Silence Bothers Me...

There is something about the silence of a house that is eerie and uncomfortable to me. I much prefer the persistent hum of the fridge. It reminds me that I am not alone. As the clock ticks, I am assured that time continues to press on towards the new day. When I listen even closer, I can hear the walls creek; one sound after the other, constant and comforting.

I do not like silence at night. During the silence, noises that keep me from resting easy hollow a spot in my mind. They continually nag me, trying to convince me someone is maneuvering through the dark basement or picking the lock on the front door. But, magically, if there are enough noises distracting me together then they all seem...natural. I become suspicious of hardly anything. Thus, why I am able to sit in my great room with the blinds open and the lights off while my parents (and the baseball bat) sleep out of reach.

This need for noise at night began when I was a child. The first book I loved was The Napping House. I remember going to the library and insisting that we borrow the book on tape. Engrained in my mind is the sound of the narrator, reading that story to me over and over in a calm, soothing tone. This need for soothing sound evolved to wanting to fall asleep to music. Somewhere between The Napping House and my broad collection of We Sing tapes, I chose a Fleetwood Mac cassette.

I still vividly remember laying in my bunk bed with my bedspread tucked around my hand drifting away to Fleetwood Mac nearly every night for years. To this day, I still must listen to music to fall asleep. While I no longer listen to Fleetwood Mac, the habit is still there.