Just For Decoration
By:Ruthy Shvalbe

White walls. The window welcomed a quiet breeze. It was morning, but no sound of an alarm, it would not be necessary, he wouldn’t hear it anyway. He rolled onto his back, eyes open and slightly bloodshot, he blinked. He turned his head to the left. Another morning without her. Her pillow was still present, her watch was still lying there on the wooden night stand, unworn for months now. Her presence was still so strong, but she was absent. The heavy skin around his eyes made it seem only possible for a slow blink. Gravity stretching his wrinkled skin towards the ground, his mouth had a too be consciously held shut. He sat up. He turned to the right, into the warm rays of the sun. His feet stuck slightly to the wooden floor in-between each step, they were still warm from incubating under the sheets all night.

He turned on the tap. The water began gushing out. He enjoyed the warm caress the water gave as it blanketed over his entire hand. He began to lather, his left hand taking care of his right hand first, in a circular motion, the soap got squeezed out from in between his fingers. Rinsing the soap off his hands he gave his face splash of water. His right hand turned the tap off. While he looked at his eyes in the mirror, he was a little older than yesterday.

The dim light in the kitchen was just strong enough to assist his actions. He heated up some leftover dinner from last night in the microwave. He pulled out the leftovers from the microwave. At that moment he was noticing the steam from the brewed coffee enter the air. He poured a cup. The microwave beeped. Never interrupted by sounds, he enjoyed the hot muddy liquid hugging his organs, soothing his body. He ate and headed outside with his head tucked down, gripping some change in his left hand.
At the corner of his street he stood, waiting. The bright white lights came straight towards him. He squints, the light continuing to get closer until it took over his entire field of vision. He gave the driver a nod of acknowledgement after dropping in some change. He found pleasure in the bus, feeling the vibration of the engine beneath him. He looked out the large windows at the city he lives in. He closed his eyes, listening to his heart, listening to his human noise.

The doctor’s skin looks ghostly, moving the light away from his face the doctor steppes forward. Her hair was unmoving, tied back tight. Her hands looked cold. Were they? He probably would never find out.

“Not to worry, the procedure will take no longer than 70 minutes”
The doctor said while checking off some information that Igor had filled out on a clip board.
“Is anyone coming to pick you up?”
Lip-reading since he was eight, Igor shook his head slowly in response.
“Alright, then I assume you are taking the bus home like usual. I’ll be back in a minute. Read this over, if you like”
She handed Igor a pamphlet. He had seen this before, the day he decided to get a cochlear implant. He read anyway.
“A receiver and stimulator placed in the bone of the inner…”
He held his head up, remembering that all he wanted was to hear her voice.

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He could smell her when he would think about her. She did not always wear a smile, but he knew she was happy, because he was happy. One morning she had come back from the store. He had put on the kettle before she left and watched it slowly become fogged with steam until a continuous cloud flooded the air. He knew she would like some tea when she returned, and not just because it was winter but because he knew.
When she returned through the kitchen door she placed new Tupperware containers on the counter. They needed knew ones, the lids on the old ones did not close tightly anymore. He greeted her with a warm mug. They smiled at each other while sipping from across the table. He knew her face, better than his own.
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“All right this way”, the doctor said, interrupting his thought. He followed her.

After the implantation procedure Igor had scheduled an appointment to return in two weeks for the activation process.
That afternoon Igor returned home, dropped off by the bus he began to walk towards his small house. The vines that covered the front of the house were loosing their rich green colour. He took a notice in the crisper smell of the air right before he headed inside.

Two mundane weeks had past. Old newspapers lay on her side of the bed. A dirty pot was sitting in the sink that Igor had used last night to cook pasta for dinner. The light above the stove was still on, and clean Tupperware was on the drying rack, he never placed the Tupperware containers in the dishwasher. He never did because she never had. He pulled out the leftover pasta from the fridge. Without moving his feet he opened the microwave sitting atop the fridge. He pressed 2. He packed the cooked pasta into a small Tupperware container, placed it in a plastic grocery bag from the day before and headed to the audiologists.
He looked at his watch. 10:30am.

The Vines groping the front of his house were now yellower. The leaves of the trees that followed him to the front gate looked dyed with yellows and reds.

He caught the bus at the end of the street and staggered on while the plastic bag, randomly struck his left thigh as he pulled himself up onto the bus.
Igor held his coat in his lap while he was waiting for the doctor to come in. the room was white, he sat in a black chair facing a desk with some unfamiliar equipment on it.
He was not suppose to be here alone.
The female doctor entered and began fiddling with the equipment on the table. She was turning knobs and explaining how she was going to adjust pitch.

