0 comments/ 39159 views/ 3 favorites The Sound of Silence By: Famous Jane I faded out The Cramps and hit the minidisc button to play a public service announcement about contaminated meat, my favorite PSA ever. “…place meat on lower shelves in your refrigerator,” the announcer wound up in her clipped but earnest tones, “so juices do not drip onto other food items.” I flipped on the mic. “Ohhhh…dripping juices,” I breathed. “Gross! So listen to the nice lady folks… I know I don’t wanna eat any dirty meat.” I laughed. OK, it’s cheesy and a little off-color, but it’s the middle of the night, you know? I’m pretty sure there aren’t any young children listening. I lean back into the microphone. “The time is 3:02 am, boys and girls, and you’re listening to your ever-loving student radio station, KLGR. I’m Nicola, and we’re gonna do some Gun Club now. Sorry to load the punk on you, but tonight I think I want it rough. Know what I mean?” I hit play again and flicked off my mic. The first screaming bars of “Sex Beat” came up and I pushed the rolling-chair away from the mixing board and stretched. Alright, it’s 3 am in the fucking morning. That part sucks. But I love my radio show. It’s not just that I get to impose my musical tastes on the late-night listeners of the small college town I live in. It’s not just that I get to brag about my deejay gig at parties. There’s something about knowing my voice is on the air that gives me chills. I have a great voice, if I do say so myself. It’s husky, low – probably the sexiest single thing about tall, thin, shy me. Flat-chested, usually dressed in T-shirts, I don’t look like a glamorous vixen…but damn, I can sure sound like one. So I play it up, you know what I mean? Talk extra-husky, make a few double-entendre jokes. I always try to sound like I’m talking just to you. I like to picture guys flipping through the radio dial in the middle of the night, stopping when they hear me, listening, trying to picture me. Maybe even getting a little turned on. What’s the harm? I know it’s working, cause I get a lot of callers, especially for such a late show. Mostly guys, of course. Nothing too weird; they just want to talk for a minute and then I let them go. I turned to look through the stack of CD’s I picked out of the station library. I’d played a lot of heavy stuff in the last twenty minutes. I checked the board: two minutes left to play on the Gun Club. Just enough time to run out to the vinyl section and scrounge something up. I swiveled my chair around to get up. In the door of the deejay booth was a man I’d never seen before. He was tall, sturdy – definitely good-looking, but way too old to be a college student. “Hello, Nicola.” “Um…can I help you?” “You said you were lonely, so I thought I’d stop by.” It’s true. I do say that a lot, when I’m trying to get people to call in and request a song. The more calls you get, the better your shows rating, so I lay it on extra thick, but… Well, I’m no idiot, and this was scary. “I think you should leave,” I said, trying to sound firm and mean. Yeah, whatever. My voice was shaking like Brittney Spear’s ass. He laughed. There’s a panic button inside the booth for emergencies. This definitely qualified. But for the life of me I couldn’t remember where exactly it was. By the phone? Behind the turntable? “I’m sure there’s a call button,” he said. Shit, he read my mind. “There’s also a phone, I see. But I’d really think twice if I were you. Before anybody could get here, I could do some real damage to your face.” His hand dove into the pocket of his coat and he brought out a switchblade. He flicked the blade out and let me look at it for a second. My mouth was suddenly dry. I swallowed, licked my lips. I couldn’t think straight, I was so scared. All I could get out was a strangled “please don’t.” “What was that? Please, you said?” He laughed. “Oh, Nicola, are you scared? You always sound so cocky, such a tough little cookie.” He stepped forward, reached down where I was sitting and took a handful of my short, dark hair. He pulled my head back so I was looking straight up at him. Tears were starting in my eyes, but I held them back. “You know, you’re not quite like I pictured you,” he said. “I thought you’d have longer hair, fuller lips, maybe. You’re so pale.” OK, it’s stupid, but that really stung. So what if I wasn’t the curvy bimbo he’d made up in his freaked-out psychopath’s head. “Really sorry,” I spat. “But I’m not the porn star you were expecting, so why don’t you just fucking go.” He shook his head slowly, looking down at me. “No,” he said. “None of that stuff matters. I want you. Just like you are.” He gave my hair another tug, pulling my head all the way back. His other hand, the one with the knife, cupped my cheek. I felt the metal cold against my jaw, and shut my eyes. I wouldn’t look, I just wouldn’t… I heard the rustle of his clothes as he bent down, and then his breath hot on my face and neck. I tried to twist away, but he jerked my hair tight, pulling my head forward, and he was grinding his lips against mine. I’d known what was coming from the minute I’d looked up and seen him, but I still wasn’t prepared for the vicious attack of his mouth. His lips crushed mine painfully against my teeth and his tongue forced its way past mine, filling my mouth. His bristly upper lip and chin scraped me raw. Just as I started to choke, he pulled away, leaving a long strand of spittle between his mouth and mine that broke and landed across my chin. I was too paralyzed even to wipe it away. His hand released my hair and went to his belt, undoing the buckle. