Talking to my Right Ear on the Way Home

By Cameron Kosak

Was walking home fast last night.

Not because I had any place to be, but because of the wind.

Too fuckin windy out!

Howling.

Like how people say, It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. But the opposite. Like, It’s not too cold but the windchill will get you.

Was leaning forward, hinged over at the waist. Must’ve formed damn near a right angle.

Thought this was the proper stance for wind like this.

The trash on the street was blowing around crazily. I got hit in the face with a Fritos wrapper.

Then with a dead leaf. A speck of which got stuck in my eye.

Started blinking spastically, trying to get it out.

Realized my scalp felt cold.

Realized how weird this was.

Am I balding? Is the wind blowing directly onto the skin of my head?

Mental note: Check hairline in the mirror for recession when home to confirm / deny.

Mental note: Ask roommate to check top of my head for thinning / bald spots when home to
confirm / deny.

I was walking home so fast.

Thinking, No one’s getting home as fast as me tonight!

Should’ve seen me.

May as well have been running!

But I wouldn’t be caught dead running.

Because I was wearing my backpack, still.

This extra weight: No good.

The appearance of one’s backpack, jostling up and down as one ran: No good.

I turned up the volume on the music I’d been listening to in my earbuds.

Or rather, my left earbud.

Because my right earbud had been busted for some days now.

They break on me all the time.

Usually the right one.

Had at all times between four and eight backup pairs in the bottom drawer of my nightstand for this very reason.

Wondering why I hadn’t yet tossed the broken ones and unboxed one of my backups.

Mental note: Toss the broken ones and unbox one of my backups.

My music was loud but still couldn’t hear it too clearly.

Because of the wind.

Because of the absence of music on one side.

Right ear was probably feeling lonesome as hell.

Felt sort of bad for it.

I was like, Sorry man, it’s out of my control. And hey, lots of things are. Hell! Most things are!
And this is something you have to try and accept at some point or another, if you wanna keep
your peace and all. But it’s fucking hard! Especially today! Because everyone wants to be their
own god, wants to be their own center of their own universe. Today’s America is solipsistic as
ever and only getting worse! And if you think about it, it’s not like my mere acknowledgement of this is helping ameliorate the issue. If anything, I’m making it worse! Like, look at me! I’m
blasting music that I can hardly even hear right now! I’m listening to white noise, essentially, so as to shut myself out from the rest of the world! Two earbuds in: The mutually understood sign of Do Not Approach Me. And hey, it’s funny that you say that because when you really—

I must’ve been out of my mind.

I was talking to my fucking ear!

Talking to my right ear on the way home!

Laughed at this for a minute.

Was laughing out loud.

To myself. By myself.

Walking past the health center on 34th .

Didn’t really care.

Decided this was okay for me to do.

Wondered if there was something wrong with me.

Laughed at this, too.

Thought there was probably something wrong with me.

I passed the 7/11 on the corner, wondering if I needed anything from inside, and saw a dude in
shorts and flip-flops walk out of the store holding a bag of chips and a pack of Marlboros,
ignoring the homeless guy who was always posted out in front, holding the door and begging.

Shorts and flops! In this cold?

I was like, Bro! Wilding! yelling over the wind.

The dude in the shorts put his hand cupped to his ear like, Can’t hear you bro.

I put my hands around my mouth and repeated myself like, Hear me now? I’m megaphoning this shit!

Dude in the shorts puts his hands up shrugging, looking agitated, like, Bro, way too far.

I didn’t know the guy or anything.

Unsure why I said anything at all.

Usually I keep my mouth shut.

Was the proper way to be in this city.

But was feeling cool.

Something about how brisk I was walking, wearing a thin coat in weather that called for a thick one. Something about how I wasn’t stopping to tie my untied shoe, or untangle my tangled earbuds.

Had me feeling like I could talk to a stranger. I felt like I should talk to a stranger. Like that was
the best idea in the whole wide world.

This confidence of mine. Exhilarating.

I put my up my hand, holding out my index finger like, Word, one sec.

I jogged across the street to get closer to him.

Said, Bro, it’s dumb cold out here! Shorts and flops! My man.

