LITTLE THINGS-BIG THINGS

The two young ladies over there are not deaf mutes. They are shapely, attractive, happy. It’s a little late for breakfast, a tad early for lunch. Nobody is in a hurry. Service is lax. Across from my table for two, holding just me, is a pantomime show. A blond with a wide rounded low neckline is unconcerned (most likely enjoys) showing a lot of soft white flesh, of tempting men to look her way as they pass. Her posture in the bold plaid lunch booth is erect yet simultaneously relaxed. She wears a black cotton short set, unadorned of any frivolity. Even I, as a woman, can’t help noticing her the smooth symmetry of her shapely legs half way under the table. One leg crosses the other, making a swing for her new black flip flops.

The woman across from her, undoubtedly a friend forever, has almost blond hair, overly permed to kink. Her dress is an unusual combination of olive and blue in a soothing, soft pattern. It all becomes her olive complexion. Each lady has pierced ears, displaying tiny earrings of silver, or maybe tin. They are too small to identify from where I watch. Truthfully, I would not have noticed at all if I had something better to do at the time.

One talks as the other watches her face, her emotions and smiles. The other anxiously, but silently, waits her turn. Their arms flail wildly with excitement. And damn it, I can’t hear a word they are saying because I lost my hearing aid this morning. I am tensely beside myself, positive I wore both most of yesterday, hustling, bustling, trying to help in small ways the third service man Comcast has sent to my apartment. I must have my t.v. ready for the big change next week. New wires into 26 year old outlets do not work. I may have to live in the Dark Ages and skip the 8 channels of HBO.

Half of my hearing aid is exactly where I put it every night. That spot on my dressing table is my altar. 1 ½ were there today. The clear, tiny tube that connects with the battery came apart and disappeared. I search the deep carpets on my hands and knees, feeling every inch, seeing every spot with my high intensity lamp reaching into corners, even trash cans. Oh, it is here, but has holed up out of my sight. I panic to the nth degree, fear flies into my soul. This won’t help me find the treasure. To take my mind off my temporary disability I go for a short ride to Netty’s lunch room.

Easily I seat myself, look around, see the two enchanting ladies and order french toast. A burly customer walks in, notices the table behind me has three adults and 4 small children, all of whom he doesn’t want to be near. He chooses a table for four right beside my two. I could have asked him to sit with me, but it didn’t come to mind. My order arrives quickly. The stranger lightly taps his water glass to attract my attention. I see him glance my way. Looking directly at me he says, ‘Netty makes great french toast, doesn’t she?’ To my knowledge there is no Netty but I don’t want to spoil his illusion and reply, ‘Yes, she does. That’s why I ordered it but today it happens to be lousy.’

Thanks to the T.V. blasting in front of us, pretty soon we are in a hot and heavy political conversation. His voice is deep and quite clear as long as he faces me. We lose interest in our food, are simpatico on everything. He and his wife agree on nothing. Both of us order third cups of decaf. The room is almost full and our waitress is antsy. We surrender, relinquish our tables .

I had become so engrossed in politics, I hadn’t noticed the two ladies who had stimulated my attention had left. Mr Big, Strong Stalwart and I had not even introduced ourselves. I have no idea of his name and don’t care. Unknowingly he has served a purpose. I also forgot about my dilemma, pay my check and go looking for my car on the now packed lot. Of course, I know the general area and am confident I’ll go right to it. I don’t. I click my trusty do-everything-key and listen for the beep beep, see the back lights flicker. I see nor hear anything. Maybe my key is broken. At last I see my car, click to open it but it isn’t mine. I try the next row and see the lights flash but hear no sound even though I am less than 3 feet away. Instantly, I slide back into my deep blue funk. Safely home, unsuccessfully re-do my high intensity lamp search. Down trodden, frightened, I climb into bed, switch on the T.V. and set it at its highest volume. My neighbor bangs on our wall. I lower the sound just a little and softly tell her to go to hell.

I wake at 6 a.m., the T.V. is repeating last night’s news. By 9:30 the technician will replace the ½ of my hearing aid and I will have survived It all goes as I figured it would. Fast, no charge and I drive home, open the door, walk into my uncluttered office, slip off my shoes and step on something that shouldn’t be on the carpet.

Yes, it IS the missing piece of my hearing aid. The next thing I add to my list of things to do today–or maybe tomorrow— is call my opthamologist just in case my eyesight is going too.