The Listeners

by Jordan Tannahill

  As if picking up on this, Howard brought his hands together and said, Listen, I hope you all don’t mind me just jumping into this. I know it can be a lot to absorb at first. I just figured this is what we all came here to talk about.

  Your theory, Seema said, bluntly.

  I’m sorry?

  If I were you, Howard, I wouldn’t presume to know what we came here to talk about. With all due respect, you’ve been dominating the conversation since we arrived, and I barely know anyone in this room or their experience of this hum, which we’ve all been desperate to talk to someone about. So while I appreciate your thoughts, I would also like to hear from some of the others.

  Howard looked chastened. No that’s, that’s fair enough, he said.

  To be honest—Tom waded in—I don’t buy that this is some natural phenomenon.

  Damian mumbled his assent.

  This is something new in our neighbourhood, Tom continued, and I’m here to discuss strategies for tracking it down and dealing with it.

  I’m in the same boat, Seema began, but—

  So why don’t we focus on that?

  —but I’d like to understand what people’s experiences of this thing are first. She gestured to Emily. Like I have no idea who you are, Seema said, or if what you’re hearing is even what I’m hearing. Or how long you’ve been hearing it.

  Emily’s posture straightened. Well, she said, Tom and I are here because I saw the ad in the library. We were just going out of our minds with this noise for a good two months by then.

  It’s been two months for me too, Seema said.

  Damian and Leslie both nodded. Same, said Nora.

  We weren’t sleeping, Tom added. Were having horrible headaches.

  The noise was so bad, Emily continued, I’d have to turn up the TV to drown it out. We started keeping the TV on twenty-four hours a day. So I can’t tell you my relief when I saw that ad, I just … Emily trailed off and Tom placed a hand on her knee.

  Sorry, but what—what ad are you talking about? I asked. Damian unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

  Oh I wish you hadn’t ripped it down, Howard said, with a frustrated laugh.

  As I looked at the poster, clearly designed and printed out on a home computer, Jo explained how she and Howard had put up a few notices in public spaces around the area.

  Just to see who might be out there and interested in talking, she said.

  Along the top of the page, in red sans-serif letters, was the question: Can you hear The Hum? Seeing the words capitalized like that suddenly made it A Real Thing which existed in the world. Below this question was a description of the sound, its side effects, and an email address.

  Seema had seen the poster in the organic grocer’s beside the mall. Damian had seen it at the community centre. It struck me as curious that neither Kyle nor I had come across one; nor Paul or Ashley for that matter. Though frankly the poster was so plain and innocuous I could have stared right at it on a lamppost and not even noticed.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, Howard said, clearing his throat. This is quite a high turnout, really.

  You should’ve posted it online, Damian said.

  Well we wanted to start small, Jo said. To find a group of neighbours who we could really talk to about this.

  Damian admitted that he posted about it on Reddit. Jo looked taken aback—What?

  To help spread the word, he said.

  I’d really prefer if you didn’t, to be honest, Howard said, clearly uneasy.

  This is not just our neighbourhood, Damian replied, leaning forward. What about the rest of the world? This hum is affecting everyone, and only some of us are waking up to it.

  Right, well—

  Only some of us are tuned in.

  —we can’t exactly start with the whole world, can we? Howard said. It’s a big house but even I don’t have that kind of room.

  Any more people would have made it difficult to have a proper conversation, Leslie said. And I get the sense that’s what we all need right now, she added, looking at Seema. Am I right?

  I need to talk, Nora said quietly, and everyone turned. The bangles on her wrists clinked as she folded her arms over her generous bust. Her thick black eyeliner made her already penetrating eyes seem enormous. I need to be listened to. Nobody is listening to me. My friends, my family, no one.

  There was something plaintive yet forceful in her voice. To hear another grown woman give words to my desperation sent a chill through me.

  Me neither, I said. I mean this—I held up the folded-up poster—I-I-I think I need to show this to my husband.

  Nora said hers would be furious if he knew she was here.

  Jo looked perturbed—Really?

  Oh yes, Nora said, gravely.

  Mine too, Leslie said.

  My girlfriend keeps telling me it’s in my head, Seema said.

  I said that sounded familiar, and Jo asked us why our partners made us feel like this. Leslie suggested that they were scared for us. I said I thought they felt threatened. It suddenly seemed so clear to me that, of course, those who loved us felt threatened by the fact that they couldn’t help us. They couldn’t accept that there was no room for them in this mystery.

  My husband thinks I need medical help, Leslie said. Not a ‘stitch and bitch,’ in his words.

  A what? Nora asked.

  Like, a knitting circle.

  That sounds rather dismissive, Seema said. And gendered.

  Leslie said her husband put his fist through the wall the other night, out of frustration.

  Oh my god, Seema said, horrified.

  Leslie insisted that he was not a violent person. Seema raised her eyebrows. Like he would never hurt me, I know that, Leslie said. It was very atypical of him.

  Everyone’s been acting different, Damian said. It affects everyone.

  Jo gave Leslie a purposeful look and said, You tell us, though, if he does that again, okay? Leslie moved her mouth about her face and nodded.

