[Valentines Contest Entry 2017] Fallen on Deaf Ears

After three hours of papercuts and crumpled paper, I still couldn't finish this origami tulip. Knowing myself, it’d probably end up in the trash anyway; it's just a paper flower unable to donate or receive neither nutrients nor sentimentality. What does that make me, the creator? I crush it in the palm of my hand and toss it on the floor behind me, because I know the answer: Garbage.

I bury my face in my arms to try to enjoy my last moments of peace before my next class starts. My thoughts become static in the dining hall chatter, even though I’m in a corner far away from the large groups. I can hear footsteps walk beside me, before the trash can door flaps and a tray clacks near the disposal area. Then there’s the furious crumpling of paper as they probably put my paper miscreation out of its misery.

Tap. I lift my head and see the somehow crisp, but still crumpled and torn paper tulip leaves rising from a matching stem. The blur of the woman leaves with her a raspberry-vanilla fragrance that pulls me out of my seat, with no time to bury my graveyard tray of food and paper remains.

I was running, like the building was on fire, trying to cache my glance of her while my eyes whiplash like a life or death game of “where’s Waldo?” Even if I had no chance, I would never forgive myself if I never said a word; the blur of her would burn itself in the back of my mind constantly reminding me “what if?”

I see her pink narwhal backpack as she ghosts down the sidewalk in all black. My screws must be loose because I sprint to her and tap her shoulder without considering what to say. Words collide when I open my mouth and my voice cracks as I try to force out “Hey” through the cacophony.

I can only imagine how I must look, but I hand her the flower both thanking her and apologizing at the same time.

She pulls out a notepad and a pen from her jacket pouch and scribbles on the page before flipping it back to me, eyebrow raised. “W.h.a.t?” The lines are unnaturally clean and artistic, like she practiced calligraphy all her life.

The way she’s gesturing to her ear solidifies my assumption, she’s deaf, and that must make me a special kind of jerk. Her hair was short and half shaved with side swept bangs. Her jeans look factory torn and her shoulderless sweater left her soft shoulders radiating in the sun’s gaze. My hands tremble until I grab the notepad and pen. The world simultaneously bombards me with bricks and gives me a mulligan. What the hell do I say!? I look up at her blue-green eyes glowing between her black mascara and eyeliner. Her skin: a light beige; Her lips: a warm pink. I can’t keep her waiting! My heart’s beating so fast I feel like I’d hit the floor at any second.

I reply on the paper, “Sorry! I wanted to say thanks and wondered if you could show me how you made the flower? - Sam, nice to meet you :D. *cue awkward handshake*” As I hand back the notebook and pen, I notice my nails are longer than her short, uniform, pink nails.

She pinches each of her nails between her teeth as she reads until she snickers and starts writing back; it’s like getting to relive the best part of high school again. Hiding her smile with her sleeve, she hands me the notebook and pen again.

She responds, “Madilynn/Madi/Lynn.”

Even her slashes are crisp.

I hand her back her notebook and pen before holding out my hand and praying it’s not too sweaty or sticky. She grabs my wrist with both of her cold, soft, hands and shakes in calculated intervals like a robot.

She took the awkward handshake literally and I can’t help but go along with it; I can tell I'm making the ugly facial expression she anticipated by how big she smiles. Each of her teeth are pointed and unnaturally white, to some degree, and she was missing the tooth left of her bottom right canine.

She quickly covers her mouth, but I return her smile with my own smile, barely visible with my overbite.

She gestures for me to follow her.

I have to point to myself and mouth, “Me? Go with you?”

She confirms with a quick nod, pointing to what I assume is her dorm.

It’s a quiet walk; She keeps her mouth covered and doesn’t tilt her head an inch.

I pull out a crumpled piece of orange origami paper, but the first thing that pops into my head is “Nice weather.” I mentally push myself into the street; I can do better. Be honest, but not creepy.

