Jamie had stopped listening to his parents' conversation long ago, and now sat absent-mindedly scratching at the cheesy remains of lasagna on his plate. Like a dental hygienist removing plaque from a tooth, he meticulously scraped the dried sauce and hardened mozzarella into a tidy pile. His movements were deft and automatic; his mind was far away from the mundanity at the dinner table.
"How was your lesson with Dawn?"
The questioning lilt of his mother's speech dragged Jamie back to reality. He paused in his scraping. Laying his utensils aside, he looked across the table at his parents. His mother watched him expectantly, politely awaiting his response. Meanwhile his father shoveled a second helping of lasagna onto his plate. Wholly absorbed in the task of enlarging his gut, he gulped down heaping forkfuls of gooey pasta.
Jamie remained silent, transfixed by the rhythmic bulging of his father's cheeks. The only sound in the room was the smacking of his lips, accompanied by the clattering of his silverware. His father took a long slurp of beer. The liquid sloshed around his mouth, dislodging and redistributing particles of marinara. The sounds emitting from his mouth were reminiscent of a crocodile being wrestled in a muddy swamp. Squelching, chomping, crunching filled Jamie's ears. Suddenly his father burst into a fit of coughing, having apparently aspirated a bit of noodle. He spluttered, yet he opened his still full mouth to insert another forkful, revealing a pasty lump of half chewed food on the center of his tongue. Jamie felt waves of nausea roll through his stomach. Overwhelmed by the sound of the lasagna being mashed between his father's molars, he felt the pressure in his skull rising. Nauseated, he abruptly pushed his chair back and rose from the table.
"I can't stand his chewing, it's making me sick," said Jamie, as he bolted from the room.

....

Jamie collapsed onto his bed, exhaling deeply in the merciful silence of his bedroom. Usually he found silence oppressive and for years he had sought to drown it out. During his childhood he had filled the cold, modern house with the sound of his boisterous play. Though an only child, he made as much noise as any clamorous Catholic clan. The only time he was still was when he sat at the piano, his feet dangling off the bench as he played. He could spend hours at the keyboard, methodically recreating the jazz tunes his mother played in the car. After hearing a recording of Joshua Redman, Jamie insisted his parents enroll him in saxophone lessons. His skills rapidly progressed; it was as if he were born to express himself through music instead of words. His fingers danced over the keys, filling the furthest corners of the house with sound. He played his way through the banal tribulations of adolescence, combating heartbreak and angst with vibrant jazz melodies.
The saxophone gleamed gold on its stand in the corner of the room. Jamie stared at the instrument, observing the finger prints smeared across the keys and the worn pearls, reminders of his hours of practice. Beside it lay the audition piece. The margins of the sheet music were filled with Dawn's squiggly notes and comments. For the six weeks leading up to his audition at Berklee College of Music, his parents had scheduled biweekly lessons with her in order to perfect his performance. Today's lesson had been a challenge, but he had finally internalized the rhythm of the trickiest measures. Dawn expected a lot from Jamie. With just a week before the audition, he would need to spend at least three hours a day polishing the phrasing and articulation. Nevertheless, he felt ready and confident.
He walked across the room and picked up the saxophone; the weight of the cool metal settled comfortably into his hands. The first note he played was loud and sour. The second note spluttered. The image of his father's revolting behavior at the dinner table came rushing back into his mind. Unable to play another note, Jamie hastily put his saxophone back on its stand. Laying back down on the bed, he resigned himself to a night of silence.

…

“Knock knock!” came his mother’s peppy, sorority-girl voice as she burst into Jamie’s room. She settled herself at the end of the bed, almost quivering in her eagerness to be sympathetic. She smoothed his jeans and patted his leg.
“You must be so stressed out, with your big audition next week” cooed his mother.
“I’m not stressed out, Mom. Just leave me alone.”
“But I brought you a snack! Your father and I had some dessert, I thought you might like some.” She offered Jamie a plate of artfully fanned slices of pear and cheese. He made no move to take the plate, so she set it down on the bed next to him. She took a bite of pear as waited for her son to respond. She pursed her thin lips as she chewed. The little wrinkles around her mouth stretched with each bite, mirroring the stretching of her slackened cheeks. She saw her son writhe and cover his ears with a pillow. Frowning quizzically she took another bite. Her jaw chomped jauntily; pear squelched between teeth. Jamie curled into a tight ball. His muscles contracted and shook.
“Get out. Get out!” cried Jamie in dismay.
His mother swallowed. She continued to pat his leg, but shifted closer to the edge of the bed.
...

