Chapter Ten
Depth of field (n.) The amount of distance between the nearest and farthest objects that appear in acceptably sharp focus in a photograph.
7 October 2016
To: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
From: me
Subject: Thank you
Hi Jason,
Do you remember me? It’s been a while, but I wanted to thank you. You helped me so much when I didn’t want help, and I appreciate it.
I’m back to work. Attached is a recent article in The Times that features a photo of mine. It was sort of buried in the back, but I’m not complaining.
Hope everything is going well for you. Thank you again, sincerely.
Scott
8 October 2016
To: me
From: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
Subject: Thank you
Scott, this is brilliant news! Of course I remember you.
So glad to see you’re working again. It’s an excellent photo!
Are you staying in London for work, or travelling?
And how are you?
To: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
From: me
Subject: Thank you
Cheers! It’s sort of strange to see my credit in print again.
I’ll be in London for now, but they tentatively have me down for Paris at the end of next month. I’m on probation, I think? Even though they didn’t say that. People are tiptoeing around me a bit, which is annoying. But I like the distance, in a way. I suppose I’ll see how it goes. In any case, I wouldn’t have been able to get back at it if it wasn’t for you, so thank you.
I’m good, truly. I finished my PT with Brenna last month. It was rough there in the middle, but we got through it. I kind of miss her though, is that weird? We ended up almost proper friends.
I still float, and I still see Emilia for acupuncture. The tinnitus came back pretty strongly a couple of weeks ago. We’ve tried some different things that help a bit, but it’ll probably take a while.
That reminds me, do you know anything about sound therapy? Emilia knows a place in Waterloo where they do singing bowls and something called gong baths. It sounds interesting, right? But I don’t know.
Anyway, this is getting long, so I’ll go.
Is everything good there?
Scott
To: me
From: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
Subject: Thank you
Good that you can be close to home for a bit while you get acclimated back to work. Take it slow. I can imagine people there might be nervous or awkward around you, but I’m sure they are happy to have you back. And if I had a part in your healing so you could get there, I’m glad.
I do know the sound therapy place, but only by reputation. I’ve never tried it myself. I think it’s worth exploring. In fact, if you decide to do it, would you consider getting in touch with me after you go? I’ve heard some varying reactions (none terrible), but I’m curious how you find it, given your history. Only if you’d like to. No obligation at all.
Good for you for floating. I haven’t been in ages, and I should go. With the cold weather setting in, my knee tends to act up and floating helps with that.
I think yes, everything is good here, except I proceed to continually embarrass myself in my footie league. I guess I’m getting old.
Take care.
Jason
26 October 2016
Good day, you have reached the office of Dr Jason Andrews. Our office hours are—beep
“Hi Jason, it’s Scott. Okay, so you asked if I’d let you know about Luke’s, you know, the sound therapy place? Well, I went, and…whoa. I’m kind of overwhelmed? There was a lot about frequencies and therapeutic percussion, or something—that bit went over my head, really, but it was good. He calls it a sound bath, and it really is like that, strangely. Like, you’re immersed in the sounds. Gongs and bells and singing bowls and I don’t know what else. Anyway, you can call me back if you want. I’m here. All right. Thanks. I mean goodbye.”
You have two new messages. First message received Wednesday, October 26th at 8:15 p.m.
“Hi, Scott, I’m sorry I missed your call. So you went! Sounds like it was good. Was it a group of people, or did you have a one-on-one session? I’ve heard he does both there. And I was reading about voice frequency therapy on his website. I’m not sure what that is. Any case, I’m interested in the details, and how you’re feeling now, so, maybe I’ll try you back in a bit. Or you should have my mobile number. You could call that. Thanks, Scott. Take care.”
Next message received Wednesday, October 26th at 8:19 p.m.
“Hi Scott, it’s Jason again. I wanted to, uh, remind you, I guess, that you’re not under any obligation to talk to me about what’s going on with your treatments now. I think my message may have sounded a bit doctorish, asking you for the details and such. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just curious, I suppose. The doctor is hard to turn off sometimes. But no worries. So if you feel like calling me back, do. Thanks.”
27 October 2016
Describing the mechanics of the sound therapy session to Jason feels brilliant; actually, it’s the talking to him again, about anything, even the weather or what he had for lunch, that feels brilliant. Something about the way Jason listens makes Scott choose his words carefully.
