Sometimes there is no more beautiful sound. Knowing that no-one else is in the house. It releases a kind of peace for me.
It’s funny, when I first got sick, I hated being alone all the time. I’ve worked full-time since thirteen and was so not used to the pleasure of my own company. Then I gradually got used to the sound of a quiet house. The ticking of the grandfather clock, the little click when the a/c turns on, the hum of the pool pump. Soft quiet noises, house whispers as it were.
My house hardly whispers any more, the house shouts with the sound of heavy footfalls and doors slamming. Talking will start from out of nowhere, thoughts interrupted, questions asked. I’m used to it again, but every once in a while, the house falls silent. No one home but me. I can hear my home whisper to me again.
They will be home soon, my noisemakers, and I’ll welcome them home. But for now I’m going to turn on my torch, put the radio on loud and melt some glass. I’ll show you tomorrow what I get done today.