Can You Hear Me Now

From the prompt (I think): A wish for someone else is granted.

by Dan Steinbacher

"I just wish you understood!' she had yelled at him, partly in anger, partly in exasperation. The argument had been going in circles for an hour and they were both physically and emotionally exhausted. The problem, as far as she could tell, was that not only did he not get "it", he didn't WANT to get it. He was actively choosing to not care, avoiding empathy at all costs and forcing ignorance onto his brain. And it worked. After a lifetime of willfull eye-closing, he couldn't understand a damn thing about anyone that wasn't him. You could see the apathy taking hold of him in the middle of a conversation, watch his eyes glaze over and functioning conciousness retreat into the background.

But after she had shouted at him, a strange look had dawned over his face, his forehead wrinkling as if he was trying to complete Chinese quadratic equations in his head. Then, without a word, he had left their apartment and that was the last she'd heard of him.

How could she have known that her wish would come true? How could she know the scope of what she wished for? Because now he did understand. He understood everything far, far too well. The man was paralyzed with understanding. He couldn't sleep, as the endless chanting of the millions and millions dustmites in his bed, pillow, and eyelashes kept him up with their unceasing choruses of "yum yum, eat 'em up" repeated over and over. And yet, the mites weren't enough to drown out the non-sexy come-ons from his lamp ("Oh baby, turn me on!"). Clouds told bad jokes, rainclouds just made awful puns. He comprehended the cosmic significance of cracks in the sidewalk, the meaning of the fluid shapes of puddles (mostly sad dirges), the long rambling conversations about wind patterns encapsulated in the flutterings of butterflies. Trees yawned constantly, counting their leaves and prattling on and on about soil moisture. And he understood it all, at full volume, all at once. Life was void of mystery, and as it turned out, the answers were fucking boring. Birds talked of nothing but air/weight ratios and berries. Grass just shouted "LIGHT!!!! WATER!!!!!" at the top of their chlorophyll lungs. Flowers were pretentious, vain assholes. Lightbulbs, looking down on everyone, were full of sarcastic judgment, and mountains just groaned like old people, forever complaining of this cliff aching, this hill landsliding. He became glad that he could not sleep, for he was terrified to fully comprehend his dreams. Nothing stopped talking, and her wish translated it for him in real time. The night sky was awash with the manic, grandiose lies of the stars, and the moon sang terrible Italian operas.