“No, it was more like…a wall of sound. Like, no specific notes you can pick out? Just solid tones that hold for a long time and keep overlapping one another.”
“Oh, right, I get what you mean. Not a melody, just vibrations?”
“Right. And after a while, it felt like I was completely surrounded by it. It was everywhere, and I could …get lost in it. I couldn’t think about anything. And, huh, now that I’m thinking about it, I couldn’t move my arms either.”
“Were you sitting? Or lying down?”
“I was sitting, but most everyone else was lying down.”
“So you tried to lift your arms, and you couldn’t?” There is understanding in Jason’s voice but also a note of wonder.
“Yeah. But it wasn’t scary. It was comforting, I guess. And safe? That sounds weird. But…”
“No, that makes sense. The sound frequencies sort of overwhelm the thinking part of the brain, in a way? Really interesting. It’s, like, the exact opposite of the quiet of floating, but the same result. Hmm. And how about your ears? Any change there? Even temporarily?”
“Well, they—”
“Oh sorry, sorry,” Jason says. “This sounds like an interrogation. You don’t have to—”
“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. There was no change in the ringing after. But that’s all right. I’m still going to go back.” Scott is sure of this, and though the thought of lying down through it, where the possibility of being completely paralyzed is a bit terrifying, he can’t resist the appeal of it.
“It might take a while. Could be a cumulative effect, you know? A sort of retraining of your nervous system over time.”
“Right. I hope so.” Scott can feel the conversation winding down and searches for a way to keep Jason with him a bit longer. “So, do you have any more questions for me?”
“Um, no, I guess that was it. I appreciate you calling.”
“No problem.” Scott shakes his head and squints. He’s going there, and once he opens the door, it won’t just be an idea in his head, it will be out there in the world. “But I wanted to ask you something too.”
“What is it?”
“You told me a story once, about a person’s wedding ring. They put it in your bag and didn’t want it back. You, um, gave it back to the world, I think you said?”
“Right, yeah. I took it to the park.”
“Yeah. So. I’m wondering if…um…” There is a pause filled with a long-ago feeling of being understood, a feeling Scott has missed terribly.
“Is this about your camera?” Jason asks.
“Yeah, but… I don’t know. I’m just thinking about it. I don’t really want to do anything with it yet, I don’t think. I guess I want to know…how you do it. In case. Can you tell me how that works?”
“Sure, I can tell you how that works.”
3 November 2016
Scott’s phone hums just after he’s put down his work bag and hung up his coat in the front cupboard. He fishes it out of his back pocket as he walks toward the kitchen.
“Open House—Sound—Friday 7 p.m.”
A thought comes to him as he puts the kettle on, and he finds Jason’s name in his contacts.
There’s a sound therapy demo tomorrow night at Luke’s. Free and open to the public. Just in case you want to try it
Let’s see. Supposed to go to my sister’s tomorrow. Some other time though?
Scott frowns at his phone, then chuckles.
Don’t be scared. ‘Light refreshments will be served’
Ha! I wish I could. But I can’t this time.
OK More veg and hummus for me then
I’m sorry to miss it. Let me know if anything interesting happens? (If you want)
Something interesting always happens at Luke’s, Scott thinks, though it’s just a bunch of people in a room for an hour with nothing but gongs and bells. And he’s sure Jason would think so too. He puts his tea bag in his cup and pinches his lip between his thumb and forefinger.
Will do. Have a good weekend
You too
14 November 2016
Good day, you have reached the office of Dr Jason Andrews. Our—beep
“Hi Jason, it’s Scott. I didn’t want to call your mobile and wake you up. I’m taking an early train to Paris, and I’m here waiting at the station. I’m only going to be gone for three days, so no big deal, but… I guess I’m nervous or something. I’ve been to Paris lots of times, but…I don’t know. It feels different this time. I never noticed there are armed police here. Anyway. I just wanted to tell you I was on my way. My first trip away for work. I mean, not first, but you know, first since—” beep “—ugh, damn it.”
Good day, you—beep
“Yeah. So. It feels kind of important? And don’t worry about me or anything. I do want to go, but I didn’t realise how weird it would be to have my passport and equipment and…all of that. I have to get used to it again. Anyway, I’ll be back on Thursday. All right. Thanks. Ha, I mean, see you.”
You have two new messages. First message received Monday, November 14th at 6:40 a.m.
