I feel that lately I've encountered many people that seem to feel as if they're unremarkable in some way, needing someone to reassure them of their worth. This common theme reminded me of my sweet friend, Martin. Martin, however, is not real. He is a character in a short story I wrote last year. Because it's a gloomy day, and you're probably not wanting to get out of bed (if you're having a Wednesday similar to mine), enjoy this short story about a deaf man in a big city, struggling to feel important.
My presence, slowly approaching;
back to reality. I never want to awake from a dream. I struggled to remember
her name. Jenna, I think? She reached
out, longing for happiness that she stood confident of receiving. Her beautiful
eyes reflected a remarkable man. Was I him? Her figure hurriedly blurred away, and
I could feel my blood start to boil. I always seem to wake up before I fully
see what my destiny holds. By that time, I had already forgotten what it took
for me to get there.
Louie, my personal alarm clock and my reasoning for
continued employment, slobbered on my face just like any other morning. My eyes
fully opened to his tail wagging back and forth. I still doubted Louie’s
intelligence from time to time and so, I looked down the hall at those tiny
hands that seemed to hold too much power for its fragile appearance. 7 AM. Right on time. Like always. At
least my vision remains immaculate. I stood up and reached for what might as
well be rocks, and shoved them in my ear. You would think I would get use to
the irritation but I never do. Louie
trailed behind me as I grabbed my uniform. Martin,
it read right above the left pocket. Why require all city transits to dress the
same anyways? If I were on my way to work, the last thing on my mind would be
the pattern of the bus driver’s shirt. I guess I am different though.
I arrived at the lot at 8 AM. I drive the same bus every day, and I have no trouble seeking my
bus out among the rest. I remember my bus number 63 pretty easily; after all,
most people typically do not forget their age. Driving away from the lot,
heading towards downtown, I looked in my rearview mirror, with nothing really
worth looking at. So instead, I focused ahead, and found myself thinking about
my dream, disappointed with the San Francisco views ahead of me: Nothing.
Something lingered differently about this morning. Maybe
it was that image of happiness embedded in my brain which left me desperate and
envious of that stranger’s contentment. If
he was a stranger.
Along
my route, I continuously greet every passenger with a smile and a simple hello,
and usually the most I receive is the corners of their lips curving, instead of
making the motions of what I would love to see. A smile is nice, but it lacks
the influence as words. Today, I’m going to start a conversation with a
passenger. The next one.
“Hello.”
She was very put together, from her perfect golden curls, to the absent
wrinkles on her clothing. She looked about late twenties. She walked up as if she
was taking a mental picture of every image laid out in front of her. She walked
slowly. Unlike most passengers, her head was not held high with confidence,
clutching a briefcase to her side. What were those papers in her hands covered
in red ink? Newspaper ads?
“Good
morning” her lips displayed, smiling like she meant it. “I’m lost” she seemed
to laugh. My mother’s exuberant laugh use to fill a room with joy. If I try hard enough, I can focus and hear the
echo of it in my mind. 24 years old.
Young age to lose both parents, along with a basic foundation for remembering
them.
I caught a glance of the papers she held in
her right hand and recognized my apartment building name circled. In her other
hand, I automatically identified what it was. I remember when I first moved to
the city, escaping the memories I left behind me. Yes, I knew exactly what it
was. Hundreds of lines, curved and straight, blue and red, intertwined with one
another. I was so scared then. “I
don’t mean to be nosey but I noticed my building name on your newspaper.”
“Wow,
small world. That’s my new building! I moved in this morning.”
“Well,
welcome to San Francisco. So what can I help you with?”
“As you
can tell, the map will be my best friend for a while” she smiled again. “Could
you possibly drop me off at the closest laundromat? I’m trying to learn my
surroundings.”
“Of
course. It’s just four blocks down.”
***
My
nightly trip home always provides peace and allows me to reflect on my day. I
often joke to myself about how I get paid for free therapy. Today was
different. I didn’t even ask her what her name was. I wonder what she ran away
from to bring her to this chaos alone. Poor kid. Well, I guess she isn’t a kid;
I’m just getting old. I’m getting old.
I
usually finish my shift around six, perfect time to come back and fill me and
Louie’s stomachs. Walking home, I looked at my watch; 6 PM. Like always. My life is so predictable. Walking in my
building, I thought to myself why I ever chose an apartment without an
elevator. Or at least, one on a nearer floor. Mine is on the fourth. I started
walking up the steps; First floor, second
floor, third floor, and then suddenly I felt little shove. It almost
knocked me off my balance for a second but then I turned around to face her.
“You
walked right past my door and I kept saying hi and you didn’t answer! I’m the
girl from the bus this morning!”
I often
forget others aren’t magically placed in my mind and know everything about my
life. I forget people didn’t walk in that small room as my mother let that gun
declare her destiny. I forget how loud it really was. I forget.
“I’m
sorry. I’m...deaf.”
“You’re…deaf?
You talk so well though!”
“I lost
my hearing when I was 24 years old. It’s easy for me to talk and I had to study
lips for a long time before I could easily read lips.”
“Oh my
goodness. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. My name is Renee, by the way.”
She
held out her hand, and waited. It took me a while before I realized Renee was
accepting me. In return and appreciation, I reached out and shook her hand.
“I’m
Martin.”
“I
know” she smiled and then pointed at my shirt, answering my confused
expression.
“Well
if you ever need anything, I’m just on the next floor. If you knock, my lab
will make sure I know of it.”
“Thank you, Martin! And if you ever need anything, you’ll
have to knock extremely hard. I sleep through anything. Maybe I should get a
dog of my own” she smiled.
“Have a good night, Renee. And thank you.”
“For what?”
I suddenly felt a glimpse of meaning in my life for the
first time since I can remember.
“Not asking how I lost my hearing.”
***
I laid in bed that night finding myself reflecting on my
entire life. I was remembering things that I hadn’t until now. I found myself
thinking back to the day dad had his heart attack. Maybe I expected too much
out of mom. She gave up. I can honestly say I’m proud of myself. I never gave up. “Goodnight Louie.”
I never want to awake from a dream. There was smoke and
there was that girl again. This time, her eyes looked frightened. I had to help
her! I had to hel.. I’m awake. It was just a nightmare. I lay there panting.
Why do I still smell smoke? I looked down the hall to find Louie pacing back
and forth at the door. What is happening?
Then, the second my feet hit the floor, I felt it. I began to run sensing the
warmth with each step I took. I ran down the steps, falling halfway. Please,
don’t be too late. Please.
“Renee!” I screamed. My fist began to ache and I looked
down to blood merged in with my wrinkles. “Help! Somebody help!” Then somehow,
someway, my adrenaline gave me the strength to kick down the door. Or maybe even
it was the big man upstairs. When the door flung open, it was almost if the
room was split into two sides, Heaven and Hell. The fire was close but I still
had time. I ran over to her, Louie right behind, to find her slowly opening her
eyes. Her mouth opened in terror and I can only guess the horrifying noise that
followed. I held out my hand to her, and focused on her eyes glistening. In the
flames, I recognized my reflection. My
reflection.
***
Louie, going crazier than usual. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
I opened the door to see her standing there, smeared mascara left under her
eyes.
“Renee! They released you!”
She began to cry. “You didn’t only save my life. You
saved my son’s.” She placed her hands on her stomach and gave it a grateful
pat. I stood there, my entire body numb. She smiled, “I found out he was a boy
today before they released me. I’ve decided to name him Martin.”
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