This is a story for anyone who has ever dreamed of being a real-life hero.
Not the kind of dream where you magically or suddenly possess some kind of unknown superpower. Or the kind where you do something totally out of character or become someone else. No, this is the true story where someone’s very specific and very random and very underappreciated skill allows them to be nothing short of an absolute white knight in glittering armor, resulting in the best possible outcome, well, ever.
So sit back, relax, and enjoy this true and fabulous tale of Henry and his very, very good hearing.
It all started at a cafe in Sweden with his best friend, Hillary. Hillary was holding his phone and swiping with her thumb, her face, a fabulous combination of interest and boredom.
“These pictures are great. I like the fishing one - it's funny that you’re the only person who didn’t catch anything.”
“I did catch something,” Henry shook his head, “but I threw it back into the water. You should have seen its eyes. Reminded me of my Farfar, Bjorn.
“Uh-huh.” Hillary wasn’t listening. If she had been, she may have been weirded out by her oldest friend comparing a Lake Perch to his paternal grandfather. “And (she looked at the next one) I like the computer one, it shows your potential mate that you actually do have a job. But-” Hillary looked quizzically at her childhood best friend, totally confused about the last profile photo on the dating app, “Why in the name of God are you pointing to your ear?”
Henry sighed. Hillary knew him better than anyone. She should have known the answer to this.
“Because of how good my hearing is.”
Hillary took a very large bite of her strudel and contemplated the image for another moment or two.
“I don’t think that’s like a special skill. Or even a personality trait.”
Henry wasn’t offended by Hillary. Being blunt was both her special skill and kind of her entire personality.
“But,” he raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together in a firm line, “It's a big part of me.”
And it was true. Henry did have exceptional hearing. He had to wear earplugs to bed because of the crickets and also how loud his cotton sheets were when he turned his pillow over to the cool side. He couldn’t listen to certain kinds of music. He was irritated by most podcaster’s voices (Oh Henry, we hope you like us…) and swore that he could hear the pitch of a dog whistle. Hillary had to concede, that Henry’s audio talents or sensitivities were, indeed, a big part of what made Henry, Henry. But was that a great advertisement for his romantic future?
Hillary took a sip of her steaming coffee and thought about all the people whom she’d met on this very app. She wasn’t exactly boasting the most impressive track record herself. The men liked to pose as gladiators and then, in person, had the self-awareness of a Labrador puppy. Maybe, for someone very, (very?) special, his honesty would be attractive and refreshing. She handed the phone back across the uneven table.
“Go for it. And let me know what happens.” And the truth was a good bet. Because no one was interested. Henry got zero, yes, zero requests for any kind of date or get-together or even the little heart icon where someone could simply let him know that she liked his picture. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. It had been exactly a month since Hillary begrudgingly approved his profile in the little cafe and it was turning out to be a massive failure.
Henry was sitting on his freshly laundered Ikea bedspread, deciding whether to erase the ear picture or delete the app altogether, when the little envelope icon turned green. Ding. He had his first message.
Her name was Julia. She was a musician. And she wanted to take him to a concert performed on instruments made up of entirely recycled materials and know what he thought. Henry responded right away. He didn’t see any reason to play it cool. He wasn’t cool. And neither was the concert. They both loved it.
“It’s not like the popsicle stick piano sounded like a real piano, but it made my ears happy,” Julia said thoughtfully as Henry held her hand in the cool evening. She’d wanted to walk back to their shared neighborhood so they’d be able to get some fresh air and discuss the nuances of the performance. And Henry agreed. A concert had been a big ask of him and his ears and he had felt nervous leading up to the date. There were so many sounds that he found himself focusing on that no one else seemed to hear. But this particular evening had been, he had to admit it, beautiful.
The instruments, made out of everything from common craft supplies to construction materials, had been an absolute joy. Maybe it was the musicians, a rag-tag group of smiling twenty-somethings who all seemed to possess that instantly likable quality of a person who does not take themselves too seriously. Maybe it was the outdoor venue, the smell of fresh, fragrant orchids, or the curly-haired Julia and her wide smile. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his deep contentment, but Henry knew that for the first time in his adult life, he felt completely comfortable and happy. And Julia felt it too. They saw each other every night from thereon after.
