She’s waiting in front of the ENT . Her best friend is walking by. She prays silently, she doesn’t want her to stop. She stops. She seems wild, almost manic. Her hair unkempt as hers, fear in her eyes. The friend gestures. Touches her ears, touches hers. She shakes her head, attempts to scream. She says she’s afraid, asks if she can hear. Her friend just puts a finger on her mouth. Shakes her head, motion her ears. Deaf too? No need for screaming? What is she saying? She motions to enter. A nurse greets them. The silence is total.
In the waiting room, lots of girls and women, waiting. The nurse touches her shoulder. Gestures for the TV. She sees. The volume bar is set at the loudest settings. She’s deaf. She doesn’t bother. The nurse doesn’t seem to bother. The other women just stare, their eyes fixed over the magic box.
On TV, a reporter, a male, is talking with the famous singer, the one she liked to hear. The singer is crying. The reporter talks, she replies by writing and nodding.