Life is noisy.
My house is never quiet–even when I’m sleeping–the radios in my sons’ rooms buzz with the campus radio station‘s DJ, my cat scratches at the headlight’s casts on the walls, the clock in my dining room chimes the familiarity of time passing. My husband snores. The late-night truckers haul by. Occasionally, someone coughs. I sigh. My dog whimpers in time with her legs, galloping horizontally on nothing.
Today I ate an apple in my house alone. I sat on the couch with a steak knife and a gala. Usually, my son would be by my side, asking me to skin the apple, and instead, I cut off an entire chunk and snapped it under my teeth, gnoshed the white meat from around the core.
I almost made plans with my husband to go to lunch instead of coming home, alone.
I almost asked the new hair salon to trim my ends.
I almost tried to make the college archivist’s business hours.