My hearing test didn't show much change, but like I said in my last post, my hearing-aid is on it's death bed. Bicross hearing-aids are still available as analog, but the cost is near 2 grand. Digital bicross are about 3 grand. I can't afford either one. I went to orientation for a state agency hoping they can purchase the aids for me. That will be a long paperwork process and then they could reject me. I was awake half the night thinking about all the crap that has happened to me. Stuff that was related to my hearing loss.
I still remember the bullies from high school, how I finally got the nerve to stand up to them. I challenged an entire gang to a fight, that was my after-school extra-curricular activity.
And I remembered friends telling me I was awarded school sports awards because everyone felt sorry for me. What kinda friends were those? And who needs em?
Then I thought about the more recent crap. How my co-workers bullied me and mocked me. How it pushed me to the brink of suicide. That shit is scary. Freaking scary!
Then there was Billy.
I've tried to write about him, but it is so hard. I must have hurt him so bad. He was in the same nightclubs I was, but he was too weak to tell me himself. He would send a bartender to tell me he was there. But I couldn't hear her. Another time, at the same bar, he sent his daughter over to talk to me. I couldn't understand her. And I hadn't seen her since she was maybe 10 years old. So I didn't recognize her either.
It didn't end there. No.
I was hiking a local park. I had jus climbed up a small hill where the trails intersected. This old old man passed by jus as I reached the top of the hill. He looked to be 80, frail and bent over as he slowly walked by with wisp of white hair left to the wind. He looked familiar. I turned and watched him until he was out of sight, and wondered if he would reach the road.
I didn't know it was Billy.
I stopped into the bar for a beer and sammy. An old man, all bent over, shuffled to a barstool with the help of a middle-age man. An Irishman making his "last call," I thought. He drained one beer, then slowly gathered himself up and departed. "God bless ya," called out the barkeep.
I didn't know it was Billy.
You see, Billy and I were friends from years ago. We lost track of one another. He recognized me and tried a few times to reach me. But my hearing let me down. Actually no, I let myself down. I did all the wrong things when I couldn't hear the barkeep or the daughter. I gave a yes or a no when actually I didn't hear what they said to me. I was frustrated from trying to hear in a crowded noisy bar. So I took the easy way out, figuring it was some kind of mistaken identity.
Billy died 2 days after making his "last call" to the bar.
The service was on a Saturday. On Friday evening, I stopped into the bar. I struggled to finish one beer. It was too emotional, so I got up to leave. The barkeep rushed over and handed me a token.
"It's on Billy," she said.
I scratched my head like...whatdafu? A dead man bought me a beer?
Come Saturday, there was no viewing at the wake. But I recognized the daughter...and the son. I knew I'd seen them before. At the same bar. It started to click, the sick old man, omg, that was Billy.
Billy wasn't 80 years old. He was 46. He had lupus. It ravaged his body.
If I knew my hearing would cause this much pain, I would have offed myself years ago. I live with this burden everyday.
Broken.
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