Reading lips

May 24, 2011

Some might appreciate the muffled world on one side of their head, the way conversation comes at a slight angle, the way things don’t totally penetrate the fog created by less acute hearing.

But this soft edge to hearing, this slight pressure in my right Eustachian tube, takes me back to a tearful, angry night, a time when I couldn’t parse direct language in a noisy bar. That night, the wall of sound built by minutes, each sound melding into something concrete and indistinct.

I can’t hear you, I said. And I’m too tired to read lips anymore.

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