Silence

Life. How quickly it changes, without warning, as quickly as a breath, as suddenly as the blink of an eye.

I sat outside her bedroom door, knowing that she wouldn’t call for me. She wouldn’t come out, and she wouldn’t make a sound for a while. It was her way. It was her custom to hibernate, to process, to ponder before she resurfaced. By the time she did, she’d have figured out a way to be okay. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her to journey towards acceptance alone. She’d suffered a great loss. My best friend was grieving, mourning, processing alone. In my selfishness I wanted to suffer with her, I wanted to dive into the trenches and wade through muddy waters with her. But she wouldn’t let me. She couldn’t.

So I just sat at her door. At first, I could hear her muffled sobs beneath her bedcovers where she’d go to heal. They were hurried at first, she was breathless, the air had been violently knocked out of her lungs; and breathing was a burdensome task ever since she’d heard the news.

I kept replaying the moment in my mind. We were doing what we’d always do, chatting away, eating snacks in our pyjamas; and watching the same movies we’d been watching since we were fourteen, just so we could gush over heartthrobs who were now surely ageing. Her house was always full of laughter. I’d enter and hear the sound of water running as vegetables were constantly being washed and tossed into a heated pot. I’d inhale the fragrance of seasoned meat simmering in an obscenely large pot, and scandalous stories being whispered amongst sisters. So, as one can only imagine, the sound of a sudden shriek from the living room was a sort of chaos that didn’t belong in the beautiful mess I’d become so accustomed to.

We both ran out into the living room to find her mother weeping into her father’s arms.

“He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

She kept wailing. My friend looked to her sister, who had entered first, for an answer. Then, through her own tears, she relayed the details of the tragedy that had occurred. My friend went silent for a moment. She stared into her sister’s eyes, confusion and anger searing through the tears that began to fall. Then her eyes started darting around frantically, as if to tell herself that it couldn’t possibly be true. But then I saw her eyes land on her mother, a picture of unfiltered and crushing despair.

Reality ripped through her body and sent her into panic. She didn’t panic like other people did. She stood still, so still that I wondered if she was still breathing. Then she looked at me, and looked down, and then she walked away. She closed the door of her bedroom and I followed, knowing that I should not enter.

I sat down outside her door, and waited. I was not a patient person, but for her, I would wait all day. The house became quiet, as everyone retreated to their private spaces to just…be.

I could hear light switches turning off around the house, until it was almost pitch black. I decided it was time to enter. I opened the door to find her soundly asleep, visibly shaken and exhausted. I lay beside her, listening to her breathe, knowing that her only respite for some time would be found in sleep. In the hours where she could truly be alone, and serene, and untouched by the un-beautiful chaos that would great her when she woke up.