I’m trying this new thing out. It’s called Silence. The first time I heard about Silence is when they told me about it in the pews. You were supposed to be Silent in the pews because Silence was how you respected the other people in the pews. Also, the man on the cross. It was difficult practicing Silence because there was so much to say about my immediate surroundings. I wanted to tell the woman in front of me that her bra strap was showing, and that my grandma would probably think she was being suggestive about her bra strap showing. But when you are practicing Silence, you have to turn off your thoughts and let the universe do the rest. For instance, if I remained Silent, then perhaps the atoms in the air would do their atomic work, and there would be some, like, chemical infusion in the woman’s brain, and then maybe she would intuitively know that her bra strap was showing. She would mindlessly shift her strap, perhaps between some choral arrangement or while people shuffled in line to receive the holy bread. I remember the face of my Grade Three school teacher when she told us that everything was made up of atoms. Everything! The whites of her eyes were wide and ominous, and I wondered if even the ugly parts of people were made up of atoms too. Then I went through a phase of tacking on atom- to everyday life. For instance, today during class, Mrs. Proust drank her atom-coffee, which made her have atom-coffee breath, and I hated the way her atom-desk was never organized. Atom-papers, atom-erasers. Even atom-charts of atoms. On most days, I wished to stab my atom-pencil in her atom-forehead.
Silence is also really helpful when someone dies. People fill in blank spaces with words and sound because no one knows what to do otherwise. I have noticed that people generally say nothing at all, but nothing with words is more tolerable than nothing with Silence. When we found out that my best friend died in seventh grade, my mother allowed me to be Silent for four days in a row. This was a long time to be Silent. But the thing about death is that words are pretty insufficient to describe the hole you feel in your gut. The big secret being that everybody wants to say something, but nobody knows what to say. Because no one understands death. Especially when he’s twelve and has got a tumor the size of your fist. Silence doesn’t make it better, but at least it doesn’t make it worse.
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- deathbedexistentialism said: It is wiser to be silent and be thought of being a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.
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- hidekihotblock said: welcome back Trillo.
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- mylifeisabsurd said: awesome piece of writing.
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