a fourth of silence
The door that is no longer a door closes behind me without a sound. There is no lock to click into place. None is needed, because this is a one-way door. The way back merges into a solid barrier that is semitransparent. Through it I can see countless earlier versions of me, some distinctly visible, most blurring to one degree or another, some all but faded by time and inattention. Each one passed through a door just like this more than a hundred times, another season of life behind me, the way forward nothing but a mirror.
Hands shaking, I lean against the wall that was a door, not looking back. I can still hear it though. The echo of gunfire, no less sharp, and the screams I never actually heard but my brain doesn’t seem to understand that. The doom and splat of battle. The silence a baby’s cry is supposed to fill but doesn’t, which is it’s own kind of sound. The wail of a teenager being eaten alive by an enemy she cannot see to fight. The wracking sobs of those left behind, of those afraid of being victimized next, of those enraged and terrified by the seemingly endless ways that humans who have power find to dehumanize humans who do not. I am on the ground now, I don’t remember getting here. The noise, I can’t stop it. I can’t even join in, there are no tears left in me, one single shuddering gasp is all the eulogy I can offer for the spring I have survived, a pitiful memorial for all of those who didn’t.
I am not supposed to stay here. Time is a stream, the unseen current pulls at me as I sit, spent and empty, in this room that is no place and everyplace at once. I stay anyway, listening as the echos fade back into memory. The silence is not peaceful, but it is a relief. I need this silence, I need a space between moments to put myself back together again. Silence is a form of prayer, a benediction or begging. I will offer mine in honor of the voices who have been muted, by death or the absence of listening, which can feel much the same. During this loudest, brightest, most joyous time of year, I will wrap myself a cocoon of silence. No laughter over hot dogs, no saluting stars and stripes, no fireworks, no cheering the freedom too many of us do not share. It is all that I can do. One day I will give myself, and then I will stand back up and walk on, through my reflection and into the unknown.
I have far, yet, to go.