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He was even smiling a little. “You’re such a little tease, Nicola. Such a classic little tease. No,” as I started to protest. “No, of course you don’t mean it. Teases never mean it. It’s all harmless, right?” He pulled his belt free and took hold of the zipper of his fly. “It’s just a little fun, isn’t it, Nicola?” He jerked the zipper down, his voice getting tenser, harder. “Just a little fun, right, baby? That’s because you don’t know shit about what it’s like to be lonely, honey. You don’t know what it’s like to have somebody pretend to want you -- and you want so bad for it to be true – and you know all the time the little bitch is just having fun.” His fly was down, and reached inside his pants, rubbing himself. “You don’t know lonely, baby. I think you might be learning, though. Don’t you wish somebody was here right now? Don’t you wish somebody was here to save your sweet young ass? But you’re along, aren’t you? Just you and me. ” He grabbed me under one arm pit, jerking me onto my feet. “Stand up,” he said. On my feet I was almost as tall as he was, but he was so much stronger. His arms went around me like iron and he was kissing me again, even rougher, forcing my head back and plunging his tongue into my mouth with rough, angry strokes. He stepped back and grabbed the hem of my tight T-shirt. “This comes off,” he snarled, and hauled it up. I tried to keep my arms down, struggling to keep the shirt on, but he shook me hard, and slapped my cheek with his open hand. My head spun, and he took advantage of my confusion to tackle me to the ground and roll on top. He pulled the shirt up over my head and left my arms tangled in it. Pinning my wrists in the shirt over my head, he started kissing me again, my face and neck. His hand went hot and heavy to my breast, mauling it. He scooped one little breast out of its bra cup and ran his thumb over the nipple. Despite myself, I felt the flesh get hard. He lowered his head and started suckling and biting. I was crying out. I told myself it was fear, just fear. Not excitement. Not a thrill at the feel of his burning lips surrounding my nipple, his teeth nipping the tender underside of my breast. His hand kneaded my other breast, sending sharp bursts of feeling through it – pain or pleasure, I wasn’t sure. I stopped squirming under him, hypnotized by the sensations in my body. I lay still and panted while his hands and mouth worked at my nipples. He raised his head from my breast. “You like that, don’t you Nicola?” I shook my head, dazed. “I think you do. I think you like it very much. The little tease does want to get fucked.” “Fuck you,” I whispered. “Oh, still playing hard to get, huh? Well, don’t worry. I don’t mind. Good thing you’re wearing a skirt though. Pretty hard for you to pretend to fight me while I was getting you out of a pair of jeans.” He forced his knee between mine, urging my thighs roughly apart. His hand moved down to rub my mound, over the skirt. The heat of his hand penetrated into my pussy. I whimpered and tried to sit up, but my arms were still tangled in the T-shirt above my head, and he easily pushed me back down. He dragged up my skirt and slipped a finger inside the crotch of my panties and between my pussy lips. He groaned. “Nicola, you’re wet. You little liar. Your pussy’s begging me to fuck it.” He reached inside his jeans and brought out his cock. God, it was big – not porn star huge, but bigger than any boyfriend I’d ever had, and it looked hard as rock. He knelt between my legs, pulled the crotch of my panties aside, and positioned his cock at the mouth of my pussy. I wasn’t struggling anymore. Maybe I’d given up. Maybe I was mesmerized. The spell was broken the next second, when, with a grunt, he shoved himself into me with one thrust. I might have been wet, but I wasn’t nearly wet enough to take his whole length all at once like that. I screamed with pain, and his hand clamped down over my mouth. He started thrusting, furiously, and the lips of my pussy were pulled in and out by the force of this strokes. “That’s right, you little slut,” he hissed. “I’m all the way in you, I’m fucking you. Take my