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Naomi hadn’t noticed the change in her hearing after the Cordyceps Novus outbreak at Atchison Storage Facility, March 2026.
More specifically, after Mrs. Rooney shot a pistol right beside her ear. She’d been temporarily deafened at the time, her sense of hearing overtaken by an overwhelmingly loud ringing sound and thick, suffocating disorientation.
When it had finally come back, of course it felt different, but she’d chalked that up to the brief trauma her eardrums undertook and moved on. She didn’t notice.
Travis had.
And of course, he had thought she had. He’d lost a chunk of his hearing– to a really similar incident, actually, except there were less zombies and more that’s a witness, Tomcat, get rid of it! which, by the way, horrifying thing to be subjected to at fifteen years old, but that’s not the point here– when he was a kid, and he’d sure noticed.
He still noticed. Sometimes he forgot, and he’d put his phone to the wrong ear or step up beside someone on the wrong side and then he’d be confused about why he couldn’t hear them, and then he’d remember and he’d switch sides all casual like, like it was just something he did.
It really was just because he knew exactly how he acted that he recognized it in her. The way she never seemed to hear him the first time when he was on her left– convenient, since he couldn’t hear her on his right, it was like a match made in heaven– and she kept the volume up at a level that people complained about.
Not him, never him, but they’d invited Shani over after that fortunate run-in in Robert’s hospital room to enjoy a few movies, had even had Robert and Trini over for the same reason twice before they both started not-so-politely declining. All three of them agreed that Naomi and Travis kept the TV way too loud.
And if Naomi wasn’t commenting on Travis keeping the TV so loud, then he wasn’t gonna do that for her.
He wasn’t gonna comment on her shit if she wasn’t gonna comment on his, that’s just the way it was. Instead, he made sure he was always on her right. Made sure to raise his voice when she went into the other room and he knew she’d be facing the wrong way. He did all the little things that made it easier for him, that he’d kill for someone to notice and do in return.
But really. Really. He thought she knew. That she knew about his hearing problems, and most importantly that she knew about her own. So, when Mrs. Snyder was over to drop off Sarah from her weekend trip to the Snyder household, he’d commented on it.
It wasn’t mean spirited, he swore up and down he just meant to help out. Mrs. Snyder was on Naomi’s left, going on and on, and he was watching Naomi do that thing he did where he got all confused and then just smiled and nodded since he was only catching every fifth word.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt. Ma’am. She can’t hear so well on that side, y’know, real loud noise messed up her hearing and whatnot a few months ago,” he’d gestured vaguely to his own left ear.
Mrs. Snyder had been polite about it, had been all smiles and, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know! Why didn’t you tell me, dear? Let me get on your good side. Y’know, I had to get a hearing aid for my left ear when I turned fifty, they’re a real pain.” and then she continued her story, talking about as much as Travis could.
Naomi had stared at him, but then she’d been swept away into the conversation. Mrs. Snyder stuck around for half an hour, give or take, regaling the weekend and going on several tangents. Why Naomi thought Travis’ chatty habits were noteworthy when she’d produced a kid with this woman's son, he didn’t know.
It was the moment the door shut, that Naomi swung on Travis– peaceful, eating too hot reheated pasta from what he thought was dinner three days ago at the kitchen counter– and said, “I can’t what?”
And of course, he couldn’t remember half the shit that came out of his mouth, so he had no idea what she was talking about, “What?” He’d said, through a mouth full of noodles.
“You told her I can’t hear as well on my left.” She’d jabbed a finger at him, like she was accusing him of something. He’d frowned and furrowed his brow, chewing through his bite and making sure he swallowed before he tried to talk again.
“Well, you can’t?” He said eventually, “I mean, nothing wrong with it, I can’t hear so good on my right, so it works out. Gunshot, actually, isn’t that neat? How we both– you’re looking really annoyed,” he’d blurted that last part, “What? What’d I do?”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
He hopped off the counter he’d been sat on, abandoning his tupperware, “I thought you knew! I mean, how can you not notice something like that?”
“I didn’t know that, how could I possibly know that?!”
“I don’t know maybe the fact that any time someone is on your left you can’t understand them?”
And that was that. She knew, then. It wasn’t quite an argument– they didn’t really have arguments, more like bickering. Back and forth complaining at each other that was never as serious as it sounded– but she’d been plenty displeased he hadn’t thought to share that nugget of information with her.
Three days later, she brought her beat up laptop from six years ago into the living room where he was reading through Dorian Gray and wishing he’d gotten a different book from the library. On its screen sat a youtube video simply labelled American Sign Language Lesson 1 / For Beginners!
Which started his first time learning another language.
It was actually pretty fun. He knew a little bit of Spanish here and there, but it was different learning more than just enough to get by trying to talk to a guy who spoke only Spanish and wanted to maybe-possibly shoot you in the head if you didn’t do something for him.
Sarah had loved it, too. They weren’t intending to teach her, it was just going to be something for the two of them, to make their lives easier. Apparently Naomi had researched this thing called listening fatigue, and gave them both an answer for why they seemed so much more tired than everybody else after a social event.
He’d just thought he was a little introverted. Who knew?