“Hey, Scott. You’re probably on the train now, but congratulations! Brilliant that you’re on your way. I think it’s normal to be nervous. You’re going to do just fine. If you need to talk, give me a call. I’ll be in and out of appointments today until five. Call me on my mobile, all right? Right. Bye.”
Next message received Monday, November 14th at 6:51 a.m.
“Just thought of something—I don’t know how much time you’ll have, but maybe you’ll get to enjoy a bit of the city? There’s a lovely bakery in the…tenth, I think? Pain et Idées, something like that. Might be something to look forward to. All right, I’ll talk with you soon. You’ll be fine, Scott. You can do it.”
16 November 2016
To: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
From: me
Subject: Paris
Two press conferences down, one to go. Yesterday was rocky but today is smoother, so I’m calling it good.
Thank you for the recommendation. Du Pain et Des Idées was excellent, long line, but entirely worth it. How do they do that with flour and milk? Massive amounts of butter, I suppose. Very close to Place de la République and the Canal Saint-Martin, both very photogenic as well.
Someday, I’d like to visit the countryside too. No time now though, coming home tomorrow. With three two bags of croissants.
We could get together if you’re around? If not, that’s cool too. I know you’re busy.
To: me
From: drjason.andrews@jahealthcare.co.uk
Subject: Paris
Sounds good! How about lunch Friday? We can meet at Pearl’s at noon if you want. It’s close to my office. Does that work?
18 November 2016
Scott hasn’t been in Jason’s area of the city in six months, but the bus route to Stratford feels like a reunion with an old friend. The familiar intersections, the way the road curves and bumps, and the names of the shops as they pass by all remind him of last spring. He was still sick then. But now, even though it’s cool and cloudy, the streets feel warm, as if they are inviting him back.
Scott’s heart beats faster as the bus approaches his stop. He gathers his bags and moves his way to the front, eager to get out and walk the rest of the way to Pearl’s. He checks the time. Early, as he’d planned, 11:45.
He smiles to himself as he walks, with his computer bag over one shoulder and the wax bag of croissants, all the way from Paris, in the other hand. He imagines how it will be, what he and Jason will talk about, what it might be like sitting across from him after so long. He wonders, nervously, if there will be—
“Scott, hey!”
He turns, and there is Jason, smiling wide in a windbreaker and joggers.
“Hey, hi!” Scott says as they meet, his arms outstretched as if to hug, and Jason with his hand out to shake. They fumble for a minute, chuckling, and end up in a messy half embrace, patting each other on the back with their free hands. “You’re early!”
“So are you,” Jason says, pulling back. He points to the bakery bag, a bit awestruck. “And what’s this?”
Scott holds the bag out to him. “They’re a few days old now, but…I thought you might enjoy them. They’re from Du Pain et Des Idées.”
“For me?” Jason’s face lights up, and when their eyes meet, Scott thrills that he is the same as he remembered. Hands warm, blue eyes bright. Jason opens the bag and peeks in at the croissants, taking an exaggerated sniff that makes Scott laugh. “Heavenly. Thank you, this is…incredible.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jason moves toward the café door and holds it open. “Let’s go in before all the window seats get taken.”
Scott leads them through the tables to a spot for two. As they settle in, he can feel Jason’s eyes on him, but when he looks up, Jason turns to the large chalkboard over the bar where the specials are written.
“I have the same thing every time I come—lentil and avocado salad.” Jason laughs when Scott makes a face. “But, uh, the mixed grill is good too. And I’ll even share my croissants.”
“Mixed grill it is,” Scott says. It’s a strange feeling at first, sitting across from Jason. What they’d gone through together in Jason’s treatment room was so heavy and dark Scott hadn’t been sure he’d make it through, but that time is gone, and now they are friends out in the world having a simple lunch in a corner café. After the waiter comes to take their order, their conversation starts straightaway.
“So,” Jason begins, with the same curious look Scott remembers. “You look good. Your face, I mean.”
“Thanks. You look good too. Well, I mean, you look the same.” He shrugs because it’s all the truth.
“Well, thanks, I think?” Jason takes a sip of his water. “So, what was Paris like?”
“Paris was…busy. A fleabag hotel, I must say, but hey, it’s the City of Lights, right? And the bakery made up for the dodgy accommodations.”
Jason squints a bit. “And the work part? Your email said it was rocky.”
