Set the World to Mute

You might wonder what I was even in love with.

I mean, how can you be in love with someone you’ve never had a conversation with? Someone whose voice you’ve never heard? Someone you don’t really know anything about? How is that possible?

I asked myself that many times, believe me. Doubted it, even. Felt slightly emotionally askew.

Sometimes, on Mondays, after not seeing him for the whole weekend, and after having conversations and laughing and chatting randomly with random people – the whole thing was so strange. It was so strange to imagine that bubble where you could go for so long without speaking your voice was hoarse once you did.

But imagine walking into a narrow, slightly cluttered hallway, the smell of new furniture and something sweet hitting your senses as you hang up your coat. The radio playing in the background as you walk into a big living-room/kitchen solution, lit up by big windows, the daylight shining on the floor. Time is slow, it’s pleasantly warm, and you feel yourself calming down. You’re home.

You lean against the frame of the door, stay silent, and you’re met by a tired, gaunt face. Sharp, dark brows with a worry line between. Pale, tight lips, five o’clock shadow. Bed hair and an old t-shirt, hugging a lean body. Muscular arms and slim fingers with chewed nails. And gray-green eyes, happy that you’re there.

“Hey,” you say, and he smiles.

How could I not love that?
¨

Today is Friday, and today is the day I will hear his voice for the first time.

Ben is working and Emma and I are in the living room studying. Sophie is at her aunt’s, so the apartment is silent except from the radio, and Emma’s little two-syllable noises as she looks at my book with great interest.

“Dada!” she shouts and reaches out with her chubby little hand as a picture of a dark-haired man appear when I turn the page.

“Oh, did he look like daddy?” I ask, pointing at the picture and her mouth opens, a line of drool running down her chin. “Very handsome, right?” She squeals and slaps the paper with her hand excitedly, grinning happily at me. “I know,” I say, before reaching out for a napkin to wipe away her slobber, “I think so too. Simply droolable.” She giggles.

I gently push her teddy bear into her arms to distract her as I inch the book away slightly, letting me return to my studies. She puts his already soaked ear into her mouth and looks at me with the eyes she’s gotten from her father. “Tasty?” I ask, and she grins again. I can’t keep from kissing the top of her soft little baby-head. “If everyone was like you, Emma…”

“Dada,” she says.

The teddy allows me to work for a good hour before it’s time for a diaper change. After that we eat, and then I we sit down and read a book for a bit. “Just try the green eggs and ham, you may like them Sam I am!” I say, and she giggles.

Our peaceful interaction is interrupted by a loud crash coming from the workshop, immediately followed by an outburst of pain. Emma and I both turn in the direction of the yell, and for a couple of seconds we just stare at the door to Ben’s workshop, before it opens with a bam, startling the shit out of Emma, and Ben comes out, blood running down his face from a huge gash above his eye.

"What happened?" I gasp, quickly scooping up Emma who looks at her father with big eyes, her mouth telling us she's about to cry. He shakes his head shortly and heads for the bathroom, leaving us staring after him. I kiss the top of her head, and pop a pacifier into her mouth, "everything will be fine, I say, I will be right back," then I place her in her play grind, putting a stray doll in her hand to occupy her.

When I enter the bathroom, Ben is in front of the mirror, examining the cut above his eye. My stomach does a loop, seeing all the blood in his brown, running down his cheek, coloring his eye red. "Why don't you let me do that," I say quietly, "I am after all a nurse. Almost."

He smiles and nods, sitting down on the toilet, handing me the cloth. I accept it and rinse it out before finding the first aid kit underneath the sink, picking out strips to keep the cut together. "It's not as bad as it looks, facial gashes just bleeds a lot." I notice blood stains on his shirt. That will be ruined. "And how did this happen?" I ask as I dab blood carefully away from the cut with a sterile napkin from the kit, making him hiss slightly. He slowly pulls out his pad and pen and writes 'light bulb' in agitated letters, looking annoyed.