Now, their relationship wasn’t without friction, as will always be the case between two intelligent mammals. Julia was occasionally irritated by Henry’s audio sensitivities. She wanted to be out and about, to go to the city, to hear poets on stage, to get tickets to concerts, and that was not always Henry’s jam.
“Ok,” said Julia, scrolling through her phone in bed one lazy Sunday morning, “how about we go camping with Nico and Allegra next weekend?” Henry looked at his girlfriend thoughtfully. She was trying to be accommodating. He’d already said no to the last three activities that she’d suggested. He didn’t even remember the last time that he’d been camping. Wait, had he ever gone camping before? He knew that he had to start agreeing to more if he was going to keep her around.
“Sure, let’s do it,” he told Julia, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She made him so happy.
Julia typed back on her phone, “We’ll bring your good earplugs. And we’ll have a big campfire. The site is a few miles down the trail and there’s supposed to be a gorgeous stream. And you like that sound.” Henry did. He looked forward to the trip all week.
He borrowed a tent and two very snazzy backpacks from his Uncle P. He made his own trail mix for the group, prepped for a nice dinner, and even managed to make room for a bottle of Braänvin. And, of course, he remembered his “good” earplugs. He felt a nagging feeling that Julia was getting irritated with him. It was little things that hadn’t bothered her a few months prior. She didn’t seem to like how he loaded the dishwasher or parked his car or left his toothbrush on the edge of her sink. Henry exhaled as he folded his camping clothes. He hoped that this was just a regular and normal part of a relationship and part of spending lots of time together. He’d never had a serious girlfriend before. When he straight-up asked Hillary about it, she confirmed that he was, indeed, annoying and offered zero insight on how to remedy the situation.
Henry was determined to put his best, most athletic, and toughest foot forward that weekend. He would not complain of toe pain on the walk. He would not whine about mosquitos or the noise that anyone made while chewing their pickled herring which, it being Sweden, is what he brought for a dinner appetizer. He packed an exhaustive first aid kit, specialty hot chocolate, and purchased a top-of-the-line mattress pad. And then, at the last minute, he added a small satellite phone to his pack. Henry swore to himself that he would show Julia the toughest, most masculine version of himself that he had to offer. But, as is so often the case whenever any of us vow to change our personalities on a whim, or at least on a Wednesday night, he failed.
His big toe hurt immediately walking through the wood-chipped trail and it didn’t help that he’d forgotten his walking poles. The bugs were horrendous, buzzing and flapping around his sweaty head. Not to mention his camping group which, he swore, were the loudest and most obnoxious chewers, turning Henry’s internal monologue into a murderous rage as he took in the peaceful surroundings of his pacifist home country. And Julia noticed all of it.
He caught her look of pity as he propped his sore foot up on a stump around the campfire. He’d still managed to walk the ten kilometers to the site where the other couple, Nico and Allegra, expertly popped up the tent and a makeshift kitchen out of what must have been some bottomless Mary Poppins type of bag. How badly Henry had wanted to look good in front of his love. How much he tried to bust out his tough, outdoorsy side. But, alas, maybe we just are who we are.
Henry winced against the smoke of the fire wafting into his sensitive eyes as the breeze changed its course.
Do not get up, he instructed himself, feeling Julia watching him while inflating their mattress. But, it was no use. A person cannot breathe in smoke and keep a smile on their face so Henry was forced to roll off of his tree stump, crawling on his hands and knees to the other side of the fire, closer to the woods. It was pretty pathetic looking. But, he didn’t have much time to contemplate how ridiculous a grown man wearing one hiking shoe and tears streaming out of his eyes on a camping trip looked to the rest of his friends because… that’s when he heard it.
It was a cry. And it wasn’t an animal. Henry froze in his crouched position, looking more like a toddler searching for a pacifier than, say, a tiger ready to pounce.
“Did you guys hear that?” he called to his group, trying his best to stifle a cough from the smoke.