“Eh, it was…fine.” It was. It was fine. It will be fine.
“Fine?”
Scott takes a breath, debating how much to say. “Well, I had a bit of an issue at the press conference the first day. Lots of people, small space, that kind of thing? But it was all right. I got out of there, took a walk. Oh, and it was weird. I think one of the junior ministers was hitting on me.”
“Oh?” Jason seems surprised at the turn in the conversation. “That’s exciting? Maybe?”
Scott recalls the slim politician, who was scruffy and dishevelled in an effortlessly sexy, distinctively French way. “Nah. He was…well, you know when someone’s a close talker? And you take a step back and they come closer? And you keep stepping back and they just keep coming? He was that.”
Jason chuckles. “But that can be kind of good, can’t it?” He leans back in his chair and takes another sip of water.
“Nah, not this time. His breath was stinky.”
“Ha! So what did you do about this stinky close talker?”
“I told him the truth, that I wasn’t interested.” Scott turns to the window and bites his lip. He thought the funny story would be a good way to pivot away from the trouble at the press conference, but it isn’t; he recalls the way his hands shook in the crowded press room, how he had to push through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream to the fresh air of the courtyard. How the man kept coming closer, even though Scott kept moving away. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever be interested, you know? It’s… I don’t know.”
Jason studies him for a moment, then speaks quietly. “Don’t worry about that now. You don’t have to judge it or make any sweeping decisions. Just take your time.”
“Yeah. Yeah, all right.”
“And anyway, I’m proud of you. Your first work trip, done. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but you did it. Right?” Jason holds up his water glass as if to make a toast.
“Right,” Scott agrees, clinking. It feels good, as if they are making a pact or a promise. “To Paris.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Yes. To Paris.”
“Speaking of which, I brought some pictures I took. Do you want to see them?” Scott asks after they drink. He reaches for his computer.
“Absolutely,” Jason says, pulling the bakery bag onto his lap with a look over his shoulder. He whispers conspiratorially. “You don’t think they’d mind if I had one of these, do you?” He reaches in and breaks off a piece. “I can’t resist.”
Scott shakes his head, then looks around for the waiter, who is nowhere to be found. He smiles. “You’d better give me a piece of that.”
22 November 2016
Scott is standing in the grocer’s line when he checks his phone and sees his notifications filled with Instagram likes, all from the same person. Jaandr3ws. That has to be Jason, and he texts him to be sure.
Ha
What?
You followed me on Instagram
Yes. Why is that funny?
Because you liked every post I think
Scott steps out of the line and puts his basket on the floor between his feet. He has a sudden thought.
Wait, are you feeling sorry for me? Because I had trouble in Paris?
No! I followed some wedding photographers. And you came up as a suggestion. So I clicked on you and I got sucked in.
There’s a hot thud in Scott’s chest as he stares at the screen for a moment. The photo of Jason and his partner from Jason’s office flips across Scott’s mind, and he takes a breath.
Are you getting married?
Me? God no. My sister is.
Scott is enthused at this news, more than he should be, and he can’t help but type:
Congrats! OK I’ll follow you back
My Instagram is mostly sports stuff. But you could follow me on Facebook.
OK, I’ll find you.
Though there are several Jason Andrews, only two are doctors, and only one has a football as his icon.
This is weird
Sorry!? :/
No, it’s OK, ha. Your sister is pretty. Is that weird to say?
She looks like Jason, only in a more delicate package, and with longer hair. Their smiles are just the same.
Katie? No, not weird. She’s a stunner, everybody thinks so. That’s an amazing picture of the water blessing. Bangkok looks incredible!
Thanks. I like that one too.
And the one of the people praying at the Ganges. Amazing.
I got wet for that one, ha!
Scott scrolls through Jason’s Facebook feed, and it’s a mix of his family and friends, healthy recipes, yoga, and football. Several photos show him with his teammates, both on the sidelines and in action. In one, he’s got his hands on his hips and a brace covering his knee, looking sweaty and tired.
Omg footie pics. Nice. You’re quite serious
Oh no. You’re liking my pics now. What have I done?
*
Later that night, as he’s about to shower, their conversation picks up again.
Are you going to sound on Friday? Thought I’d try it.
Yes! Starts at 7
Anything I need to know?
Wear comfortable clothes, layers. They keep the room on the cold side. They have blankets and mats
How long is it?