"It exploded?" He nods and I frown. "That doesn't sound good..." His face is quite still for a moment, before a little smile color his lips and he writes 'I was fixing it,' across his pad and I give him a very little impressed look. His smile widens. "Well, that explains it." We are silent for a bit as I use my teeth to rip off some strips, placing them across his cut. "Well, your're lucky it didn't hit your eye," I say as I place a bandage above the gash, "And there's no glass in it, it seems. Not too deep either, but we should change the bandage a couple of times."

He nods, and I wipe the rest of the blood of his face and neck, incredibly aware of his eyes searching my face. I try not to breathe too heavily, and am very happy I didn't have that cup of coffee and went for tea in stead. “There you go.” I mumble, and run my finger over the bandage, “That’s it."

Our eyes meet, inches apart, and he smiles. Touches my arm. Does a slight nod as he blinks.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper, before Emma shrieks loudly, probably deciding she misses us, and Ben sighs, getting up.

I shake off the warm sensation in my gut and rinse out the cloth again, hanging it over the sink, before looking at my self in the mirror. "Stop it," I tell myself.

When I enter the living room, he's holding her in his big arms, kissing her cheek repeatedly with a big smile on his face. "Dada," she screams.

Later, as Ben cleans up his workplace, Belinda comes by with Sophie. I let her in and she joins me for a snack in the kitchen. As usual, there isn’t much food, and we end up eating cheese and crackers, Belinda having a glass of wine. Red wine is popular among the siblings, I note.

“So how is it like, working here?” she asks, popping a cracker in her mouth.

I smile. “Good. I really like it.”

“The kids are good?”

“The best, very well-behaved. Haven’t had any problems so far.”

She smiles and glances at the two girls, playing together in the living room. “And your studies?”

“Are going very well,"I confirm, which seems to please her, "I don’t get to study much, but I study a lot more than I would if I had any other job, and I need the money, so it’s really perfect.”

“That’s good Alice,” she smiles and takes a long sip of her wine. Silence settles between us for a bit and Belinda looks thoughtful. I have a cracker. “But what happened to Ben?”

I shake my head, chewing, "A light bulb exploded as he fixed it," I explain after swallowing, "Or the machine it was in, I imagine.”

Belinda raised her brow. “Bet he was happy with that…”

I laugh. “Well, no.”

“He can be like that.”

“He likes to do things his way, I suppose." We are silent for a moment, Belinda watching the kids. “Belinda?” I ask, hesitating.

“Yes?” she asks, turning her attention to me.

“He made a sound. Like a yell.”

Her brows raise. “Yes?”

“Well, I thought he was… you know, that maybe he had problems with his speech chords, or something.”

Belinda’s eyes turned sad, and I regretted asking. “Well, he wasn’t always like this. Did you think that?”

“Well, yeah, I just figured. You know, the kids and…”

“Well, I guess that’s natural. But no, it’s only been eight months or so. Ever since his wife died.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You know, it can be the vocal chords, or a error in the speech center - but sometimes it's simply something that happens, and you just... stop talking. It's psychological." She pauses to take a sip of wine. "I met him in the hospital after, and I asked him what happened and how he was holding up and, he just. Said nothing. I thought it was shock, you know, how she died and everything, but… It stayed that way." I reach out and touch her hand, and she gives me a grateful look. "It’s been difficult for Sophie, but I think she’s the one who’s adapted to it the best. Emma was only a month old, so she’s never known anything else." She sighs. "He’s been my brother for almost 32 years. It’s very strange. It’s sad.” She gives me a blunt look, but doesn't really pull it off.

“I’m sorry,” I say and she looks at me over her glass of wine with a grateful look.

“It was a car crash," she adds, after a couple of minutes in silence, "Right outside their house. That's why they moved. He was the first one there.”

“How horrible,” I say, feeling my brows twist.

“It was awful. And what a woman!” Belinda laughs and takes another sip of her wine. The crackers lay untouched. “Really the life of the party. And very kind. Just like Ben. Great parents.”

“Look, we don’t have to talk about this anymore,” I say, noticing her voice getting thick, and she swallows, “Why don’t you tell me about your day with Sophie? I bet is was really good. Better than the day here."

It takes some time for her eyes to leave the past and find me, but when they do she smiles. “Yes,” she says and picks up a cracker, “Why don’t I?”