cock in you, whore. Your little cunt’s so tight, so fucking hot and wet and tight.” He picked up speed, slamming into me over and over. I guess I was getting wetter. It stopped hurting so much, and the friction of his cock, wet with my juices, sliding in and out of my pussy, started to feel different. I’d never felt so much sensation in my pussy before, never been so aware of having a hard cock moving inside me. I shut my lips tight, but couldn’t help letting out little whimpers and moans. “Ohhh, that’s right,” he whispered against my cheek. “That’s right, come for me. Cum on my cock. I want to feel your tight little pussy cum.” He was pounding me savagely now, moving my whole body up and down against the floor with the force of each thrust. I was really moaning now. All I could think of was his hard cock inside me, going faster and harder, getting ready to cum. I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore – I wanted to cum myself so much. I started to buck up against him, trying to feel more of him inside me. He groaned, triumphant. “That’s right. You want it, don’t you, you want it so bad. Go on and fuck me. Fuck me, Nicola. Fuck me, fuck…” Suddenly he pulled out of me and buried his face between my legs. His tongue lapped at me furiously, squirming up and down my pussy lips, grinding against my clit. A few seconds of his hungry mouth and I was over the edge, cumming hard, my whole body bucking and spasming. I grabbed his hair and pulled his face into my pussy, grinding my pelvis against him as I rocked out the last few jolts of my orgasm. “Oh my God.” I covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I’d just been raped, and I enjoyed it. I’d mashed my pussy against him, my body begging him for more. I was starting to cry now, and tried to roll over onto my face, but he was beside me, pulling me into his arms to lie across his lap. Cradling me. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “Don’t start crying now. You were so brave. Such a brave little girl.” He laid his cheek against mine. “You needed that. I knew you did. I could hear it in your voice.” Still in shock, I had no answer. “You wanted to sound like you were joking, about being lonely. You wanted to sound like someone who could never really be lonely – not that girl, that sexy, confident girl. But you are lonely, Nicola. Your life is lonely.” His voice was a spell I was under. It was as if he knew me, as if he had reached right into my mind and read everything there, every sad secret, every small, persistant pain. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you, Nicola? You live alone – or maybe with a cat.” My cat – Mr. Bones – God, how did he know all this? “It’s so hard for you to meet people, Nicola. You feel so ugly. You’re not ugly, you know. You’re beautiful. You’re every bit as beautiful as the Nicola you pretend to be.” I lay still, bewildered. I should be screaming now. He should be wiping off his filthy dick, zipping it back in his pants, and vanishing into the night. Definitely, he should not be stroking my hair, pulling my head against his shoulder, laying light kisses on my cheek. I should not be pressing my face against him, should not feel comforted, even – absurdly – safe. He should not now be turning me around, placing me gently on my hands and knees, pushing my skirt up slowly over my ass. I should not be letting him do this, shouldn’t be sticking my ass up higher, giving him better access to my pussy. Shouldn’t moan eagerly when I feel the head of his cock nudge back between my lips. I couldn’t help it. I let out of a sigh of total surrender when he sank his cock into me, moved back to impale myself deeper onto him. I ground my hips in circles as he began thrusting, the better to feel his hard shaft against every side of my pussy tunnel. At first he fucked me slowly, a gentle rocking motion inside me. I begged him to fuck me harder, to make me cum again with his cock inside me, to cum inside me himself and empty his load in my pussy. Soon we were fucking in a frenzy, my face pressed down against the floor with the weight of his thrusts. He grabbed my hips, forcing his hot cock deeper inside me. I felt the muscles of my pussy begin to clutch his shaft. I was begging him to bury himself in me, to make me cum, to fill me with his cum. Behind me he groaned, gave me one last thrust that seemed to split my pussy apart, and froze inside me. I felt the splash of his hot cum hitting the insides of my walls, and I spiraled into orgasm, screaming out and reaching behind me to pull him even further in. I was aware of his limp cock being withdrawn, and of weight rolling off me. I pushed myself up on my elbows. The station phone was ringing off the hook – I had no idea how long it had been ringing. I got up, shakily – my knees were almost too weak to hold me – and staggered over to the desk. I put the phone against my