An hour. But if you want to stay for the gong bath too it’s another half hour or so
Should I?
I’d recommend it. Reserve ahead of time on the web
OK, I will. Thanks for the info.
You’re brave! Good on you!
Ha.
See you Fri
See you then.
Scott turns on the water and unbuttons his shirt, humming to himself. He’s got something to look forward to.
25 November 2016
Scott guides Jason through the lobby at Luke’s, pointing out where they’ll sign in, where the mats are stashed, and how to find the water fountain and the restrooms. Men and women mill around quietly, hanging up coats and exchanging greetings. There is soft music that reminds Scott of the kind Jason plays in his office, and on the shelves are books, CDs, and bells to buy.
“Here you are,” the woman behind the counter says to Jason when it’s his turn to register. “Fill this out and return it to me before the session starts. Make sure to sign the bottom.” On the clipboard she holds out is a waiver, with all of the familiar medical questions Scott had been so frustrated by last spring. Jason gives Scott a knowing grin as he picks up a pen.
“You’re not going to go get a burger while I’m doing the sound session, are you?” Jason asks.
“Nope, I’ll be right here. No burgers. No takeaway, no pizza. Maybe after.”
Jason nods. “All right, maybe after.”
After they finish registration, they each take a mat and a pillow and enter the sound room, where people have already staked out areas on the floor.
“Let’s go over there, in the corner,” Scott says. On the way, Scott notices Emilia, his acupuncturist, chatting with one of her friends. He waves and realises when Jason says hello, too, that they know each other as well.
“This is kind of like my yoga class,” Jason says, spreading out his mat next to Scott’s. “Everybody has a spot.” He sits cross-legged, a few nerves visible in the deep breaths he takes as he looks around.
Scott sits as well and points to the large table at the front of the room. Luke stands behind it, checking the various gongs, bells, cymbals, and drums he will be using. “Want to go up and see?” Scott asks, thinking Jason might welcome the distraction.
“No, I think I’ll wait here. You can go if you want to.”
Scott shakes his head. “Do you want to sit this time, or lie down?”
“You think lying down is better, right?”
“That’s what I do. I can relax more that way.”
As Jason arranges his pillow, Scott thinks this may be the first time he’s ever seen him not in complete control of a situation. Jason’s confidence is usually an energy all around him, and although he’s perfectly game for whatever might happen here, there’s a caution underneath that Scott finds endearing. He feels a surge of pride, being the one who can finally steer the ship for them, the one who knows the ropes and who will be here in case Jason needs him. They lie down, a few feet apart, in silence.
Three bells ring to call the room to attention. Luke greets the participants warmly and wishes them a good session. An air of quiet anticipation fills the room, and Jason and Scott turn to face each other, to check in one last time before they go.
Scott mouths, Are you ready?
Jason’s eyebrows lift, and he mouths back, Yes, you?
Scott gives him a thumbs up as if they’re astronauts signing through a window that they’re a go for launch. Jason turns away, closing his eyes, and Scott focuses on the tile pattern on the ceiling.
The first sound is a low drum, struck so softly that Scott can’t hear the beat, only the tone that fills the air around them. Then there is another overlapping it, also low and long. His breathing lengthens and his shoulders drop away from his ears. The two notes are the only sounds in the room for a while, and Scott knows this is the foundation for what will grow to be a multilayered symphony of vibrations. He turns his head slowly to check in on Jason, who lies still with his palms up, face focused and intent.
Scott closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, ready to submit to the sounds and where they may take him.
Later, in the restaurant down the block, Jason types notes into his phone as Scott listens to him ponder how it all works.
“And there was that one bell, you know the one I mean? The one that sounded sharp at first, then got mellower? I swear, that one made my scalp tingle,” Jason says.
“Really? I didn’t feel anything on that one. But that cymbal, toward the end, that made me grit my teeth.”
“Ugh, I know the one. I didn’t like it either. Made me fidgety.” Jason types that, too, and takes a bite of his salmon salad and barely swallows before he starts to talk. “Now I know why they call it a sound bath. You’re completely enveloped in the sound, like you said. The whole brain is submerged in it, right? I didn’t get that until now.”
Scott puts down his sandwich and wipes his hands on his napkin. “So, do you think you’d come back? I mean, would you want to do it again?”