The next morning Jamie skipped breakfast and left to catch the early bus before his parents awoke. At his bus stop he encountered a young couple saying drawn out goodbyes. Every time the man turned to leave, his girlfriend pulled him back in for another embrace. Jamie turned away to give them privacy.
However, it was impossible to ignore the squelching noises they began to make. The sound of saliva being sucked from one mouth to the other conjured up vivid images of squirming, slimy eels in Jamie's mind. He supposed the couple must be eating each other. He imagined the boyfriend ripping out his girlfriend's tongue with his teeth and chewing it with gusto, smacking his lips and wiping his bloody chin before leaning in for another bite.
The thought of the warm metallic taste of blood forcibly entered his mind and wouldn't leave. Trying to rid himself of the imagined taste, he took a sip of his coffee. The grotesque gurgle in his throat when he swallowed was enough to make him heave. He stumbled away from the bus stop, breathing deeply to stifle his stomach's efforts to empty itself of bile. His stumble became a run. He didn't stop running until he arrived at school.

...

Jamie managed to avoid talking with anyone at school. Hiding from his friends in the band room, he spent lunch trying to practice his audition piece. His saxophone fought all of his attempts to create a melodious sound. It spluttered on every note, rendering Jamie incapable of listening to himself play. The only way he could stand to practice was by wearing earbuds and blasting white noise so loud it made his ears hurt.
The band director opened the classroom door and watched his star pupil create the most unmusical racket that he'd ever heard. Perplexed, he approached Jamie.
"Hi Jamie, you doing alright?"
Jamie continued to play, belting out a high note that faded into an ear piercing squeak. The band director tapped him on the shoulder and suddenly the cacophony came to a halt.
"What's up, Mr. H?"
"I'm quite alright, Jamie. Are you okay? That's quite a racket you were making."
"I'm just practicing for my audition."
Mr. H nodded and frowned. He waited for Jamie to continue, but his student remained silent. Mr. H sighed.
"I'll let you get back to your practicing. I'm here if you need any help."
Jamie jutted his chin forward in acknowledgement and went back to his instrument.

...

After school Jamie hurried to his bedroom to practice. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked over his sheet music. The door squealed and Jamie was startled by the feeling of a small, moist tongue licking his bare ankle. He quickly drew his ankle up under him to avoid the little toy poodle. He tried to focus on the music, but was interrupted by a high pitched, saccharine whine. Then another whine, pitiful and infinitely infuriating.
"Bad Tizzy. Bad dog. Go away, you awful creature."
Tizzy kept whining. Jamie felt pressure building up in his head and muscles. A pulsating fury was growing in his stomach, burning his intestines and liver. He tore at his hair, his body tensed up and shook. He pounded at his thighs, and raked his fingernails down his forearms, drawing lines of blood on his pale wrists.
Then Tizzy started to lick. She slurped at her hairy nostrils, her long tongue curling and wrapping itself around her wet, upturned nose. She raised her lips are she licked, exposing yellow plaque and crooked teeth. She licked and licked and licked.
Jamie screamed. It was a guttural, throaty shriek that ended in a sob. He seized the poodle off the ground and threw her against the wall. He kicked the dog, and stepped on it, feeling bones crunch beneath his foot. Tizzy quietly whimpered in pain. Jamie picked her up and gave her head an aggressive twist before she had the chance to struggle. Tizzy's body went limp. He dropped her onto the carpet and stared at his blood smeared hands.
For a moment everything was silent. Then in an instant his ears were filled with the sounds of chewing, kissing, and licking. They grew louder and louder, overwhelming Jamie, knocking him to the floor next to Tizzy's dead body. And he saw eels and crocodiles swimming in her lifeless eyes.