Horse-Drawn Headphones

By Mammon Sebastian

I’ve forgotten what my ears look like. The sides of my head have gone numb. 

I don’t remember the sound of a babbling creek, or a bird chirping or a lawn mower. I don’t know what nothing sounds like. 

I don’t remember what my mom’s voice sounds like. She used to get startled when she saw me in the kitchen. I would  wave and give her a smile, and she would stare at me for a moment before drifting across the floor, the music in her ears compelling her to make herself another cup of Lady Grey tea with a cookie and watch it steam by the window while fog gathered over the lake. With her long silk robe and sad, wet eyes, she reminded me of a queen drifting aimlessly through her castle, awaiting her inevitable end by tuberculosis.
She doesn’t notice me anymore. Not since the Repeat got bad. 

My friends and I don’t speak—nobody speaks anymore—but we hang out when our music syncs up. When my music starts to get heavy, full of drums and electric guitars, I like to go out with Trevor. Trevor likes to skateboard over the roofs of buildings and smoke weed, and I  follow behind, jumping from rafter to rafter, a borrowed joint hanging from my lips. Risk disappears when all I can focus on is System of a Down and Metallica.

On other days, when Noah Kahan and Kate Bush soften my ears, I go out with Navy. They like to wander in the woods, especially in the winter when there’s fog and grey skies. Navy’s music is always folk or soft indie, so when my playlist changes, they’re who I go to see. They’re always quietly delighted to have me by their side as we trample over moss and clover and get our feet wet in the unheard creek. We also smoke weed and ignore the shadows that follow.

I prefer to spend time with Navy. I feel like how my mother acts: distant and ghostly. It allows me to feel connected to her, despite my mother having become disconnected. It isn’t uncommon. Many people get lost in their soundtracks and don’t know how to return. The music starts to Repeat, and they  lose themselves in a dangerous routine. But when I’m with Navy, I belong to the woods. I belong to the moss and the mushrooms and the sky becomes just a bit less overwhelming. We get lost on our adventures, but we find each other and know we belong to the world. 

We belong to it as long as our music keeps changing. As long as our music never wavers, the strange shadows in the woods will stay shadows. 

I miss my mom. 

I hate my mom. 

I hate me.

She’s within arm’s reach but if I tried to touch her I fear my hand would go right through her. I know she’s not there anymore. Sometimes our music syncs up when we’re near each other, but I didn’t realize that the classical pieces she was listening to were the same each time until weeks had passed. 
She was gone, and I didn’t notice. 

But I can’t admit it. I still need her. Her presence if not herself. Whatever I can  keep of her while I still have her. If anyone knew, she’d disappear like all the others. Even if she’s not all there, I still sit next to her and let Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” repeat in my ears. She’s still my mom. 

I knew someone in middle school whose brother got stuck in a Repeat. Her family suffered his passing when he was still walking through their home. Repeats are dangerous, and difficult to catch early enough to prevent. He had a routine that his family had been unable to catch: waking up, silently eating breakfast, getting ready for the day, walking to school. What they didn’t realize was that he never made it. He would just walk back home, and nobody noticed because they had already left the house. His sister was the one who realized his music was Repeating, and she nearly caught the illness herself from how much it wrecked her.

I couldn’t imagine at the time how it felt. Now my own mother is Repeating. 

Repeaters get scheduled for removal, though nobody knows who’s in charge of removing them. Nobody can even figure out how the Removers know. Repeaters are hardly human and are seen as lost souls who take up space. Nobody has ever seen who or what takes their loved ones away. Navy believes the Removers feed on the distress Repeaters cause those around them, and that’s how they know where to go looking. For mysterious creatures that nobody has ever seen before, it wasn’t too hard to believe. I think it has to do with the shadows in the woods, but I knew better than to go looking.

My mother had been Repeating for six months. I had noticed, but I forced myself to not acknowledge it. If the Removers really do come after distress, I wouldn’t let myself feel out of sorts as I watched her tread her path into the wooden floorboards. Letting her go might make me feel better, but who was I without her? I couldn’t do it. I had nobody else. I felt hatred towards her for allowing herself to fall into this deathly routine, but I felt more hatred towards myself for not realizing it had gotten bad. 

And if I admitted it to myself, the Removers would take her. 

I’m jumping roofs with Trevor on New Year’s Eve. It’s a cold afternoon and the fog covers us as we go from rooftop to rooftop. U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” is playing; an unusual track to play while I’m with Trevor. I nearly run into him, far too focused on my abnormal soundtrack to realize he stopped. He kicks up his skateboard and gazes out into the fog, the city blurry through the thick clouds. Nodding at me, he sits on the ledge of the stone roof. I follow, letting my legs swing in the air. I can’t see the ground. 

Trevor and I can’t  speak to each other, but our heads bob at the same time as our music syncs. My brain feels  like the fog that surrounds us. As I stare into the nothingness, I wondered if this is what it’s like for my mother. Stuck in a grey mist, not processing the world. To exist like a broken record, nowhere else to go, trapped. My breath hitches, and a stray tear drips down my cheek.

My heart skips a beat. 

I scramble up from the ledge, my music fading to white noise. Trevor, startled by my sudden panic, watches as I disappear behind the roof access door. 

I have to get home. I have to get to my mother. I have to get to her before dark. 

She’s still on the couch, her Lady Grey half drunk and cold, her tea cookie completely intact. Her eyes are lidded, like she’s falling asleep, but her eyelashes do not flutter to show any opposition. I hop over the couch and grab her by the shoulders, shaking her vigorously. I scream at her, but I can  only feel the clawing of my silent voice against my throat. She just continues to stare out at the lake, though the fog is so heavy you can  hardly tell there’s any water. 

I pull back her hair to reveal her headphones. The silicone cups the shell of her ears. Sometimes I  forget that she’s trapped in a Repeat because I can  never see them. I try to rip them off of her, but they don’t  budge. They seem to be glued to her scalp. I try to take mine off— 

Stuck, just like hers. 

I sob, the sound unknown to me. She doesn’t move a muscle as I blot her satin nightgown with tears. My grasp on her shoulders loosens as my own shake. 

The sun has set, but a familiar shadow crosses the back wall. I don’t dare to look. For the first time in a long time, my music stops. 

Two figures approach the couch. My mother is unblinking as she is picked up and led outside. I chase after her. My mouth opens, but I can’t seem to figure out how to use my voice now that I can hear it. I grab for my mother, but the two strange figures keep her just out of reach. 

Outside, a carriage awaits. Two enormous black horses stand in front, and a third mysterious figure sits at the reins. My mother is pushed inside the carriage box, and the Removers disappear like vapor. I find my scream again as the horses trot away, taking my mother with them. My headphones suddenly switch back to life.

Vivaldi fills my ears.