But the little gremlin had walked in on them practicing while making dinner, having decided to learn just the alphabet first and have conversations with the few words they knew in between and spelling things out. She’d begged them to teach her.
Her little hands struggled to make the motions, and she got frustrated easily, but she got it eventually. Until the three of them were signing at each other in jerky, careful motions, trying to make sure they got the words right while still learning new things constantly.
Another benefit to Sarah learning, was that it apparently really helped with her spelling. She told them it was like talk-writing, and because she did it more she was much better than, ‘like, ALL my classmates!’ which was awesome for her.
(Travis nudged his roommate, getting around so she could see his hands while still focusing on the pot she was stirring, “N-A-O-M-I, where B-U-T-T-E-R?” he signed, so relieved that they were both getting faster and faster with it. He didn’t have the attention span for signing, sometimes.
She held up a hold on finger, stirring the noodles and turning the burner down so she could focus on him, “Left over S-T-O-V-E.”
He made a face, “We need learn S-T-O-V–E.”
The simple closed fist, bobbing up and down, answered him. “Yes.” her hand said, her lips spreading in a smile, “Where S-A-R-A-H?”
He hesitated. He swore he knew the word he was looking for. After a too-long pause where she had to stir the noodles again, he spelled it out instead, “P-L-A-Y-I-N-G.”
“Playing,” she signed, the word he was looking for. He echoed it back at her, trying to commit it to memory, “Thanks.”
He gave her a mock salute, and went to grab the butter.)
That was a lot of their nights, now. Signing instead of talking, no matter what they were doing. He couldn’t talk near as fast with his hands, and he still struggled with the physical silence, so he still talked– they both did. But they also filled the silence with movies, or music, now, instead.
A month into them beginning to learn ASL and practicing at least for one or two sentences a day, Naomi found a Deaf and HoH event on Facebook, and insisted they went.
They brought Sarah with them, all tucked into the new car Naomi’s insurance payout had afforded them to drive an hour to a little out of the way cafe that he could guess was only open at the late hour for the event.
There were easily twenty people in the small space, crowded together in little groups like they all knew each other. He sat in the doorway, Naomi on his left with Sarah in between holding one of their hands each. They looked to one another, and took a steadying breath like this was some big moment.
Someone walked up to them, hands flying. They stared, until Naomi finally jerked out of it to let go of Sarah’s hand and sign, “Slow, please!”
The man before them watched, then looked sheepish, “Sorry! Beginners?” They squinted at him, “N-E-W?”
“Yes, sorry,” Travis added, trying not to let go of Sarah’s hand. She’d grabbed on tighter at Naomi letting her go, and pressed herself up against his leg like she was scared he’d leave her behind.
“Very N-E-W,” Naomi emphasized, “What you say?”
The man perked back up, and with significantly slowed hands, repeated himself, “Welcome! We happy have you here, please sign in,” he’d said, which seemed like a much shorter, simplified version of what he’s said before, but they assumed it was all the same meaning in the end.
“Mama, what’d he say?” Sarah had asked, breaking the near-silence of the cafe. It’d been quiet save for the occasional hitting of skin on skin, and the soft jazz playing over the speakers that Travis could only just make out.
Naomi turned to her daughter, then back to the proctor, “Sorry, where?” she asked. He gestured widely toward a table on their left, “Thanks.”
“Enjoy! Come find me if you need anything,” he encouraged, then he slipped back into the crowds with the rest of them.
“Mama,” Sarah whined. Travis crouched down, lifting her up so she squeaked and squirmed in his arms, “Travis!”
He shushed her gently, bouncing her. He brought his hand up to sign, “No T-A-L-K, R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R?”
She ducked her head, kicking her feet, “Sorry,” she swirled her fist around her chest, “Forgot. What he say?”
Naomi turned away from the sign-in sheet, and gestured for Travis to hand her daughter over. They traded easily, so he could look at the sign in sheet and fill it out himself, his name messily printed in the row just beneath Naomi’s clean handwriting.
They had a good time. Made friends, learned new words when someone signed something they didn’t know and was more than willing to teach them it through fingerspelling. They went back the next month, too.
Annie, an older woman with hair likely dyed back to its natural strawberry blonde or with an insane ability to avoid going grey, who’d gone fully deaf at thirty-three, gave the three of them sign names during their second meeting. Took the time to explain to Sarah the culture behind it, who’d eaten the knowledge up like a shark to blood.
It didn’t change their life that much, really. The three of them signing around the apartment instead of talking, it was just the same as it was before. They took it out in public when things felt too loud or tiring, or when they wanted to talk about something they didn’t want strangers overhearing.
And that was all it was. Just another way to communicate, shared between the three of them. Silent in nature, easy to understand even when Naomi’s tinnitus acted up, or when Sarah lost her voice from getting sick, or when Travis couldn’t seem to order his thoughts into verbal sentences.
Travis was more than grateful she’d brought it up to him that day on the couch. Was grateful Sarah was so interested in it when she’d seen them waving their hands around for the first time. Was grateful everyone was so welcoming and kind at those meetings.
As a general rule, he was pretty damn grateful for how his life was playing out.