I walk straight ahead.
The line of my mouth matches the straight line I walk. I am angry at her for not listening to what I know she can hear. So many times I have tried to explain: In voice, I find no clue whether the speaker is left, right, in front of me, behind me, or suspended seven feet in the air.
If their voice provides no clue… why won’t they turn it off?
If they want me, they can come and get me.
* * * *
Yet it takes me, also, years to make the needed adjustments to my own behavior.
Listening to the poller, I hold the phone a comfortable two inches from my right ear. On a lark, I switch it my left ear. Yep, now I am pressing the phone right into my ear, straining to catch the thread of conversation.
By now it has been imprinted in my brain:
When I can’t hear what someone is saying, I don’t have to ask them to repeat themselves (again), don’t have to say “Uh huh… uh huh…” like I am following along.
No, I can switch ears. When I switch from my left ear to my right, the volume may go up not one but four of five notches.
And now the volume inside my head is set too loud.
* * * *
So often people do not believe what they don’t yet have an explanation for. If I could go back in time I would explain what a kid can’t explain: that the ability to localize sound is dependent on analyzing volume differences between the left and right ears… a process that can be thrown awry by bilateral hearing impairment…
My left ear tries it’s durndest, bless its heart, but sometimes I suspect it was included primarily for decorative purposes.
Or as a backup, perhaps.