Radio Head

I enjoy the aching void of silence.

I love when my mind is quiet. All the voices are stilled, and there is nothing between myself and the upcoming dawn, but a cozy bed, and seven hours. I don’t care about the moon, what conjunction is where, or what misty celestial emissions may affect my dreams. I don’t have dreams. I don’t want them.

According to my therapist, I have auditory hallucinations.

The voice isn’t real, he says.

Well, then why, when it shows up, do things become real?

The last time I had the voices warn me, was at that bachelor party for my brother. We stayed out late, doing the bar crawl, like you usually do. It was way past my bedtime, and I was feeling exhausted, and I could hear a radio station over the drone of the alcohol buzzing through my veins. Whenever I try to focus on that radio, I can’t hear it- just whether it’s playing country, or Celtic, or business commentary, or punk rock.

But if all the noise fades, it’s followed by a sharp voice, like a military commander: “You, yes, you!” And then it gives me orders. And I’d better follow them, or else.

At the bachelor party, the music was so damn loud, all I could hear was that infernal untz untz untz beat. Infuriating! I went outside to smoke, and then all I could hear was some jerkwad with NPR on their speakerphone so loud, that I jumped out of my skin when the rest of the party appeared. They were trying to tell me something, I couldn’t hear over some damn fool blasting their liberal bias against whatever and I wasn’t even paying attention, but it was so loud and you could hear the blast of untz untz untz every time the damnfool door opened, can’t hear a word my brother is shouting, I can see his lips move but no sound-

And it all went away, all the sound, and I heard that Voice again: “GRAB YOUR BROTHER BEFORE THE CAR RUNS HIM OVER, NOW!”

I was moving before my brother started to trip, before the car’s tires began to screech. I grabbed him by the back of the shirt, he was tripping and going to fall right in front of the car zooming by, it was all so fast-

And I slammed him back, no time to be gentle, but did he care? No, I’m trying to rough him up before his big day! Ungrateful ass. I’m trying to save his life! Fine, be that way, I’m out. If his silly-ass bride don’t wanna marry him with a black eye and a bruised shoulder, ‘cuz it don’t fit her aesthetic, would prefer to bury a corpse, well, go love yourself.

I was done with that crap, but I heard later, that her brother died in a botched robbery. That’s brutal. I would say that Death missed his chance to get his hands on a real bitch, though, dunno why he whiffed that call. Wrong sibling, dude, get it right next time.

Time before that, kinda the same. Out partying, way past my bedtime, ‘bout two in the morning, noise overload, noise stops, Voice override, I follow it, save a life. Yay me, right?

‘Cept, someone else always dies.

I’m an orphan, in case you don’t see the connection. And they were nice people. They didn’t deserve what happened to them.

So I go to bed early now. By nine, I’m in bed. Everything is turned off. I live away from the street, behind some screening bushes, and my place has been soundproofed with thick windows and shag carpeting. Take my little pill, take my big pill, and I don’t have to think about anything, my therapist says.

But now the boss tells me I have to keep my phone on.

I tell him to shove it, ‘cuz I ain’t no on-call dog, to come when he whistles. Put it in my contract, or it ain’t happening. Well, he don’t like that, so now he sends one of the other guys ‘round to bang on my door. The first one, I tell not to do that ever again. The second, I put up against the door, rattled him a little bit. Word got round, the rest refused. Smart guys. Then boss himself comes round to do his own dirty work.

I avoided charges, though I’m very much fired. Good riddance, really. Maybe the boss will get out of the hospital soon.

But I’m worried, because I can hear the ringing in my ears.

I know what’s coming. The ringing will get louder, and louder, I’ll hear a radio station, try to tune in, and then I won’t be able to hear myself think, then the Voice will tell me to do something…

My therapist tells me I can short-circuit it. My therapist says there are ways to break the cycle.

My therapist isn’t here when the radio voice kicks in. Apparently it’s tuned to the pop hits station tonight.

I… can’t. I just can’t.

If someone’s going to die, I would rather it be someone who really deserves it, not some rando picked out by Fate. Or Death. Or the Voice.

No help for it, I guess. I go and get the special knife. I hide it well, but not well enough. I always know where I’ve put it.

I can’t get to the ex-boss, too many people in the hospital. Besides, he’s not going to be very mobile for a long, long time.

But, there’s this other co-worker, laughs every time he talks about throwing his old lady around…

I don’t know where he lives, but I can park away from the warehouse. I know what his old beater truck looks like. I can watch while the crew shares a last cigarette before going their separate ways after work, can follow him home.

And I can clean up after, and take a souvenir that no one will notice.

To remind the radio to keep quiet. To remind the radio who’s really in charge.

Won’t the therapist be pleased? I didn’t hear the Voice, not even once.

The ringing settles to a very low, very pleasant buzz, and I can get to sleep.

I am fine when I wake up, refreshed.

I am calm enough to look for another job, and find one rather quickly. Most factories don’t worry about dock workers, even if the guy they’re hiring roughed up the last boss. They figure, he probably deserved it. Which he did.

I go home, and I go to bed regularly.

My therapist is pleased. I am pleased.

Till some of the local hooligans figure out I drink a lot of beer.

They broke into my shed while I was at work. Stressful, but I only keep my lawnmower in there, and it was obvious they weren’t interested in my twenty-year-old monster grass cutter.

The locks on my house are significantly more sturdy, which they found out. Damaged the frame real good. I ain’t happy.

I took the next day off from work, told them I had to fix the damage. What I did instead, is I moved my truck, and unlocked the back door.