  Yeah that’s not cool, Seema said, rolling up the sleeves on her flannel shirt like she was about to punch the guy out.

  Emily looked at Tom and put her hand on his. I guess we’re lucky that we’ve had each other, she said. But of course our kids think we’re, you know—She twirled her finger around her temple, and chuckled.

  Oh come on, Tom replied.

  They do, they’re very concerned.

  Sure, but that’s different than thinking we’re going senile or something.

  I didn’t say senile.

  Well.

  Theytheytheythey’ve been treating us differently.

  Because something is different.

  They think we’ve lost our marbles.

  No they don’t.

  Yes they do, they think we’re sick.

  I don’t want to—Tom waved away the conversation as if it were a fly, and the circle went quiet. I suddenly saw a lifetime of Emily being waved away like that, and I felt sorry for her. She seemed unfazed by it. If Paul had done that to me, I would have grabbed his hand and slammed it on the coffee table.

  As the ten of us sat there I became aware of the fact that The Hum—for it was now capitalized in my consciousness—was the loudest thing in the room. I felt this realization slowly occur to the others. Here we all were, sitting in what anyone else would perceive as total silence, tormented by a noise that only we could hear. I found this somehow disturbing and comforting at the same time.

  I can barely work because of it, Leslie said, eventually. I’m so exhausted and frayed, my nerves are—totally frayed. I’ll be showing clients around a property and I can’t concentrate on what they’re saying. They’ll be asking me questions about central air or the backyard and it’s like I can’t hear them. One time I just broke down in tears right in front of this young couple. They had no idea what to do, poor things.

  She started to laugh. I can laugh about it now, but—She shook her head, with a rueful smile. Well anyway, e
ventually I went to a psychiatrist.

  I did too, Seema said.

  Really? Nora replied, frowning.

  Leslie nodded. Oh yeah.

  I’ve never thought I was crazy, Nora said.

  You’re lucky.

  Anything that’s a bit different or inconvenient we just pathologize it, don’t we? Jo said, looking at Leslie.

  Leslie nodded and looked down at her lap. She took a deep, quaking breath. I’ve been made to feel so—punished, she said, her voice snapping like a twig. I’ve been so punished for this. It was like no one could help me. My doctors made me feel crazy. They prescribed me all of this medication, because I was getting depressed. Even, if you can believe it, they made me start taking antipsychotics.

  Jo leaned forward—What?

  They thought I was delusional.

  That’s unconscionable.

  I’ve been completely gaslighted, Leslie said. I would wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and think—you’re crazy. That’s what I was conditioned to think. And that medication, let me tell you, it really does a number on you. On your mind, on your body. It’s only been a month and I’ve gained like fifteen pounds. And I’m angry, she said, eyes widening, tearing up. Mostly I’m just really, really angry.

  Jo reached out to place her hand on Leslie’s knee, and in that moment I felt something inside me unlock. To hear a story so close to my own, told back to me like that. I suddenly saw Leslie’s courage. The courage of her getting up in the morning, getting dressed, leaving the house, facing others, sharing her most vulnerable self with a room of strangers. And then, before I could really think, I was speaking. The words just tumbled out of my mouth.

  I lost my job because of it, I said.

  Jo turned to me, stunned. What?

  The others murmured their shock.

  I’m so sorry Claire, Howard said.

  My life is—I raised my arms and dropped them into my lap. I made to laugh but something inside me gave way, collapsed, and a sob heaved from me instead, like a mudslide. Jo took hold of my hand and knelt down beside me as I cried. I was completely mortified. Me, crying in front of a room of strangers. When was the last time I had cried? I honestly couldn’t remember. Ashley would have grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to pull myself together, woman. And yet, at the same time, I remember thinking—God this feels good. It felt so damn good to release like that. To have a space held for me. To let myself be soft—soft? Was that the right word? Vulnerable, yielding, porous, exposed, open. Either way, it felt beyond my control. Jo’s eyes stared up into mine, but I could barely see her through my tears.

  Kyle’s a student of mine, I said. I suddenly felt the need to tell them the truth. I needed to make them understand, make someone understand, even if they were strangers, in fact all the better for it. Was a student of mine, I clarified. I cleared my throat. I saw Kyle shifting uncomfortably in his chair. I could feel his surprise and anxiety radiating from across the room. I told the circle about the meetings after class, the drives, Ashley’s intervention, the showdown.

  So they fired me, I said, my voice rasping. I cleared my throat and wiped my hand over my eyes. Well, suspended me pending further review, I continued. Which means I’ll be terminated officially next month after a hearing. I have no idea what to do. My husband won’t talk to me about it anymore. My colleagues have basically completely cut me off. I’m like a-a-a leper.

  Jo squeezed my hand. I smiled down at her kind face and thanked her. I then looked up at the others, at the care and concern on their faces, and felt a little burst of gratitude for each of them, and for the space they’d made for me to be heard without judgement. The last face I settled on was Kyle’s, and he looked ashen. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand. I wanted to apologize and reassure him at the same time. Instead, I turned back to the others and said if they knew I was here with Kyle now, they would probably call the police.

