Sound of Silence

Your little brother and father are watching Charlie Chaplin films. You hear them laughing for what seems like the first time. Mother is lying down reading, fading in and out of consciousness, and you hear the occasional scratch of turning pages. They all go to bed. If you could sleep forever, would you still dream? You wonder. The faint hum of the fridge signals a change. You open the screen door and step outside into the blackness, but you are standing in between two lights. On your right, high in the trees, there are wooden planks illuminated by a green lantern, something you have never seen before. A patio in the sky. On your left there is a light, attracting countless moths. Cloaked in the darkness, dancing circles in the neon glow. The insect nightlife is vibrant, full of quiet excitement surrounded by the still night. There is a gentle wind rushing through the leaves. There always is a breeze, sweeping sadly through the silence. You hear the faraway horn of a train, the never-ending train that passes by every twenty-one minutes or so. This is the only measure of distance; here you step outside of time, immersed in a moment. The melancholy howl of the loon, the wailing in the night, does not make an appearance. With eyes closed, you feel the leaves rustling in a tender sway that makes your bones shiver. You reach under your shirt, and clutch your flesh in that familiar way, making sure you exist. Completely alone in the night, the woods listen and watch your every move. You pull your limbs around the deck, trying not to disturb them. There is no one around you in every direction; only one soul deserted in the wilderness. Of course, the family lives asleep behind you, but they are as far as the moon. Up above, the dark clear air speckled with stars reminds you of something unreal. You open the screen door and step back inside to sleep.