ear. “KLGR,” I said. I could barely shape the words. “Hi.” It was a guys voice on the other end. No one I knew. Just some guy out there listening to the radio at 3 am. “I was just wondering if everything was OK. There’s been dead air for, like, twenty minutes.” Oh my God. The CD had run out forever ago. The whole time we’d been fucking the air waves had just been dead. I pulled myself together. “Yeah, sorry. We’re having technical difficulties. Um, should be back any second though.” I fumbled for a CD case. Anything. The first one I grabbed was Dashboard Confessional, that new album, “Swiss Army Romance.” Man, I hate that fucking emo crap. Well, whatever. I popped it in, cued it up. I looked over my shoulder. He was gone. Totally gone. Vanished. I pulled the door shut behind me, locked it. No more surprises tonight. “You sure everything’s OK?” the guy on the phone was saying. “Yup, fine. Oh, hey, we just got our signal back,” I babbled. “Gotta go. Thanks for calling. Bye.” I put the phone down, flicked on the mic and leaned into it. “Hello there, ladies and…others.” Was my voice shaking? Did I sound strained? “We do apologize for the pause while we repaired an equipment malfunction…I’m sure you found something productive to do while you were waiting…” I sounded fine. My voice was sultry and confident as ever, like it never had a second of doubt in it’s life. “I know I did.” I laughed huskily. “The time is 3:38, boys and girls, and you’re listening to KLGR, student radio. This is Nicola, standing by as always to take all your requests…” This is fantasy, the kind you might act out with an understanding partner. Real rape is not erotic, and is a crime. If anything like the events depicted here happens to you, you should seek help and contact the police immediately. The Sound of Silence When I'm alone and the blackness of night envelops me, I think of her wild, fearful eyes, and the blurry smudge of mascara dripping down her cheeks, soaking into the cloth gag between her lips. I don't want to think of it; in fact, I've tried to suppress it for nearly twenty years, but it reminds me of who I am. It reminds me of where I came from. I've tried to forget about her hair matted with sweat, and stiff with dried blood. I've tried to forget the binds on her wrists and ankles, her torn nightgown exposing her dark brown ass and the curly dark hair between her legs. I've tried in vain to forget. It's funny how selective memory can be. I don't remember how old I was when I began to shave, or the first time I masturbated, but I still recall that night as if it were yesterday. I remember the shaft of light from the hallway that fell across Mario's back as I pushed open the door, wiping the sleepy innocence from my eyes. I still feel his burning gaze penetrate my four-year-old frame as he turned to find me in the doorway, clutching a scruffy stuffed bear by one stringy paw. As his hard, black face filled with anger and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, my mother squirmed on the bed, chomping on her bit trying and failing to speak, scream, or cry. If I close my eyes, I can still hear her attempt to call my name, the syllables a jumble in the folds of her restraint. "Get your ass outta here, you little black bastard!" Mario's fist swung wildly out of the darkness and connected with my head sending me, and the bear, sprawling backward into the hall. I was stunned, more by his words than his fist, which had connected with a drunken awkwardness and merely knocked me off balance. The bear flopped at Mario's feet like a twisted rag. From the floor I studied my mother, intrigued and repelled by her naked lower half and humiliating posture. Her nightgown was a tattered mess, her arms were scraped and bruised and her left eye was beginning to swell. She looked weak and pathetic and I was suddenly ashamed and scared. A flood of tears bubbled behind my eyes and exploded like a hydrant. Mario punted the bear and it sailed into my lap like a paper football. "Go on back to bed," he snarled behind the closing bedroom door. "Your mama an' I got some adult things to discuss." As the door slammed shut, I picked myself off the floor and ran down the hall to my bedroom. I was running full-force, and never stopped, even when I crashed onto the bed and wiggled beneath the covers. I've been running ever since. My legs have grown tired, my body twitches with exhaustion, but still I am running. Mario moved out of our apartment two weeks later, but his presence has haunted me throughout my life. I don't understand exactly what I saw that night, but somehow I know that I was meant to see it. I needed to see it. It was necessary for me to see the fear and weakness in my mother's eyes as she huddled on the bed like a frightened animal, submitting to the will of the more dominant male. In his own misguided and inadvertent way, Uncle Mario taught me a lesson