In Silence

I do not like silence, I never have. Those closest to me have told me that I have a dislike for silence bordering on Attention Deficit Disorder. Music playing in the background, a television playing something I’ve seen a hundred times before, any kind of distraction to alleviate my boredom.

It was never always like this, I spent much of my time growing up in Jamaica on a farm in the Blue Mountains. I would spend many of my days sitting amongst the trees enjoying the serenity of nature. Now though is different, now there is only the city of Pembroke Pines, Florida and cold concrete.

I am sitting alone in my room, the only quiet room in my house, what with my mother puttering around the house cleaning and cooking, and my sister being my sister. I find myself being forced to endure the silence of my room, a space which until recently has never really felt like my own. Until very recently the only contents of my room was a bed, a dresser and several boxes of books.

Now as I lay here I am overwhelmed by the smell of laminated wood, no doubt coming from the three sets of bookshelves I have recently installed. I never realized how many books I’ve managed to collect over the last decade of living in America. One bookshelf is devoted to comic books, another to novels and the third and final one dedicated to books about writing and World War II. A somewhat eclectic mix I imagine, but in keeping with my character to those who really know me.

The majority of the room is white: white walls, white bed sheets and white longboxes (used for comic collecting). I need posters. I have posters, several movie posters that I have collected over the years that now lay, still rolled up, in my closet. It was my plan to put those up once the shelves were done and maybe I shall in coming days.

Sitting on one of the book shelves my alarm clock ticks away. I always thought I was a bit on the loud side, but I’ve gotten used to it over the years. Outside I can hear birds chirping, my south facing window overlooking an overgrown bramble that the city of Pembroke Pines hasn’t seemed to have cleared to put up a shopping mall or town houses yet. The relative silence is broken every few minutes by the sound of a car driving by.

I am not enjoying sitting here in the silence. It’s the wrong kind of silence, It’s the silence of the city, the silence of people not being in the same room, but still in the same house. I miss the silence of the woods, the true silence of being alone with myself instead of hiding from others



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