I hand her the folded crumpled mess of paper like a note, as if I didn’t know she was gonna unfold it right then. I only wrote two words, but she blushes so vibrantly that if she were a chameleon she would have vanished. In the silence of this walk I found peace; the world around me disappears and I'm lost in every aspect of her. The way she keeps her mouth covered and nibbles at her thumb trying desperately to peek at me from the corners of her eye paints a smile on my face.

I realize I should go to class since I’m paying for it, but call me crazy; there’s something about her.



We reach her dorm; She taps her card against the scanner and holds the door open for me, still covering her mouth with her right hand. I curtsy like a gentleman as I walk through the door. I wish I could say I was trying to make her laugh and that I wasn’t just an idiot in my everyday life.

Her room is on second floor: 209. She opens the door to a living room decorated in clothes and dishes only on the right side. She gestures, “Help yourself to a seat,” before walking to the left set of rooms.

You know that feeling you get when you’re waiting on to be seen by a doctor about your constipation during an interview while studying for a final you have tomorrow? Probably not, but that’s the best way to explain how I feel right now. What if her roommates walk in? What if they’re naked? What if the fire alarm goes off right now? What if I have to fart, but it slips just as she’s walking in? What if I’m sweating too much and my pits stink? What if I have to use the bathroom in the next three seconds? What if I pee on the floor? What if she has to go?

This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done; I just need to relax. Lucky for me phones and internet exist so I can just play Fire Emblem: Heroes and distract my mind from panicking.

After a few minutes, she came with a small plastic crate full of origami paper and another gust of raspberry-vanilla.

She pops the lid of the crate, plants her knees on the carpet, pulls out a yellow piece of paper, and gestures at the crate.

I pluck out an orange piece of paper without moving from the couch, pulling away like a feral dog offered food at a park.

She scooches closer to me and pets the floor beside her.

Who am I kidding? I’m a poodle that would turn into a puddle if she touched me.

I kneel beside the table with her, following her every fold and crease and losing my concentration every time she twirls her hand through her hair, stops to bite at her nails, or yawns.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but I felt something in the silence like my heart was going to burst. The way you find a character in a game that just “feels right” to play.

Our tulips are done—hers is much better—and I know I would leave soon; I hand her my phone with the new contact screen up. She looks at it, up to me, then back before she starts typing. I just smile, pinching my leg from through my pocket so I don’t make a fool of myself or vomit.

I depart with a “thank you” as I reciprocate her awkward handshake from before.


“Madilynn.” I just stare at her name in my phone as I lie in bed on my back. Her wrist was like silk. Her smile… Her hair… Her… Just her.

I’ve never been here before. Do I text her? Call? What do I say? Every feeling pours out of me through a magnifying glass while staring at this keypad. Breathe; take it slow.

“Hey Madi, it’s Sam. Up for lunch tomorrow? I have class 2-3pm, but maybe you can show me some more origami after?” I hit send and bury myself under my covers to smother this pressure in my chest. Ironically the silence is maddening but soothing. I can still smell that raspberry-vanilla; it takes me back to her smile. Then comes arousal and shame, like a boner on Christmas eve.

My phone vibrates.

Don’t look at it. It’s just Fire Emblem about your stamina, he thought trying to distract himself and thinking in third person for some reason.

It vibrates again.

Nope.

Again...

Screw it. I roll over and squint at my phone like a kid watching a horror movie; somehow this made me feel better.

She replies, “Sounds good!
Looks*
:)”

I chuckle, press the phone against my chest and sleep knowing I’ll see her tomorrow.



She sits down in a huff, slaps a clear hearing aid down on the table and covers her face in her hands.

I nudge the paper to her, “What’s wrong? Where’s your lunch?”

She quickly scribbles, “Quiet > world. No money; not hungry.”

I slide my lunch to her with the paper. “Take it anyway, I gotta watch my figure for the paper folding Olympics :D.” I can’t blame her for not wanting to change; there’s something special about the quiet, something special about her.

