Peace and Quiet

I'm just experimenting a little bit with this drabble, and using my own sensory issues as a kind of framework.

It’s all overwhelming. All of it. Always.

I can hear one girl grumbling about “that f*****g fuckwad, what the f**k does he think he can teach me about calculus that I don’t already f*****g know, what a b*****d”. Bent over a textbook. All the way across the room.

Scratch.

She is crunching on potato chips now, and the crumbs are flying out of her mouth and all over the pages of her book. A lump forms in my throat. The crunching is loud, but it doesn’t make sense in my head with the smell of the sausage burrito I can see the boy across from her munching on. And the cloying sweetness of someone’s cinnamon buns is just making things more confusing.

Scratch.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of soy cappuccino, trying to will away the nagging ache in the back of my brain.

Scratch. Scratch.

I can hear the clothes of the girl by the door rustling, her rubber boots squeaking on the linoleum floor. She opens her backpack slowly, with a really loud zipper that is probably going to break soon, and she should really replace it before that happens.

Scratch.

Scratchscratch.

And the door slams open as a little boy runs inside. I can smell the wet grass and leaves on his sneakers and in his hair. I can hear his wet hair smacking his forehead. Someone is holding his hand and trying to tug off his loud, squeaky rubber raincoat, and ignoring the little boy cry about how much he hates the rain and his new socks are getting wet and his new shoes are covered in mud and he really, really hates this stupid rain. Me too, Little Man. Me too.

Scratchscratchscratch.

The heavy rain is clattering against the roof. I can’t help but wince; it sounds tinny against my ears. Someone speed-walks behind me and the scent of their cologne makes me want to gag.

My scars itch. My skin is stretched thin and I can feel my heartbeat in the tips of my fingers.

Scratchscratch.

Scratch.

Scratchscratchscratch.

Other people breathe too loudly. And walk too loudly. And talk too loudly, and too much. And someone behind me didn’t put on deodorant this morning. And this guy is swinging his feet beneath the chair, and his toes are scuffing the floor every time, and his music is too loud and his feet are off tempo and-

Scratchscratchscratchscratchscratch-

“Hey, are you doing okay?”

I can feel her skin on my hand, warmed by her calming chamomile tea. She pulls my hand to her warm mouth and kisses my stinging palm, and the itching starts to quiet down.

“Do you need your headphones?” She whispers into my skin and it’s like heaven to my ears. All other sounds are still blaring in my ears, but her voice is a focus. Her touch is a balm to my sores.

Scratchscratch.

I nod, and I clench my open, fidgety hand into a fist against my bouncing knee. A man to our left is growling into his cell phone, stomping his feet as he snarls about finances and budget cuts and “what do these nutjobs think they’re doing, money doesn’t grow on trees, you know”. He smells like menthol cigarettes and fresh dry-cleaning. My throat hurts, and I can feel a prickling behind my eyes.

Scratch.

First she pushes my cup of coffee beneath my nose, and the one strong smell is a relief against the many other smells throughout the room. She keeps holding my hand as she rummages around in my backpack as quietly as she can, rubbing her thumb back and forth soothingly; her touch helps ground me, helps keep my other senses from overwhelming me and sending me into one of my fits.

After about a minute she slips my headphones gently into my free hand under the table. I pull my hand out from hers and quickly slide them over my ears and flick the switch and finally, finally-

Quiet.

Only a faint buzz, signifying that my headphones are filtering out all of the unnecessary noise trying to get into my ears.

I can feel the table vibrating, and I look up and see her write something inside my emergency notebook. When she’s finished she passes the notebook and her pen over to me. The scent of her chamomile tea lingers around her hands.

Okay now?

I nod and smile.

She smiles back, and the world is no longer frightening.