about women and how to handle them. When I look into a woman's eyes, I see mascara flowing along her face like an angry, black river. When I take off her pants, I see my mother's fat, hairy pussy staring back at me, laughing like a lunatic under the moon. I left home at eighteen with no prospects, goals or skills, just a burning desire to get away. I was a drug addict and an alcoholic; I turned to crime and prostitution to support my habits, food had become subsequent to crack and Jack Daniels. The first time I found myself doubled over the front seat of a well-to-do businessman's BMW, his gangly, white organ inches from my lips, I thought I'd vomit. Remembering the thirty dollars folded neatly on the dashboard, I swallowed hard, closed my eyes and prepared for the worst. I felt like my mother, weak and pathetic, as he began to swell between my lips. Later that night, at the hostel, I rinsed the taste of his prick from my mouth with a swig of Jack and fell asleep on the floor next to the bottle. I met Anitra on a Wednesday while trying to score some rocks from Leon, my connection. It was a three-hour wait, but when the product finally arrived, so did the strawberries. She led the pack as they staggered into the room, supporting each other like bums, their cigarettes glowing in the dim apartment like fireflies. One of the new boys introduced me to Anitra and her friends as Leon divided the rocks. She was a tall, bony bitch with wide hips and coarse hair like dirty, black straw. The skin on her flat nose was cracked and swollen; acne dotted her cheeks like potholes. Her eyes were two black spots floating in a red river of alcohol. Sometimes, when all else fails, I think about those swollen, watery eyes and the fat, hairy mushroom cloud of my youth dissipates like a fart in the wind. I gathered my score from Leon and was on my way, assuring him I'd be back in a week. The afternoon sun felt good on my face as I lumbered along the sidewalk, the rocks in my pocket ground together with each step. I hadn't gotten far, before a thin, skeletal arm wrapped itself around my waist like a snake and squeezed. It was Anitra; she had followed me from Leon's. When she smiled up at me, her gray, rotted teeth reminded me of tombstones. "You gotta date tonight?" she asked, breathlessly. Her words splattered in my face like bird shit. "Someone to smoke those jelly beans wit? I can keep you company." I didn't return her smile, somehow it didn't seem right, but I did want some company. "You got somewhere we can go?" I asked, trying not to look at her, watching my feet to avoid her foggy, pitiful stare. Her arm tightened around my waist as we walked, guiding me deeper into the city. She apologized, saying that she'd forgotten my name, so I reminded her and we carried on. Anitra rented a room behind a strip club near West Liberty; it was small yet in disarray. When the door opened, I was nearly knocked over by the smell of urine and rotten food. There was no furniture or appliances in the room, which was lit by a single sixty-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. Overturned boxes were being used as coffee tables and an old pile of dirty blankets served as a bed. A gray layer of cigarette ash covered the carpet, its natural color indefinable. I leaned against a wall for support and pulled the bag of rocks from my pocket. Anitra searched the garbage on the floor, finally producing a thin, glass pipe from an otherwise empty cigarette pack. She handed it to me and got down on her knees robotically. A broken bottle crunched under my shoes as I shifted nervously from foot to foot. "You take care o' that pipe," Anitra said, her dark hands unfastening my belt. "An' I'll take care o' this one." She unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor. She pulled away my underwear and massaged my balls, my flaccid penis cupped gently in one palm. As it slowly began to grow, Anitra leaned forward and parted her wide, painted lips as I raised the loaded straight shooter to mine. I inhaled a thick plume of greasy, black smoke and held it deep in my lungs. Anitra's lips wrapped themselves around the head of my cock, drawing the shaft into her mouth. She sucked loudly, slurping and smacking her lips as if eating spaghetti, her bare knees digging into the filthy carpet. I held onto the smoke as long as I could then let it trickle slowly out of my mouth. My heart began to beat faster as, within seconds, the white tornado took over my mind and reinvigorated my damaged, winded body. My brain spun like a top, my eyes seemed to pop from my head and hover high above us, watching intently as Anitra worked on my swollen prick. Her pimpled face was sweating as she sucked faster, eyes closed, her breath rapidly escaping her flared nostrils. She held onto my thighs for leverage, taking all I had to offer as I bucked my hips, thrusting deeper into her