My house screams with quiet. There are no feet stomping down the stairs. No yelling for the bathroom, or at each other for stealing a toy, or a friend. There are no iPods singing or ICarly chatting on the television. The Wii dance party has shut down and someone else will have to help Mario save the princess. The whirl of the electric Sponge Bob toothbrush has ceased. The crack of my son’s bat hitting a home-run, just an echo. No hamburgers sizzling or Kung foo battles. No sing-offs, or screaming fits over homework. No honk of the bus or for the friend being picked up. No more reading The Three Little Pigs over and over. No more tantrums for treats, or crying while washing hair. No more slammed doors, loud farts or chanting for “Ice cream!” No more calming their cries. No more, “Mama, come.”
I can almost hear the cock of the Nerf gun, right before one of my little boys shoot me in the back; and my own voice as I sing my babies to sleep. Almost. The giggling and tickling, laughing and whining is gone. My feet scrape loudly in empty silence. It’s just so quiet now. It’s almost as if it all never happened.
*This is a response to the weekly WordPress writing challenge on the role of sound in writing.