The Listeners

by Jordan Tannahill

  Leslie said that sounded absolutely exhausting.

  Oh no, quite the opposite, he replied.

  Cumming twenty-four seven? I’d be wrung out. To which Shawn let out a single, percussive laugh.

  Jo smiled, patiently—You won’t be cumming. You’ll be on another plateau of consciousness. A consciousness that continually activates the ninety percent of your brain that’s usually dormant.

  It would still be stimulation overload, though, wouldn’t it? Leslie asked.

  You think that but only because you’re used to sleepwalking, Howard said. We spend our lives mostly brain-dead when we could be awake.

  Wouldn’t you prefer to be awake? Jo asked.

  Of course, Leslie said, but …

  But what?

  It’s intimidating.

  Shawn nodded—Terrifying.

  Doesn’t that sound liberating? Jo asked. To be alive like that?

  But to have something re-pattern the way you think, I don’t know, Shawn said. It just feels very major.

  What about talking for the first time? Jo asked. Or walking, or swimming, or riding a bike. Or sex. But thank god you pushed yourself to do them.

  I can’t swim actually, Shawn said, but yes, I take your point.

  Have you reached this state? Leslie asked Jo. This—other plateau?

  Maybe for a few moments, Jo replied, looking at Howard. But we’ve never been able to sustain it for very long.

  But is it all in the brain? I asked. I mean my body … I felt the heat and pressure and the sound.

  Howard gestured to me—You see?

  What is that?

  Science can’t explain it.

  But I felt it.

  So is it real?

  Yes of course it is.

  Because science would tell you it isn’t. Science has no explanation for any of The Hum’s physical manifestations. The heat, the pressure, the tingling, the pleasure, the pain, the nosebleeds, the headaches. But you have felt it.

  Yes.

  Did you? he asked Kyle. Kyle nodded. He asked the rest of the circle, and they all replied yes. Except Nora. She was poured into her chair, looking disconsolate.

  I want to, she said.

  You will, Jo said, placing her hand on Nora’s thigh.

  I really do.

  Just give it time.

  It’s nuts the whole world doesn’t know about this, Damian said, sitting forward on his chair.

  In time, hopefully they will, Howard replied.

  It’s because it’s been kept from us, Howard. There’s no way this is the first time anyone’s ever felt this. This is a phenomenon of the Earth, right? Others must have felt this at some point.

  Howard made to answer but Damian continued—Like how come everyone isn’t doing this all the fucking time?

  No one has shown them, Mia said, pulling out her scrunchie and raking her hair with her fingers.

  It doesn’t make sense unless it’s been kept from us. Systematically.

  Damian, around the time I met Howard, I was really struggling, Jo said, using her calming voice on him. A whole number of reasons. Anxiety. Depression. I was on this regime of meditation and trance as a way of centring myself. And then when Howard became my supervisor, and the work we began doing with the Resonance, it all kind of clicked into place. Discovering we could tune to it—

  It changed everything, Howard said, looking at everyone except Jo.

  But then a researcher tells the university we’re running a sex lab and that Howard’s using mind control on them and the whole thing gets shut down.

  Emily looked horrified—What?

  It terrified people. If there are two things that terrify WASPy bourgeois academics it’s sex and spirituality, Jo said.

  So they just turfed you out? Shawn asked.

  Howard sighed. It was clearly still painful for him to talk about.

  We found ourselves outcasts, he said. And anytime we did try to talk to someone about it we were shunned. People had all these wild stories about us.

  Oh god, Leslie said, and on campuses these things take on a life of their own, right?

  Jo nodded—Which is why Howard and I have been so trigger-shy to go to that place with you all. We’re both still scarred from what happened at Virginia Tech.

  It just became our own little private revelation, Howard said. But of course you want to share a revelation, right? The more people know and can access it, the more its beauty and power is magnified. I’m not saying we’re Copernicus here or anything, but can you imagine if he discovered the Earth revolved around the Sun and then couldn’t tell anyone about it? It would be absolutely maddening. We’ve been sitting on this thing that we know can change people’s lives.

  Nora, what’s wrong? Emily asked. I turned to see that Nora had teared up. In fact she seemed to be rocking herself ever so slightly in her chair.

  Nothing, it’s fine.

  Come here, Jo said, extending her arms.

  I’m just so frustrated with myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  Nothing is wrong with you.

  I want to feel it so much.

  And then Nora broke down, her face contorting—I’m a good person. I work hard. I deserve to feel it.

  I know, Jo said, stroking Nora’s hair.

  I hear it so strongly.

  I know.

  What am I doing wrong?

  It will come in time, Howard said.

  The way Howard said those words made me think of my father teaching me how to ride a bike when I was five, and then my teaching Ashley to do the same. The iridescent tassels on her handlebars. Her pink training wheels.

  When? Nora asked Howard.

  When your body is ready.

  Is it because I’m stupid or something?

  No, of course not, Jo said, soothingly.

  Then what?

  Here. Jo stood up and moved to the centre of the room. I want you to kneel in the middle of the floor, right here. She knelt down on the floor to demonstrate.

