“Do you hear that noise?” asks my husband as we drive along the Robert Casey Highway, him pointing toward the car’s hood as if giving me a clue.

“No,” I say in all honesty, “I don’t hear a noise.”

“You don’t hear that noise!”

“No noise,” I reassure him.

“What’s the matter with you? You can’t hear that noise?” And then he hums along with it.

“It sounds like the car’s engine,” I say.

“The car’s engine? That’s not what the engine sounds like.” He hums louder, and I don’t know whether to pretend I hear something I don’t’ hear at all, or stay honest. I stay honest.

“Well, like I said, to me it sounds like a car engine.” He huffs. 

“So you don’t hear that noise?” I like this question about as much as I like, “Do you know the word of the day?” which randomly comes across my email for no good reason. Today it’s ennui. Do I know what ennui means? Offhand, no I don’t, and I’m not going to look it up. I don’t hear the noise and I don’t know what ennui means. I have other things to worry about.

We drive in silence. 

“How about you go to the mechanic?” I dare to suggest.

“What?” he bellows, “I already know what it is!”

“Oh. Okay.” I don’t ask. Ennui and noises, I don’t ask.

“It’s a bearing!” he grouses.

“Is that serious?”

“Yes!” he says, and I leave it at that.

The next day, my daughter and I are in the car and I ask her. Do you hear a noise? 

“Sort of,” she responds.

“What does it sound like to you?”

“A low hum. It could be the engine.” Right, the engine. I get validation from a person whose car was so extremely noisy that I just had to make mention of it. She scoffed, and then her transmission died. 

A week passes and my husband and I are in said car again. 

“Hmmm, I think I hear the noise,” I remark and then hum along with it.

“Yes, that’s it! You hear it!”

“I do, but it still sounds like the engine to me.”

“That’s not what the engine sounds like!”

“Oh, I say,” I say, so happy not to own a car anymore.

“Well, when you spoke with the mechanic over the phone, what did he say?” 

“He thinks it’s a bearing just like I thought and he’s ordered the part.” I think it’s amazing that the mechanic hasn’t even looked at the car, and based on my singer husband’s advice, has ordered a part.

After the mechanic replaces the part, my husband says, “Do you hear that noise?” 

“Yes. It sounds exactly the same. Maybe it’s what I thought all along, the sound of the engine?”

“No, it’s the bearing!” I have to take the car back. And so he does, and the mechanic at no extra charge installs a new bearing on the opposite side. We go driving and I can clearly hear that the noise is still there, but say nothing.

My husband bangs on the wheel. “It’s still there! The noise is still there!” 

“Maybe you should switch mechanics?”

“No! This guy is really good.”

“There are other good mechanics. Maybe a second opinion is in order?”

“No! It’s a bearing. Do you hear it? I think it’s coming from the rear left side.”

“Are Click and Clack from Car Talk still on the air?” I ask, and then start humming, even harmonizing with the buzz. And then I start riffing and singing a tune without words because I’m afraid my words will mock. 

I succumb to a feeling of listlessness, dissatisfaction and even despair arising from a lack of occupation or excitement about this subject. It’s called ennui. And then I say the worst thing ever, “Maybe it’s time for a new car.”

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.