hot, wet throat. I reached out and grabbed her hair, it felt like straw in my hands. I had the sudden urge to set it on fire, but I kept thrusting instead. I was moaning as the muscles in my stomach tightened and the back of my neck began to sweat. My penis began to spasm violently in her mouth and my balls tightened close to her chin as I began to cum. Anitra pulled away and let the semen cascade down her dirty, red T-shirt like a mighty river, guiding its stream with her hands. I rocked on my heels, savoring each spurt as I covered her neck and chest with a sticky, soupy paste. I took a moment to catch my breath, packed a small rock into the magic wand and handed it to Anitra. "This one's for you," I said as I pulled up my pants and ran for the door. "See you around." But I never did. That was the last time I ever saw Anitra. As I left, she was on her hands and knees desperately searching through the debris for a lighter, her face bearing a strange resemblance to a fat, hairy pussy. Several years later I found myself in a new city, with new strawberries, a new set of connections and the same old addictions. I stalked the streets at night, my mind fuming with chemicals, my body weary from the constant rush and speed of the rat race. I tried not to look at the hookers, they only reminded me of home. One evening early in July, I watched from the window as a small crowd of young white men gathered in the alley behind my apartment complex. They sat in the shadows confident that no one could see them. From my vantage point however, with my lamp shaded, no one knew that I was watching. Soon, a light-skinned African woman with dark, kinky hair stepped into the light and began to disrobe in front of the men. I recognized her as Mocha, the sultry neighborhood slut from a few doors down. Her creamy, mountainous breasts were topped with dark brown nipples, and her stomach was smooth and firm. As she removed her panties, I could see her bald pussy glowing under the baleful scrutiny of the moon. One of the men spread a blanket on the blacktop, and the woman lay down, spreading her coffee colored legs apart. Another man handed her a vibrator. She powered up the toy and began to rub it against the moist, hairless mound between her legs. As I watched the tip of the vibrator penetrate her outer labia and sink out of sight, I felt a stirring in my jeans. She continued to rub the humming rod between her legs with one hand as she slowly caressed one of her breasts with the other. The men watched silently, playing with themselves in the shadows as they began to undress. The man who handed Mocha the vibrator sat down on the blanket, naked except for his black socks. His long, pink dick stiffened as he leaned in to kiss one of her rock hard nipples. He sucked the dark brown nugget into his mouth, reaching around to massage the back of her neck with his free hand. She moaned softly, her eyes closed, her toy digging deeper and deeper into her body. The other men were all naked now, surrounding the couple on the blanket like a pack of vultures, their swollen members swaying in the summer breeze like ceremonial banners. Mocha turned off the vibrator and climbed onto all fours, playfully shaking her ass in the air for the men. In the semi-darkness of my living room, I unzipped my pants and unfurled my erection. I moistened the palm of my hand with my tongue and slowly began to tug on my rising member. The man in the black socks circled around Mocha and positioned his penis against her hungry mound. He slowly eased his hips forward, parting the girl with his fingers, and maneuvered his cock along the length of her hot, wet snatch. His jaw clenched as he grabbed her fleshy ass and began rocking slowly back and forth, burying his organ to the hilt with each downward thrust. The other men watched, slowly massaging themselves as Mocha's grunting intensified. As the darkness outside intensified, and Mocha's animalistic grunts began to fade under the din of traffic coming from the nearby expressway, I thought about my mother and Uncle Mario and what I had witnessed so many years ago. I thought about that fat, hairy pussy and how it has followed me my whole life, trying to swallow me whole, trying to devour me. As I came into the folds of my T-shirt, I thought I could see it, peering at me through the open window. The wet, pinkish lips smiled at me like some fiendish devil, imploring me to come closer, begging me not to resist. As my eyes slowly rolled closed, I could hear Mocha moaning with pleasure. I could hear the sound of cars, trucks, airplanes and sirens. