i'm not intuitive
or any of that shit,
but when he suddenly
stopped talking,
i let the silence
settle through
the car.
it would have
been obvious
to anyone
(but not everyone)
that something was up.
it was on the
second trip when
he turned the volume
down on
the western music he
had gotten
for people like me
(not knowing that i wanted nothing more than to hear his music)
when i noticed that
the silence enveloped
us in the exact
same spot as last time.
i imagined him appreciating
me playing along,
not knowing why
and unwilling to ask
but realistically i
figured he didn't care...
i was nothing more
than the reason he
had to be away
from his wife and kids
on a weekend.
on the third trip
i knew exactly
what to do.
he looked at
me with eyes
that said he was thankful
that i had obliged
him yet again.
of course, i thought
still not asking why.
as if i had
passed all of his
tests and was
finally worthy
to hear the story,
he pointed
to the right side
of the road.
as i mentioned
before, i knew that
the sound disappeared at
the same place each time,
(just as we turned off of the highway and in to town)
but in avoiding
his eyes
and staring out
my window
at the men
surrounded by dead
fish and flies,
i'd failed to
notice the muslim
burial ground on
the right side
of the car.
"my parents. they are in the ground."
he said,
his english
imprecise yet perfect
(for a seventh language).
i watched as
he cried,
the man who
seemed tougher than
nearly any i'd met before
(especially that day he reached through the open window and slapped that guy across the face for blocking the road)
and i cried
with him
though i don't
think he noticed.
on the fourth trip,
i told the
other passengers to
cease their conversation
when i gave them
the signal.
"why?"
"just do it,"
i said.
"well, what's the signal?"
one of them asked.
"pay attention and it will be impossible to miss."
they stared at
me, waiting for
the punch line.
but this was
no joke,
and i secretly hoped
the male in
the backseat would
say something at the
wrong time just so
i had an excuse
to punch him
(i'd been wanting to do so for a long time).
as we approached
the entrance
to town
i reached down
and shut off the music
before the driver
could do it.
the woman was
first to notice
the signal
and she slapped the
man on the leg,
silencing him just
in time to save him
from a savage beating.
when we finally
parked outside
the cathedral,
a cathedral that was
as out of
place as we were,
the man asked,
"what was that all about?"
"nothing," i said
with a look that
must have convinced
him i would
never give up
the secret.
***
i knew that
someday i would have
my own silent spaces,
reserved for the people
who would (physically) disappear
from my life,
but i had no
idea the silence
would be so loud.
and when i drive
past those spots now
i think about
the lesson i learned
from my driver
in india
and i think about how
lucky i am that i have
people in my life
who notice the silence
and don't ask
any questions.
just beautiful, Matt. I have a couple of people in my life that notice the silence too and don't ask questions either. They are so special to me
ReplyDeleteI have never commented before, but that was such a beautiful and powerful post Matt. Took my breath away!
ReplyDeletehuh.
ReplyDeleteWhile my loss is quite different than yours, I found myself thinking this very thing when we were all at the Goodmans a couple of months ago. So thankful for the people around me that knew I needed them close...but didn't need to talk, or perhaps maybe couldn't.
xoxo
Matt,I never really thought of the silence like that before, but you have described it perfectly. I had lost my people in my life that I was very close to, like my mother in my twenties, but I did not realize how loud the silence would be when I finally lost my husband. It is my wish that if choose to have another relationship that that person will understand the silence and not feel threatened by it.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous. So poetic. So astute.
ReplyDelete