1) Alone in a quiet room. Listen. What do you hear?
The silence striking. I imagined when it came I would be surrounded by serenity. This is not the case. I wonder where the tapping of a toddler's feet went. The idea of an infant's cry is no longer distressing, but would be welcomed and calming. Instead of these familiar sounds, I hear the annoying hiss of the bath water. The light in this bathroom comes with a torturing fan that I would love to rip out of the ceiling. Every slight movement sloshes the water around as if I am some kind of sea monster. Not flattering.
2) Alone in a quiet room. How did you get here?
What circumstances have left me without my children? No matter how much I try and clear my mind of them to relax, I fail. Asking myself questions over and over to try and make sense of this is maddening. Where are they? Are they safe? Happy? I suppose this hypothetical bath I am taking in solidarity is no cause for alarm, but I am concerned even in my imagination.
3) Alone in a quiet room. But what's really happening.
In reality I have attempted a tranquil bath to compose myself. The truth is, it is not quiet. I may have been the only one in the bathroom, but I was not alone. I heard the murmur of the perpetual cartoons playing on the television. Occasionally a tiny knock on the door followed by a 'momma?' Yes, Grady, I am still in here. The baby is quiet so I assume he is sleeping. However, I am on edge and ready to pounce. I am just waiting to hear the tiniest peep so I can jump up and rescue him from whatever feeble annoyance overcomes him. I am realizing that tranquility can not be planned.
I really enjoy how you merge the three prompts and come up with a single imagined (but very realistic) scenario. I say 'imagined' because I hope you don't have your keyboard with you in the tub....
ReplyDeleteYour questions, your quotations, your speculations, your homely details all work to create a solid piece.