I Canât Hear You
He tilts his head in her direction, a finger in his right ear, fiddling with the nude coloured device which is a top of the range hearing aid. He frowns in concentration; it is so hard to hear what his wife has got to say nowadays. She turns up her volume and cups her mouth with her wrinkled hands, patiently repeating the sentence she yelled into his ear barely a moment ago.
It is an act of symmetry, almost a work of art born out of years of familiarity rather than practice. She is the kaya to his toast, the yin to his yang â a perfect complement of each other.
At times, I joke that he is permanently tuned to the frequency that is my grandmother. He smiles while she loudly repeats my words at his ear.
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Someday when we are old and if you are hard of hearing, I imagine us somewhere sunny. I might shout in your ears and I will do it as many times as you need me to so you will not miss a thing. I hope you will lean towards me and you will listen, of all I have to say about all that we share. I hope that you will do the same for me.
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I asked, âHOW IS THE CHICKEN?â
- Laurel L.