Was slightly out of breath from the twenty-five-foot jog I’d just jogged.

Or maybe because I was a little nervous.

The dude looked slightly past me as I spoke.

I wondered if he even heard me.

Almost repeated myself for what would’ve the third time.

It’s a good thing I didn’t.

He opened the pack of smokes he’d just purchased, undid the cellophane, flipped open the box, tore the paper open, pulled out the cigarette in the front left corner as though his intention was to smoke them in order from top left to bottom right, very orderly, one at a time, then put it to his lips and lit it.

I was impressed. These seven or eight motions, he carried them out so fluidly. Like it was all just one thing.

This was becoming very dramatic.

Was feeling suddenly belittled.

The smoke coming whitely out of his nostrils made it look like he had walrus tusks.

Dude said all slowly, Why. Don’t. You. Mind. Your. Own. Fuckin. Business.

He reminded me of Darth Vader.

He reminded me of, well, a walrus.

He reminded me of Marcellus Wallace from Pulp Fiction.

Had a voice like his too.

Scary as hell.

I was like, Um. Dude. My bad! Have a goodnight! all skittish.

Dude blows his smoke my way now, presumably aiming for my face, but the cloud got carried
the other way by the wind.

He walked off saying, So sick of these bitchass gentrifying fuckin yuppies.

Was feeling woke. Wanted to placate the guy. Get on good terms, maybe. Thought it’d be nice to dap him up before parting ways and say, Peace man, sorry we got off on the wrong foot.

I thought about saying, I get it my friend, I get it, I feel the same way, but I mean no harm, it’s
out of my control, the gentrification and stuff, and hey, I’m only a student after all, so.

Instead I just kept walking home.

Faster now, too. Because I was scared. Was looking over my shoulder the whole way home how mad this dude got.

If he wanted to inflict harm upon me he could’ve crushed my skull with his thumb and pointer
finger.

I was sure of it.

He could’ve flattened my head with a pinch.

Had a fucking eureka moment just then: Thinking about my head getting crushed made me think about my head, which made me think about my hair. Thinking about my hair allowed me to recall my mental note about my hairline and potential balding scare. Which I would not have recalled had it not been for thinking about getting my head pinched by the dude in the shorts. Which I would not have thought about had it not been for me talking to him in the first place.

Everything happens for a reason.

Type shit.

Was like, Fuck it, then ran the rest of the way home, despite my previous refusal to do so.

Partially because I wanted to get home quickly before I forgot my mental note again.

But also because I was scared.

Running felt alright.

Thought maybe I should take up running as a form of exercise.

Then remembered that ten minutes before I was winded from running less than ten yards, just across the street.

Got home, and up on my front steps I paused to do a quick check to see if I was followed.

I was good.

Unlocked the front door and walked in.

The girl who lived with us was sitting on the sofa, hunched over an enormous bong, inhaling.

Bong water was doing it’s thing, bubbling loudly.

She exhaled.

She said, Sup.

I said, Sup.

Her boyfriend was next to her, now his turn on the bong. He inhaled, then exhaled, and said, Sup.

They were watching a Harry Potter movie with the volume low.

I said, Harry Potter?

Neither of them responded.

Home sweet home!

Stepped into the kitchen to see who else was home.

Another roommate, a kid I’d lived with since freshman year was in there staring out the window.

He was eating a banana and peanut butter wrapped in a whole wheat tortilla.

I almost trolled him for this but then remembered he had said something about trying to eat
healthier lately.

Respect.

I was like, Yo bro, Look at my hair, can you see my scalp? Bro, I’m mad worried, I think I’m
balding. And by the way do you know if you have any extra earbuds? I’m not sure I have any
more of my own and mine are broken, and oh shit, dude, there was this fool outside of 7/11 just now wearing shorts in this weather you should’ve seen his ass, and bro, I thought he was gonna kill me because I said —

Roommate was like, What are you even talking about bro. Slow down.

Cameron Kosak is a junior at Drexel University in Philadelphia, PA. His short fiction has been featured in Glass Mountain and is forthcoming in Oakland Arts Review.