Whisper

Vince Bunnyman hears every whisper.
Loud was a blur.
An uncomfortable buzz.
A mixture of syllables and gunshots.
Twenty decibels.
Quieter than a Librarian.
That was his range.
His optimum level.
Quieter didn’t mean easier though.
As a child he always knew in advance what his parents were getting him for Christmas and Birthdays.
They found surprising him difficult at best.
He heard in advance every horse his Father would lose his money on each and every Saturday.
He also knew that his Father’s Bookmaker was planning on buying a brand new, very expensive car.
Vince’s family had only ever had two cars.
Both were gas-guzzlers.
Both were blue.
Both scared him when the engine backfired.
Which it often did.
In Grade 6 he heard every secret that the popular girls would convey between their desks whilst the teacher was writing on the blackboard.
Unfortunately almost every secret involved something at Vince’s expense.
Mostly relating to his hair cut and love of cold Pop Tarts.
When it came time for his senior dance, he knew exactly who would be going with who well before anyone got a chance to say yes.
Vince also got his chance to say yes.
During one of the many slow dances however he was forced to witness his date nibble on Billy Crosswaite’s ear.
At least she didn’t whisper into it.
Vince could not have handled hearing her sweet-nothings caress Billy's ear.
The punch he drank on the side of the dance floor was already bitter enough.
He was soon distracted from the nibbling though as Camilla Jones confessed to her date that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
On his first day at his first office job he tried his very best to fit in.
He collected their documents from the photocopier.
He made them Earl Grey tea.
He even laughed at their lame jokes.
But they were just like the popular girls.
They thought they couldn’t be heard on the other side of the office.
They could have been another hundred metres away, Vince still would have picked up every word that came out of their scheming mouths.
He didn’t deserve to be treated like this from his new co-workers.
The plotting.
The planning.
The whispering.
Fools.
It didn’t matter.
He’d brought his lunch from home anyway.
Last week a friend took Vince to a gig.
Rock.
And roll.
His friend thoughtfully also brought him a pair of earplugs.
Vince lasted two chords into the first song.
He still managed to enjoy the entire show.
Watching from outside through a small window, earplugs firmly in place.
This was Vince’s curse.
But it’s not always a bad thing.
Now, as he lies in the dark, the volume is perfect.
He absorbs her voice.
Her day.
Her whisper.
Anything more would be deafening.