Julia pressed her lips together and shook her head. If she had a dollar for every time she heard that line from Henry- but Henry put up his hand, shuffling up to his feet to lean his ear closer to the woods. He heard it again.
“Maybe,” Allegra could sense the tension between the new couple and was determined to have a fun weekend with no relationship drama, “there are some demons and Henry is the only person who can hear them.”
Nico agreed, “I’m sure that’s it. Henry, if you can hear them, I’m assuming that you can talk to them too. Please tell them to either leave us alone or bring us another bottle of Braänvin.”
They laughed it off. But all throughout dinner, Henry heard the cries. They were scared, they sounded hurt, and he just couldn’t ignore it anymore. When the herring was finished and the potatoes devoured, Henry wiggled his hiking boot back on over his problem toe and announced to the group,
“I have to go follow that sound.” Julia did not seem pleased. In fact, she had the same look of annoyance when she saw the foam surrounding his toothbrush head next to her sink.
“Really?” But she shouldn’t have had to say that. Henry was determined. His nose crinkled. He squinted his eyes, and he stood up much straighter than usual. There was no dissuading him.
“Something needs us.”
“Alright,” Julia stood up and grabbed her water bottle and sweatshirt, “I guess I’m coming with you.”
And, because yes, she was often annoyed but also in true love, she followed Henry into the woods in the Swedish countryside as he bushwhacked his way through the underbrush, following a strange sound like a bloodhound sniffing for its dinner. The sun was setting, the bugs seemed to multiply, the air got cooler, all things that the normal Henry would have complained about incessantly, but he didn’t seem to notice. The irony, however, was that Julia did.
But every time she tried to mention her discomfort or question his path, Henry shushed her, straining his ear to follow the sound.
And now, Anxiety Addicts, we have to remind you that this is a true story.
Because Henry found where the sound was coming from. It was a clearing in the brush at least half an hour from where the two couples had set up their campsite. And it was a person. In particular, a little girl. She had on a party dress, one shoe, was covered in mosquito bites, and bawling. When she saw the couple, her eyes widened in shock.
And Henry got to be Henry. With his gentle nature and kind eyes, he got the girl’s story. There had been a family party and she’d wandered into the woods. He offered her water and a protein bar and wrapped her in his Anorak. And then, our hero, Henry Eriksson, carried the young girl all the way back to the campsite. He asked her about her friends, her toys, her family, regularly reassuring her that everything was going to be fine. He only stopped once to adjust her body weight over his other shoulder. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel Julia’s gaze of awe on him the entire way.
Nico and Allegra gasped when they saw their friends exiting the woods and carrying a small child. They were dumbfounded. A little girl was the last thing they were expecting the couple to bring back. They scrambled to get her in front of the fire, but neither Nico nor Allegra knew how to handle the situation. They asked Julia and Henry to repeat the story over and over and over. But Henry couldn't, he was busy. He was in his element taking care of this little girl.
He applied ointment to her bug bites, made her a hot chocolate from his overly-packed rucksack, wrapped her in the new sleeping bag, and called the authorities on the satellite phone. Really.
As the sun rose over the forest trees the following morning, Henry plugged the GPS coordinates given to him by the police and carried the little girl two hours in the opposite direction of their trail, delivering her to her weepy and wildly grateful parents.
As they said goodbye and answered questions from the TV reporters, Julia held tight to her boyfriend’s hand. She wasn’t going to let any of the local news viewers think for a second that Henry was single. No one believed him about his supernatural hearing abilities.
“I promise you it’s true,” Julia told the many microphones held in front of their faces, “it was even on his dating profile.” The story was a hit and spread around Sweden like wildfire. Henry handled his fifteen minutes of fame like an absolute pro. All the while Julia was there for him. Maybe it shouldn’t have had to take a feat of lifesaving for her to realize what a catch her quirky mate actually was. But it did have that effect. She bought him a wall-mounted holder for his toothbrush and an air filter for their bedroom. Noise-canceling headphones were sent from every show where he appeared on a segment.
Eventually, their lives settled back into normal, punctuated by monthly letters, full of stickers and misspellings, from the little girl. And those would continue on until adulthood. The stickers would stop, but the sentiment remains as sweet.
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