TED NEDINGER is a high school English teacher and an author. He enjoys a variety of things including basketball, college football (go Oregon State!), and fishing. Ted lives in Seattle, Washington with his wife and two sons.

                                                       senseless in seattle


A slight whisper penetrates my left ear.  I look around but no one is there. The whisper touches my ear again, but I can’t make out the words. …

I go about my business in the usual fashion—listening, but not really hearing. Eating, but not really tasting. Touching, but not really feeling. The first wave of loss came over me years ago, and I was pulled under by grief and pain. Spit out upon the shore, I simply dried myself off and walked inland as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened to me. It’s been that way ever since—I’ve become senseless as if to protect me from a senseless world. What’s wrong with that? Smart move on my part.

I can make out the words now. "Come back to your senses," the voice whispers in my ear, barely audible. I try to ignore it, of course. You can only listen to so many voices before going crazy. Besides, being senseless has its advantages. The hurt is anesthetized, and the horror that goes along with being fully alive can be eased and erased almost completely. You can live day-by-day in the blessed assurance that nothing—absolutely nothing—will break your heart again. What’s wrong with that? Smart move on my part.

I want to talk about glacial expressions. Faces set in stone. Immovable objects. Plastic souls. Impermeability. Most of all, I want to talk about control—but I can’t seem to find the right words. I always have trouble finding the right words for some reason. Why is that? Words are my enemies.

"Come back to your senses," the voice whispers again.

"Fuck you!" I scream. I enjoy standing up for myself. No one can push me around or tell me what to do. I just won’t stand for it. Not anymore.

"Come back to your senses, please," the voice pleads in my ear. …

                                                                                                   
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© 2001 Thomas Nedinger