The Sounds Of A Happy Life

When I met Jenna, I had no intention of falling in love with her. I had always thought of myself as someone who had to be alone. A flawed creature that needed its privacy. I always felt as if my life might spiral out of control if I let someone into it. Something about her did away with all of that.

She was born deaf. I had taken one course of ASL in college; I learned just enough to fumble my way through a conversation. I took it as a sign, no pun intended, that a three unit class I picked at random six years prior had allowed me to communicate with the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. When I met her at the library, she had a collection of Flannery O’Connor in the crook of her arm.

Within a month, she had moved into my home. I couldn’t help myself. She was perfect.

After mother died, I fixed up the house just as I had always wanted to. From the top of the attic to the bottom of the basement, it was all for me. It was my perfect little den out in the middle of nowhere. I never thought I would share it, but there I was, changing things for her. The only thing I did not share with her was the one thing I could not share with her. The sounds of the house were still mine, and mine alone.

For over five years now, we have had a happy marriage.

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We’re having a nice dinner at home and having a glass of wine. We always sit at the table.

While we sign to each other, I think about what she told me earlier when I got home from work. I think about how excited she is now. I think about the baby that is now growing inside of her; a situation I was actively trying to avoid.

Another person coming into my world, but this time without my permission.

I try to be excited in front of her. I try to enjoy the food she’s made. I try to enjoy the sounds of my home, but I can’t.

She tells me that she’s concerned our child might also be deaf. Concerned, but not devastated.

I’ll be devastated if our child is not. So much will have to change.

She’s talking about our future together, but all I can think of is how perfect it has been up until now.

Whether it was eating, reading, putting together a puzzle, making love, or sleeping, it was always done to the sounds of suffering; the sobbings and mutterings of people slowly dying from behind the false wall in my basement.

I installed speakers in every room so I could savor that sound.

Since Jenna moved in, the ability to experience those sounds in front of someone else without their knowledge has given me joy that I never thought was possible.

I don’t want things to change.