And waited.

I hadn’t slept the night before. Stress turned my silence into a buzz, buzz had risen sharply, sounded like a mosquito trying to land on my ear. I was twitchy, fidgety, and the whine rose to something that sounded like a demented aria, like Wagner had another brilliant idea for a second Ring Cycle.

I had my special knife ready.

You see, shag carpeting is an excellent sound proofer. Like the lifer told me once, you can commit gruesome murders in a room that has shag carpeting. No one outside will know what’s going on.

I’m very good at cleaning. And I get no visitors.

And I was guessing my trespassers didn’t tell anyone else about their target, for fear they’d have to share the spoils of the operation.

Luckily, I was right that they’d return the next day.

I let them get past the kitchen, into the living room, before I came out of hiding. Only three? Thin, but wiry, so I have to be careful, make every strike count.

They weren’t expecting me.

And I was between them, and the only way out. The rest, I had locked in such a way, that they couldn’t figure it out in time.

It took a bit of time, and they fought well, but I had the advantage of knowing the layout – and where the traps were set.

Luckily, it didn’t make much of a mess, and I didn’t take too much damage. I cleaned up well.

That night, there was no help for it. I got my truck back, and loaded up the mess, and drove out of town.

Out in the desert, there are plenty of places to dump stuff. The desert just seems to swallow it up, but I think it ruins the place. Who wants to look at trash?

My old man’s old man had a small mine out here. The silver played out before my old man was born, but it’s good for hiding… messes.

The aria has been playing for, what, two days straight? I’m getting worried, but I take the dirt road off the back road, away from the highway. I can do this part in the dark, and I do – no one else needs to know I’m out here.

I deal with the mess. It can be ignored, like all the other messes I’ve dropped down there, over the years.

And I get back, turn on my lights again when I can scope out the highway, make sure no one sees me magically appear out of the dark. It’s usually clear this time of night. Morning?

Why is the opera still going strong?

A half-hour later, I come across a breakdown. Facing me on the tiny highway, one lane each way, going from a bit of somewhere, to nowhere.

Hell, they’re just kids, lost in the desert. My truck’s not distinctive, but it’s old, and I took care but didn’t properly clean the bed out yet, and I don’t want any witnesses-

And the hellish opera stops, dead cold. The Voice says, “SAVE THEM. GET THEM HOME.”

Dammit!

I slow, stop. Their faces look terrified in my headlights.

They know the predators come out at night.

But I pop out. “What happened to you? How can I help?”

Poor, brave boy. “Engine just died, mister. Doesn’t even turn over. We can’t get it started back up.”

“Hmm. Where did you last gas up?”

“At the Last Gas, outside Lonesome Rock. Signs for miles, telling you to.”

“Yeah, figured. That’s guy’s not right in the head.” I grab my emergency bottle of dry gas, glance quickly around the bed, making sure there’s no smudges from my last cargo. “He likes to water the gas at night. I’ve never trusted him, I fill up earlier, over in Little Dove. Let’s see if this fixes it.” I pop it in the tank, close it, squeeze in behind the wheel, turn the key. A tiny sigh, burp burp. “Well, that’s the problem, but he really watered it down. You’ll need to go back to town, get a wrecker, come back out. But that’s a tomorrow problem. Scavengers may destroy your car, anyway, so grab anything you wanna keep, let’s get you back to safety.”

They were nervous, and with every right. How were they to know I wouldn’t off them? ‘Cept for the Voice, I might have. But they don’t need to know that.

But they grabbed their stuff, tossed it in the bed. I gave them the option of riding with it, or up front with me, whichever made them more comfortable. They chose cab.

It was quiet back, about an hour. I like quiet.

They kinda twitched when I drove past the station in Lonesome Rock, but I snorted a bit. “I ain’t kidding when I said I don’ trust ‘im. One of the reasons I wanted you and all your stuff out, is that I think he intentionally strands people in the desert, then sends a crew out to pop ‘em off. People vanish all the time in the desert, no one looks for ‘em. Can’t pin anything on ‘im, he’s that slippery. I’m bettin’ your car will be gone come morning, and they’ll be checkin’ for tracks. Well, he can screw himself, he ain’t gettin’ you two. Can you get a ride from Little Dove, when we get there?”

The boy waved his cell phone weakly. “I’ll have cell coverage about a half-hour before we hit that town, I can.”

“Good, you make that call when you have enough bars. I’ll fill up, make sure your ride’s got ya, and scoot on home. Gotta get to work early.”

And sure enough, it all went smooth as pie. I was still filling my tank when their ride pulled up, and I saluted them as they took off.

Now, to get myself home.

And pick up some paint, and change the color of my truck.

And get some sleep, now that my head was quiet.

And pop some pills come morning, because I don’t want the Voice coming back.

And you need to deal with that gas station jackal, and his cronies, whispered the voice of my therapist.

“I know, I know,” I muttered.

And take some time to talk to me properly, you need to get your radio head under control. Proper time to talk, not this little bit here, little bit there.

“I’m trying! Tell people to leave me alone, so I can get some good sleep!”

Sure, sure. You’ve done good. Don’t forget to hide that knife good and proper, though you might need it again soon. To get some questionable gas.

“Need my sleep,” I mumbled.

It’s all right. You will soon. Let’s get home. Don't forget to take your meds this time.

And I did. The slap of the tires on the road was rather soothing, but I love being in my home. Complete silence.

Nice. And quiet. Very, very quiet.