Song of the Junebug

I can't hear keys jangling.
I can't hear junebugs scuttling.
I can't hear alarm clocks unless they are directly beside my head.
I can't hear my cell phone ringing, unless it's loud enough to pierce a normal person's hearing.
I can't watch television without captions.
I can't understand people with accents.

I'm good at pretending that I hear things. If you don't know me well, you might assume I hear everything you say. I don't. I pretend to. We can even have a real, meaningful conversation and you probably wouldn't know. I read lips mostly. If I can't see you, I can't hear you.

I used to work with a girl that thought I was a bitch because I wouldn't respond to her morning greeting. This went on for months. I didn't hear her. When she found out, she felt like chump. I thought it was hilarious.

I have an appointment with a hearing aid person next week. I am terrified. Why? I don't know. I can't put it into words. I've needed aids since I was a teen. I didn't want them then, and I don't want them now. I still may not get them, but I'll go to my appointment.