About a month ago my husband and I were walking down Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago. This is in what is called “The Gold Coast” because it’s the second most expensive place to live in the nation. We were walking calmly, chatting, avoiding the throngs of people heading to the larger than life Apple store, or the two-story Victoria’s Secret, or whichever sites they wanted to see, when I suddenly heard this awful screeching noise. As we continued walking, the noise became more intense and more annoying. I thought it was an emergency vehicle but there was none around. I stopped, looked around and yelled above the din,
“What’s that noise?” I strained my neck trying to figure out where this racket was coming from! My husband grinned in his lopsided way, turned me around. and pointed to a man sitting on the sidewalk, playing the saxophone just two feet away from me.
“It’s him, sweetie!”
“Oh,” My brow furrowed and I strained to distinguish the notes and then began to smile. “Ah! Now I get it!” I said to my wonderful husband who just smiled and kissed me.
What he failed to mention (and finally told me tonight) was that the poor man undoubtedly heard my loud exclamation, because the moment I said it, my husband saw the man’s eyes shoot me a WTF? look, but when I turned to him at last, he gave no indication he’d heard me.
My husband also mentioned that the man had, indeed, been playing very badly. I guess it’s a good thing I’m still hard of hearing with my implant. It saves me from badly-performed music, but then, I just get the noise part of it.