The Johnson Boy, Age 11, and: Misophonia

The Johnson Boy, Age 11, and: Misophonia Caitlin Johnson Castelaz (bio) The Johnson Boy, Age 11 And so, at a Nebraska construction site,one day while skipping school,he came across a sheet of plywoodtaller than his father or motherand managed to take it home.Past the house, the sagging fence,he dragged it into the woods,propped it against a treeand wedged himself between. He'd been stealing his parents' booze again, dizzywith the thrill of villainy and justice.His hands, finally as large as his father's,clutched a shock of grass and tore itfrom the scalp of the earth. The wound smelledfresh as Christmas. He had decidedto become an orphan. He borrowed a shovel without askingfrom the neighbor's shed and dug.The shaft was cheap wood that splintered.The blade rebelled, dull sheet of steel.For six feet's dig, his palms blistered,the juice in his limbs burned muscle and vein.He laid the plywood over the ground like a blanket.After this he could rest. It doesn't matter if my hands are muddy,or if my hair stinkslike rank forest bark.Somewhere a dog smells out its meal andhere, in the rot of autumn,in the gap between the trees, thereis sustenance, still. End Page 145 Misophonia My father's work necessitated the useof a decibel meter, a gadget that helpslawyers prove the existence of noise. It's comforting, if not unlikely, to thinkall sound can be charted and graphedbut I've often wondered why, when ill oranxious, I hear the lamp hum accusations; an innocent songacquires a sinister timbre; and even anexhale sounds like a threat. And once, in my ex-boyfriend's father'shunting gear, I found something perverse: aheadset that could amplify a sighor discrete fart in the next room over: Unlike a decibel meter, this whatever-it-israises the question, who would want it, but also,in the name of all that is holy, why? As if this realm weren't already slitheringwith sounds too strange, too many anddragon-tailed to call down and catalog.Are bullet and blood not nightmare enough? Must we also magnify the sound ofa doe's final breath leaking out of herlike venom, a curse for anyone who hears? End Page 146 Caitlin Johnson Castelaz caitlin johnson castelaz lives in New York City, where she works in media and tech. She holds a bachelor's degree in English from Northwestern University. Her poems have been published in Chiron Review, Coal City Review, and elsewhere. Copyright © 2024 University of North Dakota