Silent Corners
1131 Words
SILENT CORNERSI need to get out more. I realize that now.
I mean, seriously. This wouldn’t have happened if I had gone out Friday night. It wouldn’t have even mattered where I went, just as long as I had left my dorm room.
But I didn’t, and now I’m in trouble.
I guess it started in Friday’s acoustics class. Acoustics is standard first-year fare for music engineering students. Some of the upper classmen told me I’d end up bored out of my skull, but I thought it was fascinating. The upper classmen told me I needed to get out more (guess everybody knows), but I figured it was because they never had Mr. Donovan for a teacher.
Mr. Donovan’s new, working on some post-graduate project or another, and he ended up taking over the acoustics class. He was second engineer on the latest Stones record, and he’s just got this way of making everything sound so exciting, so amazing. He can separate the harmonics in his voice and tell what note a cellphone rings at. I’ve never seen a teacher so excited to be teaching.
Friday’s class was another head-spinner. Mr. Donovan was talking about sound, and how the physical environment can affect sound. See, sound travels through air, and sound waves bounce off of things that get in their way. That’s how we get echoes. All that bouncing, however, can make for some interesting phenomenon. For instance, many domed buildings have sweet spots, where you can hear a person whispering across the room as if they were right next to you. The Capitol has a sweet spot. So does the train station in Cincinnati.
Anyway, Mr. Donovan was saying that, just as there are sweet spots, there are also dead spots. These are places sound can’t reach, not even your own voice.
The idea blew my mind. I couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the class. I was just too absorbed in the concept, the idea of it all. By the time Mr. Donovan let us go, I had decided to spend the evening searching my dorm room for a dead spot.
Trust me. I know how lame it sounds. There I was at college, on my own for the first time in my entire life, and I decided to spend Friday night combing every inch of my dorm room for the one spot that sound couldn’t reach. You’ve got to understand, though, that I just had to do it. I was convinced that, somewhere in that cramped room of blue concrete, there was a dead spot. I wanted to find it.
Maybe I should have just gone out and tried to get laid.
I turned on the TV, switched the channel to a nice field of snow. The static was my test tone. I started near the door. I wedged myself into the corner as tight as I could. I didn’t expect to succeed right off the bat, and I certainly wasn’t let down. I heard the TV’s static loud and clear.
I moved out of the corner, sliding to the right along the wall. I only moved a fraction of an inch.
No change.
That was how I began my search, and that was how I continued. I moved a hair’s breadth at a time, sliding all the way down the wall, moving forward, and sliding to the left. White noise, sound without frequency, rang constant in my ears.
Time seemed to slow, to stop. There was the room, the noise, and myself. Time didn’t matter anymore. I made it back to the door after three hours, back across the room in two more. The sun was rising when I reached the corner for the fourth time.
And then it happened.
It was barely noticeable at first, and I almost missed it entirely. The TV’s volume dipped as I was in mid-movement. I stopped as soon as I could, but the volume had already returned to its normal level. I moved back to the left, a minute and painfully slow motion, and the volume decreased again. I was close, and I knew it. I began shifting my stance, trying to find the dead spot.
It took two more hours.
It was hard not to get frustrated. Each movement seemed to take me to the brink only to pull me back again. The white noise fluctuated in volume, diving lower and lower only to shoot back up again. My body wanted me to give up. My legs ached with protest. My joints cried out for rest. I ignored them, shut it all out. I focused on the noise, listened to its changes, and tried to follow them to the dead spot.
Finally, I found it.
It only took a slight c**k of the head, and the TV’s noise suddenly disappeared. I froze. The room was silent around me. My heart hammered in my chest. I spoke.
I heard nothing.
I smiled, broke into silent laughter. I had found it. I had found a spot of actual acoustic wonder, a perfectly silent corner of my room. I stood still as I celebrated my find. I sang “The Star Spangled Banner” and “Happy Birthday,” and laughed as both fell silent on my ears. It wasn’t until hours later, when I ran out of things to say without hearing, that I decided to leave the dead spot.
And found out that I couldn’t.
It seemed so easy. All I had to do was move away from the corner, but I couldn’t seem to find my way back. I looked at the room and realized for the first time that all I could see was the side of the TV and the corner of my desk. Everything else was blue cinder block. My heart jumped from an excited rhythm to a beat of terror. I ran my hands over the blue concrete, tried to feel my way back, but I never seemed to go anywhere no matter how far I walked. The TV never grew closer, never grew farther away.
I was lost.
I screamed, such a stupid thing to do. The sound never appeared. I don’t know if it made it into the room or not. When I was tired of screaming, I fell to the floor and cried. When I was tired of crying, I stared at the TV and the desk. They looked so close.
I think that was a day ago. I don’t know for sure, because I can’t see the clock. The sunlight hasn’t grown dimmer, hasn’t grown brighter. It’s just there.
I’m afraid. Maybe it’s been days, and I just can’t tell. Maybe it’s only been an hour. Maybe time has stopped.
I’m not hungry anymore. I’m not thirsty. I haven’t slept, but I don’t feel tired. I’m just here.
Maybe I’m going to be here forever.
I think my roommate should be back soon. He was only going to be gone for the weekend, just long enough to visit his girlfriend. I hope he gets back soon.
I hope he can see me.
- Writer