She laughs and spits all over my face, but I play it off wiping my face discretely when she reaches into her bag and pulls out more paper. She stares at the sandwich, back to me, then back to the sandwich.

She tries to delicately tear the sandwich in half, to no avail, handing the bigger half to me, before removing the crusts and nibbling on it like a gerbil. She only made it halfway through the sandwich, but we made origami roses and frogs.


Even after almost a month of lunch, late night origami, anime, and charades, her smile punctuates my days.

I cut the crusts off her sandwich and she watches me play or plays games with me; games are about the only time she’ll use her hearing aid. It’s ironic; the only person who actually listened to me and got to know me is deaf. I’ve gone so long thinking there’s something wrong with me….

My phone buzzes.

“Will you make it tonight?” She sends.

I reply, “Yup, unless you plan on putting a hit out on me.”

“Lol not today <3 :).”

“ :P <3”

Today’s the day I risk it all and tell her how I feel. Not literally of course; I’m gonna give her a note because I could never say any of this even if I wanted to. I go over every word as I walk:



I squeeze the folded note in my palm as she opens the door in a long sleeve pink V-neck shirt and long black socks; I pray there are shorts under that, least God test the weakening limits of my gentlemanship.

She rests her head on my chest and stares into my, now wide, eyes. As I raise my hand to her cheek, she kisses me and before I know it I’m half-naked and chest to chest in her twin sized bed staring into her eyes. Her chest: two cantaloupe pillows pressing against mine and cresting out of her V-neck shirt. I gently caress her stomach, legs and face. Our hearts beat frantically, out of sync. We’re still, but there’s heat and friction like two enkindling sticks on the verge of combustion.

“I love you.” Her voice is high pitched, but inconsistent as she whispers on the “love,” but squeaks on the “you.”

I roll to my back and motion for her to come closer, uncrumple the—probably sweat drenched— note from my hand and read using my phone as a light.



I wake up to realize I’ve drifted asleep in her ocean blue eyes and pull her closer excited to do it again.

Haste has a way of making us miss the things right in front of us. I.e: When you're looking for your keys in every place except right in front of you.
The second half of that sentence explains his reaction. The flower was merely a segway.


Are there any hints prior that may give insight into his self-esteem/state of mind? His view of the things he makes, the view of himself, or his isolation?

Regardless, have you ever walked up to try to shake hands with someone that doesn't have one? It's one of those moments where you've assumed something about someone and feel like you've offended them after your assumption turns out to be wrong. Even if you know there are people of varying capabilities, you may not have met one yet. Similarly, why one never, ever, never, ever, never, assumes someone is pregnant.




May sound strange, but I kinda pushed myself to do this since my preferred genre is Gothic horror. So I figured I'd give the other end of the spectrum a try. Regardless, it's the perfect set up for everything to go horribly wrong with a steep juxtaposition.

Thanks for the feedback :D.

Time got the best of me, unfortunately.

Regardless, I agree that there's a lot of work to be done.

Thank you both for investing the time; I will think long and hard about your comments, and try to do better in the future.

Believe I saw something about it on Twitter.



Not really. More just written about having the compulsion to talk to someone. A feeling I've had at times, but never actually went through with. At least my dart made it on the board I guess.



Clarity seems to slip through my hand like water when I really need to splash my face. Tis' a symptom of work being a priority, fragmented writing, and lack of proofing. Outside of the nonsensical typo, the narrator is in fact narrating his thoughts. Had I more time and sense I'd have made inner thought and such easier to follow.



I concur. Hopefully next time, should I be foolish enough, I won't waste all my resources on overlords and ensure there's units on the field.

In other words: I appreciate the feedback, somewhat accept my story for the glorious train wreck that it was, understand that it is in horrible need of improvement, and will use this defeat to improve in the following battles.