"I Can Hear You" by Garon E. Whited

I Can Hear You

          When I was about ten or twelve, somewhere along that age, playing “pretend” was a big part of being a kid.  We could be anyone we wanted to be, anywhere, doing anything, limited only by the scope of our imaginations.  It was a good game to play as long as we all stuck to the unwritten rules: no absolutes, no automatic wins, and no doing the same thing someone else did bigger and better in the same way.

          Sometimes, we had a few extra rules.  If we pretended to be heroic monster-slayers, for example, we might have one major ability each, like almost-invulnerable skin, or the strength of fifty men, or a sword that could cut other swords into pieces.  Once, we were playing at being superheroes and the question was, “If you only got one, what power would you like to have?”

          I wanted to fly.  And, on a hot June afternoon, arms outstretched and making “whoosh” and “vroom” noises, I had fun as only a child can, wholeheartedly, completely, without any concern for things like dignity.  I had more fun running around the playground than most adults ever have doing anything at all.

          Naturally, when I turned fourteen, that wasn’t the power I got.  I don’t know why.  I didn’t actually ask for a magical mystical mojo super duper whatever this is ability.  It just showed up during the throes of puberty, like the need to shave, and it seems to be about as persistent.

          As far as I can tell, no one has powers of any sort, except me.  I’ve looked.  I’ve listened.  If anyone, anywhere, has any sort of odd ability, it’s not of the same order as what I do.  One guy I met could eat glass without hurting himself.  Another guy can stick nails through his hands and arms without bleeding.  There’s even a lady who can turn her head completely around and look straight behind her.  These are the types of “powers” I’ve found, and not one of them ranks anywhere near what I do.

          I read minds.

          Well, let me amend that.  I don’t actually read minds.  What I do is hear thoughts.

          The difference between a mind reader and a thought hearer is subtle, and for most people, immaterial.  We’re alone inside our heads, utterly private, and can think whatever we want without anyone being the wiser.  You can smile at your boss as you wish he would die.  You can snarl angrily at your son while hoping it helps him grow up to be better than you.  You can snuggle your significant other as you go to sleep, knowing that you won’t be coming back the next day.  It’s your head; you can do as you like inside it.  So a mind reader or a thought hearer is pretty much a distinction most people don’t care about.

          Usually, though, I just hear what you’re thinking.  And, if I’ve told you I can hear what you’re thinking, it usually fits into a few broad categories.  Most common is, “Yeah, right.”  Slightly less common is “Oh yeah?  Then what am I thinking right now?”

          It takes a while before people begin to pay attention to what they’re thinking, and then to realize they’re utterly unprepared for someone who can hear those thoughts.  It’s the famous white horse problem.  After all, it’s easy to picture a white horse.  It’s a horse, and it’s white.  It’s got four legs, a barrel body, a mane, a tail, and a horse-head-shaped head.  Everybody can do it.

          Now, don’t think of a white horse.  At all.

          Tough, isn’t it?  Now, realizing that I’m listening to everything you think, don’t think about your most embarrassing moments.  Don’t think about that Christmas party.  Don’t think about that time in school.  Don’t think about that once when you were having sex.  Just don’t.

          That’s the stuff I hear.  That’s hearing thoughts.  Which isn’t so bad, provided I can just keep it a secret.  If people don’t know I can hear every thought they think, they don’t get all worried about it and start thinking about the things they want to hide.

          Mind-reading, on the other lobe, is more like riffling through the file cards of a person’s memories and reading whatever may be stored in there.  Things you aren’t thinking about require a mind-reader to get to.  In essence, you read your own memories.  All I can do is read along with you, not go wandering through the files on my own.

          That’s the difference between reading minds and hearing thoughts.

          The trouble…

          The trouble is with hearing thoughts.

          I hear what people say, sure.  I also hear what they think.  And it sounds like them.

          This gets me into trouble.

          Suppose I’m on the cross-town bus.  I’m listening to a dozen or more people all yammering along in their own private worlds.  Sometimes it’s even more, now that cell phones are everywhere.  People will say one thing and think another, doubling the number of voices I hear.

          I never, but never, take the subway.

          But back to the bus.  Suppose an old lady gets on the bus and I get up so she can have a seat.  She thanks me politely with her voice and thinks “Wow!  I never thought that would happen!”  That’s not so bad.  Two minutes later, I hear “You’ve got really a really nice, tight butt, Galahad.”

