The Reason for the Rasp

Dearest Rachel –

I woke up this morning with a nasty rasp in my throat. I didn’t try to speak (who would I talk to at that hour? It was later than most mornings – more on that eventually – but the boys aren’t up at oh-dark-thirty like I am, and you’re… well, you would be asleep too, even if you were still around), but I could tell, even without doing so, that doing so would either hurt, or barely make sufficient sound to maintain a conversation, assuming I wanted to try my hand at that at such an hour as this.

Normally, such a condition would be cause for concern. A raw throat has often been a harbinger of a winter cold, and usually a nasty one at that. And I hardly need to tell you just how nasty they could be, resulting in my being flat on my back for a day or so before I could get back to a vague simulacrum of normalcy, where I would be, as opposed to “death on toast,” something more akin to “severe tire damage on toast.”

But it’s funny how, this time around, I can somehow tell that the reason for the rasp has nothing to do with a cold, or even the cold. If nothing else, I’ve woken up to a very warm bedroom; too warm, in fact. It’s funny; the newer space heater has a display that registers the ambient temperature of the room it’s working in, but doesn’t seem to have the sense to switch itself off once that temperature reaches the level it’s been set to attain. I was actually sweating a bit when I woke up, and no wonder; when I checked the new heater, it was registering a temperature in the low eighties, but it was still blowing warm air, despite being set for 72°F. There’s probably something in the instruction manual that I can do about it, but for now, all I did was to shut it off until this evening, when I’ll want it heating up the room again.

No, I’m neither cold, nor do I have a cold; and while I can’t entirely rule out the possibility that I’m developing one (it’s that time of the year when there’s always a non-zero chance of one incubating deep within my system, as well as everybody else’s), that’s not why my throat is dealing with what feels like the results of a thorough sandblasting.

It’s my own fault, to be sure, although I’m surprised that the effects are so long-lasting from a single moment’s impulse. Last night was the night of “the big store” at Sparks, where all the points earned by the kids for attendance and memorization (as well as thematic participation and bringing friends) go converted into dollars which they got to spend on various knickknacks and prizes.

Anyway, you can imagine that, while the tables were laden with stuff we might have considered worthless junk (or not; there’s hardly anyone that doesn’t appreciate candy of one sort or another), the kids were excited to use their money to buy all sorts of the stuff we had on offer. The thing is, they couldn’t rush off and buy stuff willy-nilly; there had to be rules, so that everyone could have a reasonable crack at the sales.

And while Elias tried to explain the rules to the kids, they were running around, checking the tables, and chatting with each other about what they had and what they were looking at getting, so they didn’t hear much of what he said. After a couple of times of reminding the kids that, by not listening, he would have to repeat himself (thereby reducing the amount of time they had to actually shop), I decided to do what I could to help him out, by exercising my own nuclear option.

I don’t know if you remember that screaming contest Heidi and I had after a discussion at the campus cafeteria one evening; after all, you were only peripheral to the group that called themselves the Sextette that assembled at every evening meal (Dena, myself, Heidi, Tony, Wendy and Ron). I don’t know if we were discussing the merits of the female versus male voice in general in terms of carrying power, but the two of us each insisted that we had the loudest scream. As with such heated discussions (not that we had one, as such, but this obviously could not be conducted in the cafeteria), this was taken outside, and each of us gave it our best shot. I don’t know if we got any conclusive agreement as to which of us “won,” per se, but we got some joggers attention who came to see if someone needed assistance – and gave us both a tongue-lashing when she discovered it was a false alarm.

My point is, when I choose to exercise it, I have a loud voice – and while I don’t use the falsetto scream I did when facing off against Heidi, I can get a pretty booming bellow, especially in a confined space like the upstairs room we considered our club space. So, as Elias was having trouble getting the kids to settle down and pay attention, I simply bellowed “HEY!!” at very nearly the top of my lungs, followed by a much more soft-spoken “Thank you.” It got them to settle down enough so he could finish his schpiel, and everyone could wander around and spend their money as intended.

The thing was, as soon as I let loose with that yell, I realized I was going to be paying for that. Stationed as I was over a table of “$500” items, I was swamped with a bunch of kids, trying to get my attention over this thing or that, and I was trying to ask what they wanted (and get change together for those waving ridiculously large bills), and feeling my vocal cords strain to talk to each of them as I did. Daniel had his own difficulty at the candy table, but at least he didn’t have any vocal pain to try to deal with; all he struggled with was the overwhelming crush of kids trying to buy one or another fun-size bar (and, at the “$100” table, every kid was able to afford what he had to offer). It was pretty chaotic, and you would have had a blast dealing with it, I’m pretty sure.

But by this morning, I was well and truly sore in the throat. At least I didn’t need to converse with anyone until I got back from the gym and out of the shower. Actually, that’s not entirely true; I’d put the fan on while I was working the treadmill, and asked the person next to me if she wanted me to leave it on as I was wiping my unit down and otherwise preparing to leave. Even if she hadn’t been wearing earbuds, I don’t think she would have been able to hear the croak that came out of my mouth inquiring about her opinion regarding its operation. I just left it on as I departed, trusting her to turn it off if she preferred it that way.

In any event, I’m doing more ‘talking’ to you through writing this than I expect I’ll be able to actually do with anyone else all day, thanks to last night, and one momentary decision. Still, I need to get on with the rest of my day, so I’ll let you go for now. Until next time, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck (and maybe a little better judgment); I’m going to need it.