Back to Dave Dreher's Artist PageTo the Artist's Page                Back to the Unlikely Stories home pageTo our home page
AAAA LeagueTo Dave Dreher's previous piece     SilenceTo Part II

Silence

Silence: She goes into her room and closes the door behind her. Firmly, but not a slam. She stands there for a while, looking out the window. It is hot and green outside. The air conditioning is going. Central air conditioning. The rock stars on the posters on the walls are staring at her carefully, seriously. Her bed is made and her mother has lain out tomorrow's school clothes on the bedspread. She wonders what her mother thinks when she goes into her room to clean and put her clothes away, and what the posters are all about. She watched her father at dinner tonight. He poked with his fork, chewed, and talked. She talked too, but watched more than she talked. She couldn't decide if he was more the work-guy who was her dad or her dad who was the work-guy. And her mom- was she the work-guy's wife or her dad's wife? These thoughts no longer just came up at dinner but started to cross her mind when school let out, sometimes earlier. Other kids had moms and dads who seemed happier with them, warmer. They talked about things. She felt slight embarrassment in their homes, the parents who were so overflowing with kindness that she felt almost a part of the family wherever she went. These kids were different, they were going to be different. And they would look at her differently, if they did not already. She felt as if their friendship just might be charity. And what did they talk about when she was not there. She would imagine walking up to them and then they would automatically start in with the bland, over-friendly chat, their mothers already having told them to be nice and smile and laugh if they think she is telling a joke. It was horrible and she felt horrible about it. Like she was imposing, always. There was no way to get past that and make things normal, like with everybody else. She goes over to the wall and disconnects the phone, taking the jack out of the wall. She ties one end around the door knob of the closet and sits against the door. She reaches back and pulls the dangling cord over her shoulder and winds up something resembling an old-fashioned noose, making a large loop and wrapping the slack around the top of the loop several times. She curls the remaining slack under one of the small winding loops and places the large loop over her head, around her neck. She sits there with legs straight out and arms by her sides, palms flat on the floor and wonders if she feels bad enough to do something like this.


To the top of this pageTo the top of this page