty-mile trail on my bicycle every day and live a little. The fishing-rod sound of my bike kept with me even when I wasn’t riding, and it settled into a humming noise that meant happiness. I got the hum out there on that North Carolina river trail with my calves burning and the bike speeding along. 

Before I met Lilly, I had never really been in a relationship. I’d fooled around, sure, but I’d come out of an abusive home in my early years into a stable nuclear family pretty recently so it was all new. New friends, new girls, new cultures to integrate myself into. And Lilly caught my eye while another girl pulled me down the hallway to get breakfast. 

I smiled, that big care-free smile like a kid in a candy store when I passed Lilly for the first time. I had big wild hair and a skinny-fit body and I had it in my head that I was the hottest stuff around. I knew what I looked like; I was a cute boy being pulled by a cute girl down the way and I was giving my attention to her instead. Lilly often recounted, especially as our relationship came to a close much later, that she was thrilled by that moment. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” I stopped Yanialis, the girl pulling me, for a second, to talk to the girl standing there.

“Me?” She pointed at her chest. It was cute. “Lilly.” Her voice was soft, and high, and sounded like a million valentines days and love letters and sweet songs on my guitar. I couldn’t have imagined it better myself. 

This was the alt-emo girl of any guy’s dreams; She had a bunch of piercings on her face, homemade jean-shorts, a wolf-cut dyed black, and green doe-y eyes that seemed so beautiful I couldn’t help but stare into them. Lilly was the most beautiful girl I’d seen and I had nothing else to say. She had me hooked then by just a name. Lilly.

“Lilly? Okay. I’ve gotta remember that.“ and there was that care-free grin again to get Lilly to blush, and I let myself get pulled away by Yani. Looking back, there was a steady hum of love and innocent sweetness that seemed like it grew just a little bit louder in that crowded hallway that day. I’d never noticed it because it’d always been there, like wind rushing around your ears that you tune out when you’re a baby. We met up again and the rest was history. Just history.

I had come to San Antonio chasing after that girl from high school, giving up going to Japan and living out my dreams of seeing the world. Nobody blamed us, really, just called us stupid. What can I say? We thought we were in love. I married her at eighteen, and we moved into our first apartment together. It was spur of the moment and felt like the best decision in the world. We had both been anticipating sex and not much else, and we both had no idea how to be adults. That combination was never a good one and it all ended with her in Washington and me still in San Antonio. The divorce was messy, and that fishing-rod sound- that hum of youthful innocence-stopped playing so loud. 

Do I blame her? No. I blame the naïvety and security that the hum lulls you into; How many old folks told us we couldn’t beat the odds? How many people told me she wasn’t any good? How many people shook our heads at my sweet, sweet innocence? Too many to count. I was doomed the moment I came out of the womb and the hum got to me; doomed to never know how much I needed it. 

Rick.

So there I was; I’d stopped listening for my bicycle anymore, and I kept my head down and lived off the praise of others working a job I told myself I loved. Jacob and Peter sat next to me at work one day, and they were talking about something or other like two new guys with little to do will do, and I was clocked out of the conversation doing my job. Nathan, a big white guy with a bushy mustache and an obsession with talking about coffee, had come up to me to talk to me about work. A chair was next to my desk, and he'd slouched in it with a clear mug full of brown liquid in his hand. Nathan was the kind of guy who ironically said "perchance" without realizing he looked like a man who said "perchance”. It came as no surprise whenever he spoke like he did right then.

"So I heard you know things," Nathan said dramatically. It was endearing. It was funny. Nathan got the hum out of the stuff he said and we all knew it.

Jacob looked at Peter. His eyes lit up, and he smiled that carefree smile like a kid in a candy store. Peter looked back, stone-faced. 

Jacob was still flashing his smile, now with a below-the-hip finger pointed at him. "I told you, man! Every time anybody needs to know something, it's always Rick they come to."

Peter gave a smirk away before coming back to his serious face. "He's like Superman. 'Save me! Save me, Rick!'" Peter cried in a falsetto voice, waving his hands but keeping his stone face. Everyone giggled. Nathan turned to Peter and Jacob. "I just know he knows things, and if I needed help working out, I would've gone to Tavon." He nodded at Tavon, a big, fit guy, and Tavon thumbed-up from his desk without looking. 

The below-the-hip finger point swung to me, and Jacob looked at Nathan. The grin was less prominent, but the eyes were still wide and smiling. "I'm just saying this is the fifth time someone's approached him today. He knows too much."

Peter looked at me. "Yeah, what's it like to be ‘The Man’ Rick?" 

I was embarrassed. I felt like I was fooling the both of them; I didn't feel like ‘The Man’ but I knew I'd been clawing to be ‘The Man’ for the past five years here. At twenty, people told me I couldn't come to meetings, and they'd wave me away when I asked too many questions. When the divorce happened at twenty-one, I'd been assigned to a six-month stint with another team and people forgot about me. It was only recently, at twenty-three, that I didn't have to get up with my little notebook and walk over to every desk to make sure I couldn't help them. They'd started coming to me. They felt relieved when they saw me because they knew I could help. I had respect, but I still didn't feel like "The Man.”

That woman I worked with who acted like "The Law" was "The Man.” She had everything down pat, and I was scared to be around her and have her come down on me for not knowing or doing something. She was in the minority of people who hated my guts, but I didn't blame her; I hated my guts, too. These guys didn't see all the mess-ups. They were new. I couldn't help but smile, though. It was nice. 

"I'm not 'The Man’, dude." 

Peter straightened up a little. "Yes, you are. People think you know everything or you have the answers. It's gotta feel good. Coming here from my last job, I feel like a baby."

Jacob's grin came back. "I felt just like that right before I left Germany. I felt like 'The Man.' And I walked around like it too. Nobody messed with me."

Nathan asked his question and I answered dutifully exactly what he needed to know. As he walked away, I wondered— Why had I wanted to be The Man? Why did I spend the last five years trying so damn hard? 

This was the first time I really listened for the hum, that fishing rod sound I’d lost without noticing years ago. I strained to hear it. I couldn’t. 

The Hum

Somewhere along the way, I achieved what I had set out to do, and people knew me as the guy who knew things. Somewhere along the way, I had honed the skills I needed to be the best at what I did. And somewhere along the way, I had only gotten less and less happy. I was already five years deep into this job, and there was no backing out, especially now that an enterprise crack team with no red tape and a shiny opportunity upstate were picking me up. The little conversation made me realize that the hum of joy I found had gotten quieter, and there wasn't any way to turn it back up now. I didn’t know how, not anymore. I could probably get back on the bike too, and I could ride forever, and that fishing-rod wouldn’t ever sound the same. I just knew it. 

Maybe the crack team upstate will help. Maybe the hum is waiting for me there in quiet content that guys like Peter found. But what if it’s not? What if I’ll never get that back? 

Maybe that’s the cost of growing up, you don’t get to hear the wind whooshing in your ears like when you were a baby and you don’t get to be as happy as you once were. Or maybe I’m wrong, or maybe it was never there, and I’ve been chasing something that was never real.