The sound of nothingness fills the house right now. Sure, there is background noise–the whir of a fan in the bedroom and in the den, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen–but there is a distinct lack of human voices.
My Bumblebee mug has been filled with coffee once and duly emptied; it’s now been washed and is resting by the coffee maker, waiting to be used tomorrow. Since it’s getting late–about 1315 here–I decide to grab something to eat. Pita chips and hummus will do. I grab a cola from the fridge and march back downstairs.
The silence is very loud. Almost overwhelming. These are words I never thought I would type, let alone think.
Back when I worked at Walmart, all I wanted on my days off was silence. The store was so loud when we were at our busiest that it made my head spin. The music from Walmart radio, the shouting associates on the PA system, the children having meltdowns and tantrums for various reasons, the warning beacons from the self-checks, you name it, it screamed in my ears. When I had a day off from that place, my background noise consisted of a television set at a volume so low, that I could only hear the voices but not understand the dialogue. Eventually, I would turn up the volume to where I could hear and understand everything but it took me several hours to get to that point.
Today, I don’t feel that way. I want the voices. I want the noise. The house feels vacant without them.
It would be a typical day off for me, only today isn’t really typical: Prime is out of state, driving his mother and her new dog back home. I’m missing him terribly. Our car is in the driveway but my husband is nearly four hundred miles away. He’s been texting me regular updates, which helps, but I still miss him.
I can’t wait until I hear keys jangling in the lock and the door opening. I can’t wait until Prime calls out, “Where are ya, butts?”
I just can’t wait until Prime’s home. He’s been gone a little too long for my tastes.
Iacon East 