Bone Conductor

Mr. Whisker's purr, my brother's laughter, Mother's last words... the spreading tumors gnawed down everything, and all I could afford to do was stare.

A low, metallic hum uncoils inside my skull as my fingers automatically stroke the screw behind my ear.

Never again.

I have a second chance, and I will take it.

Got it from a pawnshop: secondhand second chance.

How can something so small be so life-changing? It's my engagement ring all over again; I squeeze the little thing inside the palm of my hand and let my mind drift towards the possibilities this new life will offer.

The window in front of me shakes ever so slightly, crisp morning sun breaking into tiny dots on its wooden frame. Then come the vibrations. They plunge straight at my sternum and resonate inside my lungs. I see the truck revving over the speed bump.

"Thud". I think it goes "Thud."

More vibrations. These are longer but more compact. Something is being dragged. They climb through my feet. A chair scraping across the tiled floor of the diner.

"Screeeep" goes the chair.

What more?

The distant pitch of a human voice. Like when Mom used to scream that dinner was ready and I was lying at the bottom of our bathtub. I can make out the pitch and direction.

How long have you been standing there?

A waitress. It must have been a while before she felt comfortable raising her voice so close to my ear. She must be annoyed. Her lips stretch words through a forced smile, and my reconstruction of her voice begins.

"...can I get you today?" Cousin Violet's voice. Demanding, impatient, childish.

"Coffee." My voice booms inside my head. Loud, authoritative. I think. I won't be the one apologizing here.

Oh, lookie lookie! Ding goes the bell.

The main door opens with an abrupt temperature displacement; the gust of air reaches all the way to my flushed cheeks. The familiar rhythm resonates on the floor, alerting me to Matt's steps.

Blood accelerates, forcefully pushing against the arteries of my neck, as my body longs to feel his hands. He smiles at me across the room before getting closer and leaning in for a kiss. I look down. His lips land on my forehead. They are chapped and slightly scratchy. I used to love kissing him... before the sound of my tongue moving around became too much to bear.

I will explain. Just not today.

"...order..." The memory of his soothing, buttery voice plays in my head as he leaves to chase the waitress.

Today I have a different surprise for him. I waited to share this with him first. I open my hand, and the small, plastic, boxy thing looks back at me. One power button. One hole for a screw.

The drumming of my heart pushes violently inside my temples, as shaking hands place the little thing behind my ear. Align it with the screw, then push it in.

A champagne cork pops inside my head as the device connects to my skull. Here we go. I press the button and...

A screeching chime, meant to be music, I'm sure, violates every corner of my mind.

"This wasn't meant for you. Have it tuned by a professional first." The pawnshop teller's last words.

They hit differently now.

Then, unforeseen and uninvited, everything crawls inside me all at once. No distance, no direction, no walls. All the chatters, clunks, and squeaks roll directly into my brain, through the bones of my skull. It's sickening, but I fight to keep my fingers away from the "off" button.

I want to hear Matt.

I close my eyes and focus on the memory of his voice. When we first met, I was normal. God, I loved his voice!

Like an old radio, the device crackles and buzzes with static before I can manage to tune into specific sounds. Glass shattering on the floor, followed by a gushing fluid. A coffee pot? A waitress apologizing.

Let me hear Matt, please. Just let me hear Matt.

Through the sea of distorted voices, I can finally latch onto Matt's familiar cadence. His voice sounds distorted, though. Not what I remember at all, but it's him, and my heart skips a beat. A beat I realize I cannot hear.

"Here. Let me get that for you." He's supposed to be ordering. What could he be getting for her? Wait, someone's giggling. Is she giggling?

"She was wearing a ring... aren't you two engaged?" The waitress sounds flustered.

"I... she wouldn't let me... but she can't hear, you know." They are too far away. Is his hand on the bar or on her waist?

"Oh, I see." She leans towards him; their faces are getting closer and closer, then a man in the booth in front of mine stands up, and I can't see anything. But they're not talking anymore.

Is she... are they? Get the hell out of my way, dude!

By the time I can see again, Matt made his way back to the table. Smiling sheepishly, clutching the receipt too tightly.

"Did you get her number?" I point at the bit of paper in his hand.

My voice betrays me. It runs within me, but it's picked up and fed into the device too. Distorted and amplified, this twisted version of me screaming at Matt is more than I can bear now. I twist and scratch the processor off my skin. With a single gasp, the world goes silent again.

Matt's lips are moving frantically.

"What could you possibly have heard?" His brows arching, that curve on his mouth, the creases on his nose. I know all that. Disdain. Of course, your pathetic deaf fiancée cannot hear anything. I fill my lungs with air and blow it all in his face with one clear statement.

"You are done gaslighting me!" I flail my arms wide in emphasis, and feel the sudden hurt of a hard material against my knuckles. Before I can turn to see it, I feel the vibrations of something heavy and fragile hitting the floor, while a few splashes of hot liquid reach my ankles.

The waitress is there, an apologetic look on her face.

"How many more things do you plan on breaking?" I sneer at her face. She fakes confusion and mouths some apologies. I'm not falling for that.

I've had enough. Fuck both of them.

I wander through the streets on autopilot, chewing on my cuticles. It sounds like someone is throwing around wet towels full of gravel in my head. I hate chewing.

When my brother opens the door, I throw my hands around him, and he immediately understands that something went on with Matt.

"I never liked him." His voice is that of actor Ryan Reynolds. Brilliant, expressive, full of charm.