“Hell, yes, I want to do it again! You said each time is different, right? So now I need to find out about the chimes. He didn’t use those tonight. And I’d like to know if each instrument affects the same part of the body in the same way each time, or does it depend on the day? Or the frequency of the note? Or the temperature in the room?” He takes another bite, then turns to his phone again, thumbs typing furiously. “I’m curious, too, about injuries. I mean, we’ve both had injuries, right?”
Scott nods.
“So, do injured parts of the body react the same to certain frequencies as whole parts do? Would a person with an injury react differently to the same sound profile as a person without an injury? And what about speed of healing? The implications are…fascinating. I’d like to talk to Luke about that, see what he thinks.”
Scott nods again, smiling.
“What?” Jason asks around another mouthful of food.
“I forgot how you are.”
Jason’s face falls. “How am I?”
“Persistent.”
“That’s me.” Jason shrugs, smiling, and puts his phone down. “And I do want to go back. Can you make it next Friday?”
“If I’m in town, absolutely. There’s a chance I’ll go to Glasgow.” Scott’s stomach tightens at the thought.
“And is that all right with you?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Scott says. “It’s just for a day or two. I’ve got to get back in the saddle, right?” Though the thought of the airport, a new city, and the crunch of a press corps makes his heart beat faster. He picks up his mug of coffee, letting its warmth heat his hands.
“No,” Jason says simply. “Not if you don’t want to.”
They sit in silence, Scott turning the words over and over in his mind. What he wants and what he’s able to do may not be the same thing. “No” doesn’t feel like an option at the moment, but hearing Jason say it feels like a door cracking open.
“I’ll let you know,” Scott says.
Jason nods, taking another bite of salad. “Perfect.”
1 December 2016
Hello, you’ve reached Dr Jason Andrews’s mobile. I’m sorry I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave me a message, and I’ll get right back to you. If this is an emergency, please call 020 8586 5000.
“Hi, Jason. It’s Scott. I’ve had kind of a shit day. My trip to Glasgow got cancelled. Well, not so much cancelled, I suppose, as they decided to send someone else. David, the suck-up from Bristol, to be specific. So, it turns out I’m going to be in town. I’m planning on going to the group sound thing tomorrow at seven. So just let me know if you’ll be there. All right. Talk to you soon.”
You have one new message. Received Thursday, December 1st at 9:32 p.m.
“Hi Scott. I suppose it’s been a shit day all around, then. My, um, my cat Bitsy died today, and I’m…well, I’m falling apart a bit, actually. She was very, very old and sick, too, and today was just… I couldn’t bear to see her that way any longer. Didn’t know it would hit me this hard, really? Made a proper fool of myself at the vet’s. I thought I’d be relieved that it was over, you know? But it’s so strange, being in the house without her. Um…yeah. Well. Uh, I had to reschedule some patients, so I have to work late tomorrow. But thanks though. Next week, I think?”
Hello, you’ve reached Dr Jason Andrews’s mobile. I’m sorry I’m—beep
“Shit, Jason, I was in the shower. Damn. I’m really sorry to hear that. We had cats growing up, and I know how hard it is to lose them. Sounds like she had a good home with you. I think I saw a picture of her in your office. Was she grey with a bell? Anyway, I’m sorry. I hope you have a good weekend. Or, I mean, um, take care, I guess. Ugh, I guess I’m just really sorry. Goodnight.”
7 December 2016
Scott sits on his bed with his back against the wall, his computer open on his lap. Jason’s talk about his yoga class has Scott intrigued, and what started out as a simple Google search for “sun salutation” landed Scott in a rabbit hole of yoga clothes, recipes, and a new, colourful language about heat and energy. He curls his legs under him and waits for Jason to answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“I need your opinion on my, how do you say it, ‘dosha’? Because an internet quiz on Dr Oz’s site seems legit.”
“Ha! You can do yoga without getting into all that other stuff. But what did it say?”
“I got pitta, but I’m not sure I answered everything right. I mean, how am I supposed to know if I have a penetrating gaze? Or whether my joints are well-knit, or whatever?”
Jason chuckles. “Pitta sounds right for you, actually. Because, you know, fiery.”
“Ugh. Very funny.”
“Ha…too soon?”
“So, what are you, anyway?”
“I’m—” Jason begins, but Scott wants to guess.
“No, wait, don’t tell me. You’re vata. Right?”
