Everyday Heroes - Oticon

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From his spot by the window, Simon could view the whole town and beyond; he could see parts of a world not yet explored, and dream about visiting them one day. He could picture himself soaring across the city limits on a huge piano with black lacquered wings. Sometimes he felt as though he hadn’t even been to school; sitting by that window, the other children and the teacher would simply cease to exist. And the sounds in the classroom would merge and become a low background hum – a soundtrack for his daydreams. After school, Peter approached him. He said something that Simon didn’t catch, and laughed. Unable to ascertain whether Peter had made a joke or whether he was just making fun of him, Simon became uneasy. Peter cupped his hand round his mouth and whispered something else Simon couldn’t understand. He could see that some of the other boys were now approaching, with smiles on their faces. ‘Knock it off Peter,’ shouted Jacob from the other end of the schoolyard. He was moving towards them too. Simon could feel his heart racing and his breathing becoming more laboured. His eyes fl itted back and forth over the group of 21
children now surrounding him. They did not look angry, but Simon felt no less threatened for it. Peter was standing right next to him now, still whispering, poking his tongue out and making faces at him. Simon began to feel dizzy, and when Peter grabbed him, he became so alarmed that he punched him hard in the stomach. Simon could feel Peter’s stomach absorb the blow; he crumpled to the ground without a word. The other children were rooted to the spot. ‘I’m going to have to send you home for a couple of days, Simon,’ said the teacher with a concerned expression. She was talking in a clear and cool manner. ‘Why did you hit him?’ Simon could not provide a clear answer. He was studying the windowsill and the white fl akes of old paint – the kind that can pierce the hand that tries to brush them away. He was also examining the grain of the wooden table top, and the scratch marks and initials carved there. ‘Simon!’ she said. ’You can be a strange little boy, and I can’t for the life of me understand why you hit Peter. I’ve called your mother, and she’ll be picking you up soon, so you’d better go downstairs and wait for her.’ The teacher rose and began cleaning the blackboard, occasionally casting an inquisitive glance in Simon’s direction. Simon wanted to confess everything but could not bring himself to speak. So he remained seated. The teacher seemed to have become a totally different person. Perhaps it was the light that made her look so alien, or perhaps it was what she had said. Simon suddenly felt under attack. ‘I got scared… I couldn’t hear what he was saying!’ he shouted. The teacher paused, put the backboard wiper down on the table and sat opposite him once more. ‘Simon, when you say you couldn’t hear him, what exactly do you mean? Simon?’ ‘I don’t know! I don’t know what’s wrong. My ears have been hurting for ages; it’s like they’re howling all the time. It started when I was playing around with fi reworks with Peter. Jacob says that something might be wrong with my ears.’ ‘Could that be true, do you think?’ ‘Maybe!’ ‘It must be awful to go around feeling like that. We must do something. I’ll talk to your mother about it.’ 22
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