God, what kind of awful person forgets her own brother's voice?

"All men are pigs." He signs with a fierce protective look.

"But you are a man." I tease him.

"Oink oink," goes his nose as he flares his nostrils before heading for the kitchen.

"Then what is your dark secret?" I scream after him.

My hand finds the device inside my pocket. I forgot to tell him about it. Now, even distorted, I long to hear his voice. I want to know what my real brother sounds like, so I screw the sound processor back on. With a tight pop, it lets the whole world flood my head again.

Through the buzzing and crackling, I start to filter out the water cooker, a television, an old clock chiming. I count three beats. The one in front of me is sitting at 2:58.

Neighbour's?

Finally, my brother's voice. I know it's coming from the kitchen, but it feels as if he was talking inside my own thoughts.

"I am your father. Happy now?" His voice is skewed by the device, but I recognize the familiar rhythm and pitch. There's no remorse. No explanation. This wasn't meant for me to hear... It cannot be. He's always been there for me ever since Mom passed. He loved her too... yet he refused to visit when her brain unraveled. Was he afraid she'd tell me something?

She did!

She did try to tell me something; in those last days she tried many times, but I couldn't hear her anymore. Oh God! I want to throw up. Or run. Or both.

But he is back from the kitchen.

"You sick bastard," I hear myself whisper, as my voice is looped and slanted by the device again. I hate it. I tear off the thing from my skull, tumbling into the underwater sounds of my body.

I see his mouth shaking as he carries a tray with tea and cookies. He laughs. Was it so exhilarating to air your dirty secrets out, thinking I couldn't hear? Do you enjoy that power, Dad?

"Can't tell me to my face, huh?" I zero in on him.

He mouths something I don't have the patience to follow along with. My whole body is shaking with rage.

"Tell me your secret again. Tell me!" I step closer and closer to him with every word. His mouth moves some more.

Vibrations from the nearby clock reverberate three times inside my chest.

I see his body language grow increasingly hostile.

Then it comes, the admission; he mouths it to my face this time. I catch a fragment of it on his lips.

"...your father. Happy now?" His voice now sounds slimy and gross. He doesn't deserve Ryan's charms anymore!

"You sick bastard," I whisper again, unsure whether inside or outside my head.

He stands there, cheeks ablaze, body frozen. An expression I cannot quite place. Barely holding the tray with the steaming mugs. No eye contact.

One moment. One bump. Nothing can take it back.

The tray feels cold and slick against the palm of my hand. It flies upwards. The mugs stumble upon one another and empty their scorching contents in his face. It contorts with pain and disbelief.

Didn't expect me to react, huh?

I turn around and leave.

Cold air dampens my rage.

Goddamned pawnshop! I just wanted to hear my loved ones' voices... not their secrets. Air grumbles in and out my lungs as I sigh. "Loved ones". Were they ever?

I let my body lead me through the streets as today's discoveries roll inside my brain. I cannot face them now. I need a safe place. The one place where we're all equally deaf, mouthing silently at each other: the library. But what am I even supposed to do here?

I stop a few steps before the information booth and wait, as if a decision about the rest of my life could be delivered by the right book. A light tapping on my shoulder. A female pitch. I turn towards it and see a middle-aged woman mouthing something.

Slow down, lady, slow down.

I fish the device out of my pocket and screw it back on.

With the pop and buzz comes a rush of realization. Everyone is lying to me all the time. And they talk freely when they think I cannot hear.

The sounds of the room assault my brain again.

Scratching of pens on paper. Frantic page-turning. Gossiping about a weird girl pirouetting in the middle of the room.

Then, something else.

Something... wet.

A gurgle. A thud. Screaming.

So much screaming!

Many voices... pleading for their life.

Splattering. Squishing. Rolling.

Running feet. Rattling of handles. Locked doors.

Where is it all coming from?

I turn in every direction, crossing eyes with the students. They look concerned. Someone whispers in a friend's ear while pointing at me.

As I keep spinning, no sound matches what I see.

Panicked screams. Stampeding of legs. Thudding of falling bodies. They ring in my head, while all I see are students packing their bags with increasingly concerned looks.

The floating of my batting lashes ricochets into the sound processor like bullets from a crazed machine gun. It loops, amplified, distorted. But it won't stop the sounds of a relentless carnage playing inside my brain.

I press my hands against my eyes until they fill with a starry sky.

It's over...

...or is it starting?

"Miss, are you ok?" The middle-aged lady's voice reaches my head.

You won't get me too!

A bellowing roar echoes inside me as I open my eyes, but I'm not in the library hall anymore.

When did it get night?

The street hums with passing cars. In front of me, the window of what used to be the pawnshop. Sooty and churned up, barely standing. It must have burned down a long time ago. In the shattered window, I glimpse the figure of a young woman caked in layers of rust and rot.

A chime of dying batteries plummets me into the sounds of my own body again. The blood pumping inside my chest is slow. Almost deliberate.

I twist and detach the device. It nests in the pale skin of my hand. My clean hand. I raise it, walking towards the window.

A few seconds later, my reflection raises her hand too. We touch. I see layers of flaked, stale blood encrusting her. The glass moves ever so slightly, thrilling to the vibration of the tiny gadget in my hand.

Sound waves climb the bone of my arm, clawing their way through my shoulder and collarbone, scraping the vertebrae in my neck, intruding into my skull.

A voice.

One that I heard muffled and distorted for many years. It's clear now. My voice. It says:

"Guess what's next?"