Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

            The old pair of dark glasses I find under my bed do help with the light.  I still have to squint a bit when in direct sunlight, but the autumn cloud cover helps the situation.  At least nature is on my side.  For now.

            Dressing in a comfortable pair of old jeans, I dig out my purple smiley face graphic tee and an old, hooded sweatshirt that’s worn and extra soft.  The sweatshirt’s a bit warm for the weather, but the hood might come in handy for light or sound dampening.

            Apologizing to my mother and sister for my behavior the previous night (I'm still not sure what I did, but my apology does some good will toward placating them.), I get my backpack together for another rousing day of learning.  With last night's clothes still crammed into the bottom of the bag, I make a plan to dispose of them at some point when it’s safer.

            As I lay waiting on our plush, stuffed brown couch for my sister to finish primping her hair and curling her nails - or whatever it is prissy younger sisters do in the morning that takes so long - I notice that when I’m still and not moving I can hear where everyone is in our house.  I can hear them through the walls and doors.  With some concentration, I pick out the soft tap of my sister’s fingers on wood as she opens and closes drawers in her closet.  I even pick out her mumbling to herself about some boy at school she wants to impress.

            Shifting my concentration, I hear my mom's hairdryer in her bathroom.  Under that sound, I hear my father talking to her about his meeting with his boss in the afternoon - something about a new contract with a loan agency that he feels will go strongly in his favor.  Along with my father's voice, I can hear a sharp snip followed by a tic - sounds that repeat intermittently.  I focus on that until I realize it’s his nail clippers.  I’m hearing him trim his nails.  Through several walls.  Over the sound of him talking.  Talking over the sound of a hairdryer.  That shouldn't be possible.

            Stopping myself, I shake my head; I don’t want to hear these sounds.  I try not to think about them, but now that I know they’re there I can’t stop hearing them.  It’s aggravating.  If this continues, it’ll drive me insane.

            "I'm going out," I yell over my shoulder and stand up.  "I'll be outside.  Love you.  See you this afternoon."

            I know my parents hear me because their conversation shifts to me and my actions the previous evening.  Not wanting to eavesdrop anymore, I quickly cross our small family room and take off down the front walk towards the bus stop.

            Being outside only slightly alleviates the problem.  I no longer hear my family, but their babbling is replaced by the sounds of traffic on the road a half mile away.   The chittering of squirrels under the maple trees and the honk of Canadian geese overhead is startling in its loudness. 

            Walking towards the bus stop out of habit, I stop while still twenty yards away.  I can hear the half dozen kids from my street’s stop as clear as if I was standing next to them.  I don’t want to talk to any of them yet.  To be more clear, I don’t want to hear any of them yet, and it troubles me that their noise can be heard from this far away.

            My first doubts about the success of the school day begin creeping into my head as I stand there on the sidewalk staring at my peers.  If I don’t want to be this close to six kids, then how am I going to deal with several thousand all compressed into the square footage of a couple football fields of brick and mortar?