  Kneel?

  Yes, right there.

  Nora stood and joined Jo down on the floor, with some audible bone cracks as she knelt. And now, Jo continued, I want everyone to kneel around Nora.

  One by one we got to our knees and formed a circle around Nora.

  Full circle, that’s it, Jo said, like a kindergarten teacher, before finding her own place within it. We’re going to tune ourselves, once again, to the Resonance and we’re going to channel its full intensity at Nora.

  Oh wow, Nora murmured.

  And how exactly are we going to do that? Shawn asked.

  Trust me, you’ll know, Jo replied. Just allow it to work through you. And love—she leaned in towards Nora—you will feel it this time, I can assure you. I can’t promise you something earth-shattering—

  Eight orgasms?

  No.

  I’ll settle for six, she joked. We laughed encouragingly, as a little smile danced across her face.

  But you will feel something, Jo reassured. I want you to focus your full intensity on the sound of The Hum. I want you to feel it swell inside you and, as it does, I want you to picture the sound like a warm glow filling your body with light, okay?

  Nora nodded.

  Don’t be nervous, Jo said. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

  Okay.

  We’re all here supporting and lifting you.

  Thank you.

  Okay. I want everyone to find their breath.

  I watched as everyone closed their eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to do it again, and so soon. I had barely reckoned with what had happened the first time. But I closed my eyes, and tried to slow my heartbeat. After a long moment, I could hear Damian to my left and Mia to my right beginning to breathe deeply. One by one, I heard others do so as well, even Nora, though it was hard to distinguish one breath from another. We gradually forged a single breath. Breaths turned to gasps, which turned to groans, which gradually transformed into a kind of aural emis
sion, a sustained, almost ritualistic humming, unconscious and libidinal, which grew in intensity, grew in heat, grew ever more expansive until we were swaying, frenzied, until my body was not my body, my breath, my voice, until nothing belonged to me, and I was just a portal of sound, until everything came undone, ruptured, and culminated in a thunderous climax, channelled through the vessel of Nora’s convulsing body.

  13

  LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER OUR FIRST TUNING, CARS CHIRPED, and headlights flashed as we all dispersed from Howard and Jo’s. I glanced around for Kyle and noticed him walking off by himself down the street. I called his name and he stopped. I jogged over to him and asked if he was okay. He shrugged and took out his vape.

  You left pretty suddenly, I said.

  He took a puff, turned his head, and blew vanilla-scented smoke away from me—It’s just a lot to process.

  We stood there, in the middle of the street, watching the others find their way to their cars. I asked him if he was still mad at me.

  Why would I be mad at you?

  I told him that it felt as if he had pulled away from me over the last few weeks. Sometimes we’d go a couple of days without messaging. I asked him if he was hurt that I hadn’t done more to help after his mom kicked him out.

  He shook his head. No, it’s cool.

  How has it been staying with Mark?

  He shrugged.

  Are you on the couch?

  I don’t really want to talk about it.

  I nodded. Okay. And then, after a silence, I said—I’m sorry. I feel like I failed you.

  He breathed a little laugh out through his nose and shook his head—You’ve risked everything for me.

  I’m not sure it’s made things any better for you.

  Leslie’s car began to approach us, and we walked to the curb to clear the street. She gave us a little wave as she passed. We watched her red tail lights recede into the dark.

  I miss our talks, Kyle said.

  Me too.

  He turned to look at me. His hair was plastered to his forehead. We had worked up quite the sweat during the tuning.

  What did you think about all of this? he asked, nodding towards the house.

  The tuning?

  All of this, everything.

  It occurred to me that it had been a very long time since Kyle and I had had a moment to ourselves to speak candidly about the group.

  I think it’s pretty extraordinary, I said. Don’t you?

  He nodded. I told him that it had kind of rearranged my whole frame of reference.

  Does that scare you? he asked.

  A little.

  It scares me too.

  Why do you think that is?

  He considered this, as we watched Damian drive past in his pickup.

  I think it’s scary to know how far we can be stretched. To feel pleasure like that. Because it means that maybe … the things that we thought contained us, don’t actually contain us. And that means everything is chaos.

  But isn’t that also exciting?

  He smiled, but left the question unanswered. Why does it scare you? he asked.

  I feel um … I cocked my head to the side, searching for the words. Sort of … reshaped, by this. You know?

  The whites of Kyle’s eyes glistened in the darkness.

  And I guess in that reshaping I worry that some part of myself will be lost, I said.

  What do you have to lose? he asked, which made me laugh.

  You mean that I haven’t already?

  You don’t believe in God.

  This isn’t about God, I said.

  Isn’t it?

  I shook my head. No.

  It’s certainly about something larger than ourselves.

  Maybe.

  Is that why you’re holding back? he asked.

  I’m not holding back, I said, a little defensive.

  Yes you are. I watch you in there. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want to give in.

  He balanced on one foot on the curb for a moment. I like that part of you, he said. But that’s also your fear. You’re afraid of what might happen if you give yourself over completely. But I know you want to.

  He stepped down off the curb. And so do I, he said.