  Tom mumbled something that I missed. I looked over and saw that his body language was very closed off.

  But what are our options, I continued, posing the question in his direction. Who do we have to talk to? I know I shouldn’t be saying this, I mean you’re basically strangers, but I just—

  You can trust us, Jo said, giving my hand a final squeeze before returning to her chair. I nodded, and I told her that I knew that. And I did. For some reason, I already did trust them.

  I can’t believe they fired you for this, Howard said.

  Seema said even if I lost the hearing, I should sue for wrongful dismissal. I told her that I couldn’t even imagine having the energy or wherewithal to do that at the moment.

  I’m honestly just trying to get up out of bed every morning, I said. I still feel shell-shocked. But I’m not going to let them intimidate me into pretending that I’m not experiencing this. And neither is Kyle, and that’s why we’re here.

  That’s right, Leslie said, nodding, as the others echoed agreement.

  I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to tell you all this, I continued, bolstered. When it all started, I was completely—

  I’m sorry, Tom cut in. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but can I suggest we focus our energies on actually figuring out the source of this hum and addressing it?

  My face flushed hot. I felt like a child, scolded. Leslie glared at Tom. That is what we’re doing, she said.

  No, that’s not what we’re doing, he replied.

  Tom, people have felt isolated, Jo said, trying to defuse the tension.

  I know, but I don’t think it’s productive for us to sit here licking our wounds—

  Emily placed her hand on his knee. No one is licking their wounds, dear.

  —or letting this become some kind of-of wallowing.

  I felt a volcanic rage building in me and tried to find somewhere to look that wasn’t Tom’s face. Wallowing. The word made me think of a sow in shit, roiling in the mud. I was not wallowing, I was not a dog licking her wounds. Even in that moment I knew Tom was speaking of a uniquely feminine grief and suffering when using those animal metaphors.

  I think it’s important people feel free to talk in a safe space, Jo replied.

  A lot of us have been struggling, Seema said.

  Tom raised his hands—I have been too!

  So then—

  Do not silence me, I erupted at Tom, shaking. I hadn’t meant to get so loud.

  I’m not.

  Yes. You are.

  I’m just saying we need to focus on productive outcomes.

  Oh, I’m sorry for being so unproductive, I said.

  Jo suggested that we were all trying to get a handle on this and that we needed to be patient.

  And Tom, people around this circle are saying that they need to be listened to and heard, she said.

  I wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself, he replied. What I don’t need is an emotional support group, to which I just shook my head, astounded. Jo told him that this was not what this was.

  Maybe some of us do, Seema said, which frankly wasn’t useful because that’s not what this was and that’s not what I needed, and I resented the implication that I did.

  And what about those of us who want to talk about solutions? Tom asked.

  We will get there, Seema said.

  Well maybe, I began, those people can have a little bit of compassion for the rest of us who need to build ourselves back up first because we have been made to feel like shit and abandoned by our friends and family, okay?

  Silence fell over the circle. Tom looked down at the floor. I couldn’t bear to be dismissed by another man in a dress shirt, I literally couldn’t bear it a second longer.

  Okay, Howard said. Obviously we all have our different agendas and reasons for being here.

  I don’t have an agenda, Tom said, slow and pointed.

  And we will do our best to be respectful of that, Howard continued. To listen to one another while, yes Tom, at the same time—

  Don’t, don’t say my name like that, Howa
rd. It’s not just about listening to each other and working together. We need to reach out to our city councillor about this, and we need to start applying pressure on them to investigate what the hell this thing is.

  There will be time for that, Seema said, with mounting frustration.

  The time is now, Tom replied. I don’t want to live with this any longer than I have to. I’ve lived with it long enough already.

  I think it’s very natural, Howard said, when we’re upset and confused to want to blame someone, the government or some corporation, when in actual fact it is something much larger and more complex.

  Do you know how I know your theory is bullshit, Howard, no offence? Tom asked. Howard extended his hands, giving Tom the floor. I had a conference in Phoenix last week. I got in a plane, I flew, I landed—Tom said, illustrating this trip with his hands in miniature—and I didn’t hear The Hum. I walked around Phoenix for three days, and never heard it once. So do you know what that tells me? That tells me there is a localized source. Something in this city, or even in this neighbourhood that is new, and that we—

  The Hum has been reported around the world, Howard interrupted, and if you didn’t hear it in Phoenix maybe that’s because the traffic was louder. Or maybe you just didn’t want to hear it. But it was there. And it’s in Japan and Paris and Sydney, I can assure you.

  Go online, Damian said to Tom. Look at some message boards. It’s not just in our area.

  Tom sat forward in his chair, until he was perched on the edge. I’ve been living in this neighbourhood for almost twenty years, he said, when most of this was just dirt and foundations, and I can tell you something has changed, and it’s affecting, adversely affecting our ability to live and enjoy our lives, and I am not just going to sit here and let someone tell me that it’s because of lightning. There’s been lightning my entire life, Howard. This is new. And, and—he continued, fending off Howard’s interjection—the longer we delay, the more precedent they have to suggest it’s not a pressing crisis. I think our first step should be to try to find as many other people as possible who are suffering from this.