Earworm
The old man was too far gone when I found him.
He'd collapsed in the park, out taking a walk I guess, early in the morning. A heap of warm jacket and scarf and boots… Nobody else around yet. I saw him, approached cautiously, then more quickly when it seemed clear he was in real distress. As I crouched next to him, I could see his lips moving and hear some sound. I leaned closer.
He was singing.
Weirdly enough, I was immediately struck by what a beautiful tune it was. Clear as a bell, but not something I'd ever heard before. Melancholy but optimistic. His voice rose in volume slightly and he clutched at me, suddenly aware of my presence. I couldn't understand the words at all, only the tune, which filled my eyes with tears that could have been joy, could have been sorrow. I couldn't tell. But all thoughts of what I should to do help this man were frozen, paralyzed in the moment. I just clutched back at him and let his song swell to its conclusion.
Then, suddenly, he gasped and went limp, and I suddenly realized I should be doing something to help him. As I pulled out my phone to call 9-1-1 he gripped me even harder, pulling me towards himself.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he was gone.
The paramedics arrived and determined that he was dead. One of them opened his heavy coat to find ID and gasped. Under the jacket, the man was dangerously, disturbingly thin. Had he starved to death?
The ambulance left with his body and I tried to get on with my day, but the whole experience had really disturbed me. Who was the old man? Why was he so emaciated? Why had he apologized? And what was the song he'd been singing?
Ah, the song. It suddenly came rushing back to me, that beautiful sad and happy tune, and I found myself humming it involuntarily as I set out for some breakfast.
Some time later, while eating, I realized I was still humming. Had never stopped, possibly. As I left the breakfast diner to head home, I realized it really did need something like lyrics, even nonsense lyrics, so I began to make some little word-like sounds to go along with the melody.
And that's all I did for the rest of the day. Sing that song. Tinker with what I thought the just-right phonemes were. Hum it when word ideas weren't coming to me.
Suddenly, it was two days later and I hadn't though about anything else. Or slept. Or ate. Was I hungry? Was I tired? I couldn't tell. I just wanted to find the perfect word-sounds to make the song the best it could be. I was singing and singing and singing.
The world got colder and hungrier and I couldn't think about it, I couldn't focus on anything else. I put on more clothes to fight the cold. I could feel my body slipping away but it didn't matter. I was so close to having a perfected version of the song. I wanted to run up to everyone I saw and sing it to them…
Then I realized something terrible. I was deeply obsessed with this piece of music. It was taking me over, like a parasite, like an alien, like a malevolent demon intelligence. It was the shape of my dreams; it was all I could think about.
It had infected me. The old man had passed me a disease of sorts. That's what he was sorry about.
I tried to force myself to eat and drink but that would interfere with singing. The song wouldn't let me. I stayed away from everyone, shut up inside as much as possible, for fear of accidentally passing the song along to anyone I crossed paths with. Since it was going to make me die, I was determined that it should die with me.
My body was fading. I just hid in my room, humming and singing, waiting for death. But then the most terrible thing happened: I felt my limbs begin to jerk and move in time to the music, as I was singing it, forcing me out of bed and down the stairs and out the door! The song was using me as its puppet, to look for its next victim.
I tried to move as slowly as I could but it made me sing faster, so I'd still cover distance quickly. It took me out for morning walks right up until the day my poor starving body could no longer handle it. I finally collapsed right here on this very spot, and that's where I was when you found me.
And so I am trying desperately to tell you all of these things as a warning, trying to tell you to get away, but I can't say the words because my mouth is busy with the song. Humming, singing nonsense, and I can tell you are hearing it and it's getting into you and you're liking it. I can't stop it. My usefulness is at an end but yours is just beginning. And when it has finished moving out of me and into you, I will be free to whisper "I'm sorry" to you, and then I will be free.
I'm sorry.
------
For consideration: songs we just can't get out of our heads
He'd collapsed in the park, out taking a walk I guess, early in the morning. A heap of warm jacket and scarf and boots… Nobody else around yet. I saw him, approached cautiously, then more quickly when it seemed clear he was in real distress. As I crouched next to him, I could see his lips moving and hear some sound. I leaned closer.
He was singing.
Weirdly enough, I was immediately struck by what a beautiful tune it was. Clear as a bell, but not something I'd ever heard before. Melancholy but optimistic. His voice rose in volume slightly and he clutched at me, suddenly aware of my presence. I couldn't understand the words at all, only the tune, which filled my eyes with tears that could have been joy, could have been sorrow. I couldn't tell. But all thoughts of what I should to do help this man were frozen, paralyzed in the moment. I just clutched back at him and let his song swell to its conclusion.
Then, suddenly, he gasped and went limp, and I suddenly realized I should be doing something to help him. As I pulled out my phone to call 9-1-1 he gripped me even harder, pulling me towards himself.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he was gone.
The paramedics arrived and determined that he was dead. One of them opened his heavy coat to find ID and gasped. Under the jacket, the man was dangerously, disturbingly thin. Had he starved to death?
The ambulance left with his body and I tried to get on with my day, but the whole experience had really disturbed me. Who was the old man? Why was he so emaciated? Why had he apologized? And what was the song he'd been singing?
Ah, the song. It suddenly came rushing back to me, that beautiful sad and happy tune, and I found myself humming it involuntarily as I set out for some breakfast.
Some time later, while eating, I realized I was still humming. Had never stopped, possibly. As I left the breakfast diner to head home, I realized it really did need something like lyrics, even nonsense lyrics, so I began to make some little word-like sounds to go along with the melody.
And that's all I did for the rest of the day. Sing that song. Tinker with what I thought the just-right phonemes were. Hum it when word ideas weren't coming to me.
Suddenly, it was two days later and I hadn't though about anything else. Or slept. Or ate. Was I hungry? Was I tired? I couldn't tell. I just wanted to find the perfect word-sounds to make the song the best it could be. I was singing and singing and singing.
The world got colder and hungrier and I couldn't think about it, I couldn't focus on anything else. I put on more clothes to fight the cold. I could feel my body slipping away but it didn't matter. I was so close to having a perfected version of the song. I wanted to run up to everyone I saw and sing it to them…
Then I realized something terrible. I was deeply obsessed with this piece of music. It was taking me over, like a parasite, like an alien, like a malevolent demon intelligence. It was the shape of my dreams; it was all I could think about.
It had infected me. The old man had passed me a disease of sorts. That's what he was sorry about.
I tried to force myself to eat and drink but that would interfere with singing. The song wouldn't let me. I stayed away from everyone, shut up inside as much as possible, for fear of accidentally passing the song along to anyone I crossed paths with. Since it was going to make me die, I was determined that it should die with me.
My body was fading. I just hid in my room, humming and singing, waiting for death. But then the most terrible thing happened: I felt my limbs begin to jerk and move in time to the music, as I was singing it, forcing me out of bed and down the stairs and out the door! The song was using me as its puppet, to look for its next victim.
I tried to move as slowly as I could but it made me sing faster, so I'd still cover distance quickly. It took me out for morning walks right up until the day my poor starving body could no longer handle it. I finally collapsed right here on this very spot, and that's where I was when you found me.
And so I am trying desperately to tell you all of these things as a warning, trying to tell you to get away, but I can't say the words because my mouth is busy with the song. Humming, singing nonsense, and I can tell you are hearing it and it's getting into you and you're liking it. I can't stop it. My usefulness is at an end but yours is just beginning. And when it has finished moving out of me and into you, I will be free to whisper "I'm sorry" to you, and then I will be free.
I'm sorry.
------
For consideration: songs we just can't get out of our heads