“Ok Igor, I am just going to adjust. There we-e go… this for you, and you should soon be able to hear my voice”.
Igor nodded, his eyes looking to the top left corner of the room in anticipation.
A long beep went through his brain, and his ears were no longer the hanging décor on the sides of his head but tools. Useful tools? He wasn’t sure yet.
“Igor can you here me?”
He heard her in a much more of a higher pitch than he expected. The air in his body caught his attention, its presence sounding so grand and unexpected. A tear, now collecting in his eye, patiently waiting to be dense enough for release, but it lingered under his gaze, in the shape of a canoe and never fell. Following a few routine procedures, he was on his way. The plastic grocery bag hit his knee as he is headed down the steps, exiting the office. His breath still startling him every few seconds, feeling like a wind trapped inside of him, continuously on the move, resisting control. Back on the bus, Igor was trying to enjoy his ride home, but was unable to relax. Everything made a noise; the scratching of the wheels, his feet softly moving across the floor, and that damn plastic bag crinkling, cracking, constantly. Sliding his hands together into his lap, he realized their sound too. His senses were confused. Things he never imagined would have made a sound did, and it was so loud. Everything was loud now. It was a new type of silence.

Where is my heartbeat? I cannot feel myself anymore

Finally feeling, he felt hunger. The bus goes over a bump. He startled himself from the sound of his gasp. He pulled up the dangling plastic bag, and opened the container of lukewarm pasta. Forgetfully forkless he grabbed a piece of slimy pasta with his index finger and thumb, like two controlled chopsticks. His eyes widening, he could not believe how loud he was chewing. It was echoing inside his jaw. Confused if people around him could hear him or not he ate rather slowly, almost sucking the pasta until he was able to swallow it. Chewing seemed to stressful, “Maybe ill try it again when I am at home, alone”. He told himself.
Relived to be home. He Rushed through the thick Spanish cedar door and went to the bathroom. His socks glided on the tiled floor, which sounded like whispers in the background. He could not help but think someone was following him. The sound seemed to quiet and distant to be his.
He turned on the tap. A loud click registered as he pulled out the handle. The body leading out to the spout was familiarly vibrating, the water that was gushing out sounded rushed. As it scurried down the drain the water echoed as the drain loudly swallowed the liquid. He realized how the sound become a bit more muted as his hands entered the water, blocking it from entering the drain in such a constant rush. The echo subsided. He decided not to use soap. Still hungry he went into the kitchen.
Now getting used to the sound of his steps, he looked forward to the familiar dimness the light offers, he flicked on the switch. A monotone humming followed the presence of the dim flickering light. He revisited his container of leftover pasta. He placed it in the microwave and pressed 2. He stepped back, it sounded like an engine, he felt a creek in the floor. The sound of the microwave was so disturbing to him, it sounded like the street bus was on top of his fridge, slowly gassing forward at a green light. He decided to end the headache, “BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP” off. How unnecessary. Before he left the kitchen he decided to throw out the constantly, crinkling, cracking plastic bag.

He sat on the horizontal edge of his bed, facing the window and he felt the sun. The curtains blew inwards, conducted by the quiet air, which too had a sound. He turned his body right and looked at her side of the bed.

“My silence was not a void, it did not need to be filled. My once peaceful realm is interrupted, interrupted by sound”. He thought to himself.

“All I wanted was to hear her voice”.
Forgetting about his hunger, he just lay there. The world was breathing, and he had no choice but to listen.
8:37pm.
Familiar darkness. Trying to go to sleep he could hear everything’s heart, he could hear them all beating. It was loud. He can hear the noise, even as the room was getting dark. It was all distracting him from feeling his own.

Time passed, Igor was not getting more used to sound, he was only tolerating it. Mornings passed and he was learning, learning new things like how a child picks up speech he was soaking in sounds. He was afraid, afraid that the new would replace the old. The old was all he wanted to remember, he did not want to forget her. She never knew sound and that for him was a problem.

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“But it’s only been several months. Are you positive? Give it some more time.” Her phone started going off. Leaning across the table she grazed his hand in her path to retrieve it.
I was right, they are cold
“Oh, um, give me a minute, I’ll be right back”
She rushed out the door without looking up from her phone. Boxes of pamphlets were sitting to Igor’s left. He recognized them. He had seen that one before, twice now to be precise. But this time he did not read it. This whole experience sounded like an angry bear dancing on bubble wrap paper, while a space shuttle was launching itself in the background.
He noticed the top of her slick hair glistening under the light as she reentered. “Sorry about that, ok lets go get you prepped then”
She grabbed her the clipboard, and he followed.

The operating room was dim. The elastic from his hairnet vibrated on his ears as it moved back and forth. He closed his eyes.
The noise distracts me from remembering her. The room became quiet with sound. Slowly he was beginning to lose consciousness. The room was fading out, the doctors were surrounded by rays of white light.

His eyes bloated up, the seawater swelled and a tear fell. Soon it will be quiet and again he will be able to hear.

Igor had returned home that afternoon. He walked into his kitchen and turned on the dim light, there was no buzzing sound. He picked up a dirty Tupperware container from the sink and began to wash it by hand. He immersed himself in the process, he was taking care of the container, carefully rinsing its every edge. When he was finished he was his hands with soap. Igor picked up a mug from the drying rack and opened the think wooden cupboard door to put it back in its place. He set it beside hers, which was covered in dust.