Mickey was born deaf. As we all know, muteness or the inability to speak language (not make sounds) is a result of the inability to hear words and their pronunciation. Hence, most deaf children can make sounds, but cannot speak. This is because their vocal cords 'rust' away, so to speak, due to lack of use.
There was a way of preventing this - had he been operated on as a baby, permanent disability could have been avoided. But as luck would have it, his father and his extended family, ashamed by Mickey's 'handicap', refused to spend any money on his treatment. Years went by, and assuming shoddy, careless treatment at home, Mickey has now grown up to be vulnerable and unruly at the same time. Thankfully, though, he has a persevering mother, who refuses to give up on him - but then she doesn't exactly fall on her knees and shed copious tragic tears either. She's strong and carries a no-nonsense attitude - almost aggressive, one would imagine - but it won't take an observer much time to read the tired lines on her face and extreme sadness in her eyes. Yes, disappointment can paint us all over into completely different creatures.
Mickey takes the metro back home everyday from school a little after noon. He's usually sweaty and grimy, like all children his age should be. His face is almost cherry red from the sun and the incessant scrubbing of his face to wipe off the sweat. His father refuses to provide him with a hearing aid too, so he lip reads everything his mother says. He doesn't bother about anybody else around him.
Mickey lives in a world of his own - the kind children build for themselves to escape the brutality of reality. He almost entirely exists in it; so much so, that he tends to not notice or even take note of any kind of attention. It must make him wonder, all the attention, and it's sad that he only has human instinct to guide him.
I have seen him focus on the real world only twice - and in both instances they were children. There is an annoying lady who goes oo-la-la and gaga over kids whenever she sees them, and because all her attention is verbose and loud, Mickey gets none of it. He lives in silence after all and so she doesn't know what to do with him. The discomfort is palpable and makes for an amusing sight, truth be told.
The first instance, Mickey boarded the train with a fellow schoolmate. Let's call him Donald. Donald is slightly better off because he has a hearing aid, and so is gradually learning speech. The absolute affection between Mickey and Donald was quite charming - a rowdy bunch of boys, making all kinds of signs at each other, laughing at their private jokes, which no one would understand. They looked after each other in a strange way - almost knowing that if either of them were alone, the world would trample all over them because they can't speak for themselves. And we human beings love asserting our superiority over those who aren't in a position to challenge or question it. It amazes me, this cowardice. And what amazes me even more is how accurate instinct can be for those who need to look after themselves a little more than others.
But I digress.
The moment that took my heart away that afternoon was when Donald had to get off at his station. Mickey, suddenly realizing that Donald won't be back that day, was immediately shattered. He nearly ran to the door in his anxiety - ironical, isn't it, how absence can drive home impending loneliness? As Mickey comprehends the situation, he leaves Donald with a gift that would make him return tomorrow - an almost imperceptible flying kiss, which Donald promptly returns.
Life I believe is truly made of such moments - when kindness and all things wonderful show themselves to you when you least expect it.
The second instance would make for a different story. :)
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