  The street was empty now. The others must have driven away without us noticing. I told him, for the record, that losing one’s disbelief in God was still losing something.

  And are you? he asked.

  No. I don’t know.

  I thought about it for a moment. I told him that it felt a bit like I had been living in this small room my whole life, and then Howard and Jo opened this door to another room, and we had taken just the smallest step into it. And the new room was dark and massive. I couldn’t even see its walls. Maybe there were no walls; maybe it was boundless. But I knew that all I wanted was to be in that new room.

  Kyle looked at me. I want to be in that room with you, he said.

  He then took a step towards me, coming inches from my face. I could smell vanilla smoke on his breath. He closed his eyes, and leaned in—and I stepped back.

  Sorry, he said, opening his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. I shouldn’t have done that.

  Why did you?

  He looked over his shoulder, and then turned back, brow furrowed—Because um. Well. I love you, basically.

  My mouth opened of its own accord, but I said nothing.

  I-I don’t mean that I’m in love with you, obviously, he said, suddenly an awkward teenager again. Or maybe not obviously, I don’t know. But I love you. And not like a teacher, or a friend, or a mother, or anything romantic, it’s not like any of that. But it’s something sort of between all of those things. Something there isn’t a name for. I don’t even care if you love me back but I just needed to tell you—

  I do, I said, without thinking; without ever having admitted it to myself before then. I loved this possibly gay seventeen-year-old former student of mine in the same unnameable way he had just described, which, by acknowledging, meant that I was so much further gone than even I had thought myself to be.

  He made a little laugh of relief, and looked down. He kicked a stone into the darkness—So where does that leave us?

  I don’t know, I said.

  Standing on this street, I guess.

  I guess.

  I don’t want to go yet, he said. I know we can’t just stand here but, um. I kind of just want to keep talking.

  I nodded, because I wasn’t ready to drive home to an empty house. He suggested going to the nearby park, and I told him that I didn’t think it was appropriate for us to be hanging around a dark park together after midnight.

  And when’s the last time we’ve done what’s appropriate? he asked.

  I smiled but stood my ground.

  What are you afraid of? You are filled with the sound of the fucking Earth, Claire, you can do anything, you can be and say and do whatever you want because you have felt it, you have touched it, and you know how good it can be.

  He then told me that he wanted to tune with me.

  We don’t know how, I said.

  Of course we do, we just did.

  But not alone.

  If we want to enough we will, we’ll figure it out.

  He looked at me and he could see that I did. I wanted to feel it with him again; that ecstatic connectedness.

  Please, he urged. Who’s going to stop us? Who will even know?

  We’re probably being watched in the street right now, I said. This conversation. The fact that I’m not already at my car driving away.

  So we better make a decision.

  I shook my head, and looked down. He asked me what I was thinking. I told him that I thought we were in a very vulnerable and unstable moment in our lives, and that I didn’t want to regret this.

  Step into the new room, Claire, he said, starting to walk off while holding my gaze. There are no walls anymore.

  The park bordered the back fields of the high school. Be
sides a small playground, and some bike paths, large swaths of it remained wild, making it a favourite spot for dog walkers and birdwatchers. We walked through the darkness, with only our phones to light our way. The sky was empty that night; no moon, and no stars. Just temporary constellations appearing and disappearing around us in the blinking of fireflies. Just the smell of mud, and wet sage, the sound of cricket song, and our feet rustling through the underbrush, snapping twigs and branches. Kyle said he could traverse the park with his eyes closed, and I joked that we pretty much were. He seemed to be leading us somewhere in particular, and I let him take me. I suddenly felt utterly unburdened by obligation. I had nowhere to be but here. No family to return home to. No job to wake up early for in the morning. I could stay out all night in this park with Kyle, and no one would know, and no one would care.

  We arrived at a thicket of bushes and he parted some branches to reveal a narrow path. He walked through first, and held the branches back so that they didn’t smack me in the face.

  Careful where you step, he said. The ground was uneven, and raised roots snagged my feet, causing me to trip towards him. I put my hand on his shoulder and kept it there, so I could focus on looking down at the ground. We walked for what felt like three or four minutes, deep into the overgrowth.

  God, what is that incredible smell? I asked.

  Juniper.

  He broke off a twig and handed it to me. I brought it to my nose.

  Smells like a clear blue sky, I said. Or the colour indigo.

  Or gin.

  Oh yes, of course. You know, I bet I’m thinking of the Bombay Sapphire bottle, I said, laughing.

  We’re almost there. He then asked me if I was okay, and I said sure, why? There’s nothing to be nervous about, he said.

  I’m not.

  Your hand is trembling.

  And then I realized that he was right. He offered to turn back, but I said no. A moment later, we arrived in a small clearing, in the middle of which sat an orange family-sized camping tent.

  Voila, Kyle said, gesturing like a doorman welcoming me into the foyer of a grand hotel.

  Aha.

  One sec.

  He dashed into the tent and turned on several portable lanterns until the tent was glowing, warm and luminous. I saw his silhouette moving about inside, like a shadow puppet. I crossed the clearing, and poked my head into the tent.