“Hmm. Why do you say that?”
Scott’s tree photograph stares back at him from above his desk, its low branch beckoning. “Jason, you’re textbook vata, all about rest and staying warm. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Pssh. Take one quiz on Dr Oz and you think you’re an expert.”
Scott’s cheeks burn. “Ha! I am right!”
“Quite so.”
Although Jason has played along, Scott notices his voice is tired and has none of its usual crispness. “But that’s…not really why I called.”
“What’s up, then?”
Scott pauses, debating about how to bring it up. But he remembers how it felt to have Jason say Omran’s name, the day of their first appointment. “I was just wanting to see how you were doing, with Bitsy passing on.”
“Oh, uh, well, it’s been a rough few days, I’ll say that.”
“I’m so sorry. Cats are, well, they’re perfect, aren’t they? And they live a long time, and keep us company, and I’m just, really sorry.” Scott chews on his lip, wondering if he’s being helpful at all, or if Jason can’t wait to hang up the phone.
“Yeah, thanks. It’ll take time, I think, to get used to not having her here. She was more than a pet, you know? She was, well, Bitsy was my mum’s cat, and I, uh, I adopted her. When my mum died. So we’ve, uh, kind of been through a lot together.”
Scott gasps quietly. “Oh, I didn’t realise. I’m so sorry. I…I had no idea.” The news brings to mind their fight over grief in the treatment room, and Scott sees Jason’s pained expression all over again, how he tamped down everything he knew about loss. For a moment, he can’t imagine the pain of what Jason’s been through, the compounded hurt of losing someone twice. But it dawns on him that he can imagine it; he’s got his broken camera packed up and ready to be given back to the world, as Jason explained, but he hasn’t given any real thought to actually doing it. Because of how much it will hurt to lose Omran again.
“I know, it’s all right. My mum’s been gone awhile, six years ago now. It’s one of those things where I think I’m over it, you know, going along fine, but… It’s still hard, sometimes, and this…” Jason trails off, and the silence leaves a hole that Scott understands.
“Brings it all back,” Scott finishes for him.
“Yeah.”
“I get that.”
“I figured you probably would.” After a moment, Jason clears his throat. “So I’m going to miss sound again. I feel like being alone for a few days, outside of work. I think I’ll float instead.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Scott says, hiding his disappointment by answering too quickly. “We’ll aim for the week after if I’m in town.”
“Right, sounds good.”
“Take care of yourself, all right? Drink your water, and uh…get some rest.” Jason knows this, of course, but Scott wants to remind him anyway.
A faint chuckle makes Scott smile a little. “Will do. Thanks for checking in on me.”
“You’re welcome. Talk to you soon.”
“Right. Bye.”
After Scott ends the call, he crawls down to the foot of the bed and looks over to where his old camera bag sits. What would it mean, to give it back to the world? He touches the strap and opens the zipper, then reaches in to feel the hard body of the camera inside, knowing he’ll keep it for a while longer.
13 December 2016
You have one new message. Received Tuesday, December 13th at 10:02 a.m.
“Morning, Scott. Something interesting to tell you. Call me back if you’re around.”
You have one new message. Received Tuesday, December 13th at 2:41 p.m.
“Hi, it’s me, Jason. Just thought I’d try again. Call me sometime if you can. Thanks.”
You have one new message. Received Tuesday, December 13th at 5:14 p.m.
“Okay, this is a little strange, but I thought it was good, so I’m going to tell you. I had this dream, right? Last night. It was you and me, and uh…Omran was with us. We were in primary together. I could tell it was you and him with me. He had dark hair and glasses like you said, and, well, I knew that way you know in dreams, right? We were making paper aeroplanes together out of newspaper, for science. So then we were in Paris, adults, like we are now, standing on the Pont Neuf with our aeroplanes. We were nervous that they wouldn’t fly. But when we let go of them, they flew up into the sky so far away we couldn’t see them anymore. And we were really happy about it. It was good. I thought it was anyway. So, call me back if you want.”
You have one new message and one saved message. New message received Tuesday, December 13th at 5:49 p.m.
“Hey, it’s Jason again. I remembered something else about the dream—we were all speaking Pashto. I mean, I think it was Pashto. Isn’t that strange? But it was brilliant. It felt really good to speak a different language so easily and be understood, you know? Hmm. Anyway. Oh, and does this mean you owe me a dream now? Right. I think so. Talk to you soon.”
