Silence, contrary to popular opinion, is never quiet.
Once, as a teenager, I slammed my bedroom door in the middle of a heated argument with my father. Separated, we stood either side in silence; me filled with fear, with shock, with guilt, with rage. I could have guessed what my father was feeling but I will never really know.
Behind the door, your world narrows, filled with a myriad circling voices, going for the kill. Silence has mass, it has weight, bearing down on you until you are all alone, utterly squeezed from the world.
In my middle years, I slammed another door and looked back, wondering how the people on the other side were feeling about the frail but permanent border between us; I’ll never be allowed to know but silence is a predictable tormentor, raging like a toddler that will not be subdued.
© Jack Leonard 2021