Sounds.

An excerpt on a novel that I may write one day...

There are certain noises that twinge a person’s nerves: the notorious “nails against the chalkboard,” the screech of overworked tires, or even the thoughtless “yap yap” of a cell phone user on the train.  Whether they inspire fear or mere irritation, noises can pick apart emotions like a loose thread.

For her, it was the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the staircase; the ringing drone of his morning piss and the inevitable “flush.”  His sigh.  It was strange how her ears had become attuned to these mundane sounds, she mused, like how animals could sense a coming storm; how they could still make the hairs on her arms go stiff, as though they were the voices of things that go “bump in the night.” 

Thankfully, there were sounds that also soothed her: the scritch-scratch of her mother’s old-fashioned fountain pen against a thick new legal pad; the steady and faithful sound of the metronome that she was required to practice to when she was little; the tinkle of the ice-cream truck that filled the air every day, without fail, at 2:47 p.m.; her dog’s quiet snoring. The lulling “drip drip drip” as she held her hand above the bathwater.  She collected these sounds like oddly shaped stones, fingered their edges without thinking until they became smooth, worn, and known only to her.

These days, however, she began to dread the echoing “clop” of a heavy glass tumbler dropped carelessly on the wooden coffee table that sat in their living room.  Although he hadn’t had a drink for nine months and 27 days, that particular noise continued to stop her heart at the most unpredictable moments: while doing the laundry, making her bed, applying her moisturizer, drying up after a shower. 

Though the only visible proof of her agitation was perhaps a slight furrowing of her brow, a twitch beneath her upper jaw, or Her fingers pressed lightly--and only for a moment�"against the side of her head, it was this sound, above all others, that made her want to sit locked inside her bedroom closet, shrouded in darkness, where she was safe, and the only sound that touched her ears was the soft thudding beat of her trembling heart.  Unless of course, she mistook his footsteps for the sound of her own heartbeat…. 

Reviews

[TOF_Matt]

I'm usually not a fan of stories where "nothing happens," at least in a literal sense, but yours in particular has a nice genuineness to it. I sense an almost conflicting fear here. On one hand, you have a fear of the banality of the everyday - the pounding up the staircase or the flush of the toilet. On the other hand, the fear of the tumbler on the table, a sign that he may be drinking again, is a fear of potential - an association of what MAY happen if her bf/spouse/whatever's drinking gets out of hand again. It's as if she can't win.

If I could bring up one unusual point... why would she be dreading the glass tumbler just "these days" if she hadn't heard it for nearly 10 months now? Is there some sort of catalyst for this?

Incidentally, as a random note, I find the sound of my left/right turn signal and watching the blinkers of all the cars in front of me flash in and out of unison extremely comforting. I know that's neither here nor there, but I thought it was relatively pertinent to this piece.

[TJ]

I saw the beginning of TOF_matt's review on my newsfeed and had to read this.

I think whethe this is continued or not this I great piece, it delves deep into the psyche f the character, lays down some backstory, ad sets the stage for more to be added and it does so in an abstract and creative way.

Good job