You have one new message and two saved messages. New message received Tuesday, December 13th at 7:26 p.m.
“Scott, hi. I’m…so, so sorry. I didn’t realise what day it was until just now, I swear. Shit. Seriously, I am…I am so sorry. If what I said upset you, I mean, even more than you must already be upset, I didn’t…ugh, I didn’t mean it to. Please call me, anytime, if you need to talk or something. All right? Shit. Well, ugh. I’m sorry. Truly.”
14 December 2016
Scott’s thumbs hover over the keys. His only reply to Jason yesterday was a short “Thank you for telling me” and “No need to apologise. I’m OK” by text. That had been partially true. There was too much to explain—the vague haze of sadness, the sight of his scars, now a smoother web of coral and pink in the mirror, the old wish to get lost in the darkroom.
The letters make a soft pock as they appear.
I’m going to sound Friday
Good. So am I.
OK. See you.
See you.
16 December 2016
It’s true that no two nights at sound are the same.
Some nights are soft and bright, with an almost lyrical mix of bells and sweet-sounding gongs. Those nights tend to be mood lifters, where the time moves fast and Scott leaves feeling lighter. Others are grounding, where long, heavy notes resonate through Scott’s limbs and draw him into a deep state of rest. Many fall somewhere in between. Scott wonders what tonight will bring as he and Jason wade through pockets of other sounders to find a spot where they can lie side by side. It may be a low, deep night, judging by the set of large hand bells Luke sets out.
Scott gets comfortable as the first notes fill the room. The full bass tones lull him into that lovely place where his arms grow heavy and he can’t feel his legs anymore. The chatter in his mind stills and he can breathe deeply for a time. But the notes get louder, and something about the mix of them makes Scott’s eyes water.
It could be because he’s tired; he hasn’t been sleeping as well as usual, since the anniversary. Work helps push the memories aside, and he’d found film to keep him busy in the darkroom until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. But then his sleep was full of restless dreams, where he’d see Omran speeding on a motorbike over cobblestone streets, or they’d be hiking on a cold mountain ledge with no gear. Another dream had resurfaced, too, of Scott and Jason riding in Scott’s dad’s old Volkswagen, driving on the winding road to Land’s End.
Scott is able to stay quiet at first, but it gets worse as the notes layer and build. Soon, a simple three-note harmony pierces through a thin barrier he didn’t even know was there, and his face is wet, and he can’t hide the need to sniffle and wipe his nose.
He opens his eyes briefly, to snap out of the moment and gather himself, and he instinctively checks on Jason, who is lying still with his palms up. But the notes must have hit the same chord in him, too, because his lips press together in a tense line and a tear rolls down the side of this face into his hair.
Scott wipes his eyes and inches a bit closer, silently, to care for him somehow, to let him know they are in it together, even if Jason never notices.
Jason has no animated questions that night when they sit together at the coffee shop after the session. There is no flurry of ideas typed into his phone, and no musings on the science of sound frequencies. He doesn’t say much at all, in fact, but neither does Scott; instead, they sit in a comfortable silence, processing where the session has taken them with only a few words.
When their food arrives, it’s as if a spell is broken, and Jason is ready to talk. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
Jason’s eyes are slightly bloodshot, but he’s smiling anyway. “How can I have such a bad headache but feel so good at the same time?”
Scott laughs softly. “I know the feeling. In fact, I used to feel that way in your office sometimes.”
“Oh really? Well. Perhaps that’s a compliment? I’m not sure.”
“I think yes. Yes, it is.” Scott looks down at his food, trying to gather his thoughts into something that makes sense. “It felt good to be there, and let it happen. You know? The sound gets to a place inside that kind of, breaks open? I guess? It actually made me cry tonight.”
“Me too,” Jason says quietly.
“But it feels good. To let it go. Whatever it is. I…I needed that tonight.”
“After Omran’s anniversary.”
“And after Bitsy died,” Scott offers.
They let this sit between them for a long moment, until Scott’s stomach growls loudly, which makes them chuckle. Scott picks up his sandwich. “You know, I know what I’m talking about with that whole crying-is-a-good-way-to-let-things-go stuff. It was a doctor who told me that.”
“Oh?” Jason says, tucking into his salad, eyes shining. “Well, if a doctor told you that, it must be true.”