Issue 12
Rest
Jane MacDonald
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Silence
Midnight. In bed, I wound down, an insane tape of half-remembered
events going through my mind -- snatches of dialogue, my daughter's frown, a
truncated tune. As sleep approached, sounds I had ignored discovered
an entry to my brain. Sirens blared, traffic rumbled, trains rattled,
not-quite-intelligible voices intruded. Driving rain fell, a stampede
of muffled hoof beats outside my window.
At 4:23 A.M. -- so the big red numbers on my clock advised -- I
snapped awake. Listening, I heard nothing. The city slept. For a few seconds
I held my breath. Nothing moved. Alone, the world long gone, no life out
there.
And then the numbers changed: 4:24 A.M. A second later, the backup
alarm on some big truck -- the oilman, I thought -- began its insistent call.
Engine noises crept stealthily into my ears. Footsteps crunched along the
river of ice that half covered the sidewalk. I breathed, and heard a whisper
of air come into being. Far away, this time, a cop's car wailed, soon joined
by another, near. My eyes closed; the familiar world had returned. The
next morning I remembered a moment when nothing had existed, and then the
thought was gone.
~Jane MacDonald
Jane MacDonald, a mother and a career counselor, lives in Boston and writes
stories. Her most recent publication was in Wild Violet. Website. Email.
© 2003 by Jane MacDonald. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2003 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.