          Is this a senile old woman talking out loud, or did she just think it?  Either way, if I ignore it, she’s likely to keep on saying—or thinking—things along that line.

          It’s even more disturbing when a Rastafarian gentleman, complete with dreadlocks and hat, does pretty much the same thing, only he’s looking at my broad shoulders.

          I recall one time at the annual Christmas party at some corporate headquarters.  I’d just helped them nail down a deal and they felt it was a good idea to invite me.  While I was there, one of the negotiation team came into the room, saw me, and called my name.  I waved over my shoulder at her without even turning around.  When she came up behind me, I was up by about two drinks and swinging at a third, and I heard her wonder if I could be persuaded to stand under the mistletoe.

          A little later, in someone’s office, there was a couch.  I knew exactly what she wanted, where she wanted it, and how to do it.  My big mistake was the pillow talk.  Or, rather, the couch-cushion talk.  She was lying half on me, head on my chest, and I carried on a conversation with her.  Eventually, she realized what was happening, and she panicked.  Her screams brought other people before I could calm her down, and building security got involved.

          Now, I don’t work for that company.  But word gets around.  People point at me on the street if they recognize me.  Most turn around and walk quickly the other way.  Even the scientists who want to study me tend to leave in a hurry—and after the first two or three to come knocking, the rest seem to be much less eager.  Even government agents tend to be slightly disconcerted when confronted with the worries on their minds.

          Being a mind reader isn’t all good, you see.  Oh, sure.  It has good points.  I know what people are really thinking, regardless of what they just said.  It’s important to watch their lips, though, so I know what they said and what they just thought.  This has made me a fortune.  All it takes is a few occasions of knowing the truth about someone’s intentions to get a reputation as a man you don’t want to lie to.  Getting paid to be at someone’s negotiating table is very lucrative.  Sometimes, it’s even more lucrative to be paid to stay away from the negotiating table.

          The hard part isn’t the constant noise from people around me.  I can afford enough space around my house to be spared most of it.  The hard part isn’t even living alone.

          The hard part is trying not to be alone… and the truth.

          That’s right.  The truth.

          Imagine going out to dinner, having a nice time, going for a walk in the moonlight along the beach, all that sappy romantic crap, and knowing that the person you’re with thinks of it that way.  Sappy romantic crap.  But they go along with it because you seem to like it.  Do you tough it out for the evening and hope things change for the better?  Or has your mood been shot down before you get to the appetizer?

          First date, first impressions… can be so hurtful.  Behind that smiling face is a person, and that person thinks you’re a geek.  Or hopes you’re rich.  Or wonders if you’ll insist on a paternity test.  Or just plain doesn’t care, but is going through the motions to be nice.

          I could lie and tell anyone what they want to hear.  Easily.  It helps to know if they believe you and if not, why not.  But why?  If I’m going to have to spend my time and effort keeping my story straight, what’s the point?  Granted, I can have all the companionship I want, anytime I want it, but I can never have the social lies everyone else does.  I see you.  I see all of you.  And I know what you really think, even when you’re looking at me with those sincere eyes and using your sincere voice.

          The real irony is that I can’t hate you for it.  You’re not villains.  Most of you aren’t even mean.  You just don’t have any way to control your own thoughts.  You can, and often do, control what you say or do, but your thoughts are free, even from your own control.  So you hide them behind pretend-expressions, pretend-feelings, pretend-voices, because, if you don’t, you’ll hurt people.  People important to you, people you need, or people you hope you can trust. 

No one knows this better than I do.

Every one of you has to lie every day.  It’s not called “lying,” of course.  It’s called “tact.”  You can say what you think in ways that don’t quite mean what you thought, but sort of leans toward it.  It’s called “diplomacy.”  Telling someone to go to Hell and making it sound like a fun trip.  It’s called “politeness,” which is simply the art of not offending someone.  You hide behind those words, behind the masks you make of your face, and I do it just as much, because I know you can’t hear me.

Without those masks you wear, you would be at each others’ throats, offended, angry, hurt, even bitter.  You can’t be honest; you don’t dare be honest about what you really think from moment to moment.  Even when you love someone, truly love them, there are times when even the best person will think something hateful, spiteful, selfish, and cruel.  You can’t live like that.

And neither can I.