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a gunshot. And then... silence. Silence so heavy that it clung to the room like smog. I bathed in the silence. I drank the silence. And as my mind peeled away from the world and switched itself off for the night, I fucked the silence like the whore that it is. The Sound of Silence In her latest album, Amaranthine, ENYA recorded a song entitled 'A Moment Lost'. The song suggests that something happened in one instant that changed someone's life. I wanted to try to write a story that uses that idea. The sentence is as follows: "A moment lost, forever gone can never be again". In addition to that song, Simon and Garfunkel recorded a song called 'The Sound of Silence.' As I was writing this story, the sadness of that song also spoke to me and I incorporated it into this short tale. My praise for ENYA. If angels sang, they would sound like her. Edited by my own angel, Lady Cibelle. * "Hey Linda, aren't you ever going home? It's past 4:00 and I'm clocked in. So, go home girl!" That was JC Powers, one of the two young girls covering the evening shift at The Gap where I worked as Store Manager. She and Sheila would cover the store till closing at 9:00, or sneaking the door shut a few minutes earlier if the mall foot traffic was slow. Usually was this time of year. They would use the time to clear the register and set the store displays for tomorrow. All routine but still taking valuable time from two beautiful young girls ready for partying. "I'm just finishing up some things and then I'm gone. Thanks JC." "OK, boss, but you spend too much time here. Just go home. Sheila and I have it." Actually, I was just thinking. Nothing important, just random thinking. Letting my mind wander before time to get going so I could be home by 4:30. That was my usual time to start dinner for Phillip and I. Just the two of us the last two years, since the kids moved out to start their own lives. Just us after twenty-four years of marriage; the typical empty nest couple. I encountered little traffic this afternoon so the ride home was easy. Only took twenty minutes or so before I pulled in to the driveway of the two storey, Mediterranean-style home we shared in the suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio. It was probably too big now with the kids gone. Probably should consider moving to a condo or an apartment closer to town, but Philip loved the place. Maybe one day. I went in, stripped off my work clothes and changed into jeans, tennis shoes and an oversized sweatshirt. I took the pins out of my hair to let it down. It flowed free to fall against the top of my shoulders, the soft waves framing my face. This was home and comfort. Phillip always loved my hair down and me in tight jeans. I usually bought a half size too small to wear at home just for him. Stupid, but he liked it and I liked that he liked it. I walked into the den to look at his chair. I still smelled pipe smoke and it reinforced the fact that this was his room. The dark paneling, the soft leather desk chair, the working fireplace that he had converted to gas logs, the shutters on the windows that were partially open, letting in a soft light from the evening sun. He would always be there after dinner, finishing off some work from the bank. Just a few things, never a lot. He was good that way, never bringing his work and worries home. Just past 5:15 and Phillip would be arriving. He was punctual, never early or late. Always right on time. He always came in, stopped in the kitchen to say something sweet and give me a kiss on the top of my head, then moved past to change into his casual clothes and then back to the living room and the paper. I stopped what I was doing, and moved to the doorway, seeing him in his favorite recliner, the paper open to the business section and him mumbling over the stock reports or the latest mergers. I smiled at the familiar sight and thought how lucky I was to have this. I truly had everything: a beautiful home, a man who loved me, two successful children on their own and making it in the world. Dinner was always a discussion of the events of the day. We began with a rundown of my exciting adventures in the world of fashion, his latest problem-solving foray into the requests for more money from the local contractor remodeling the local restaurant, and finally to the world events and the failure of our government to fix the little things that bothered the average guy. This later really bothered Phil. He always took it personally when he saw the constant arguing of the politicians. But, not too personally. Just mildly pissed. After dinner, I would wash, he would dry and we would decide what we were going to watch that evening on TV, or if we were going to go out the next night for dinner, or in general, our plans for the next few days. Phil was organized and I didn't mind. It was a pleasant time together. We would finish up and then Phil would go to the den to finish his work while I made plans for grocery shopping, do some laundry and in general, organize my day. I worked four days a week, one of those on the weekend, so I had time to do those things. I remembered that I had to pick up some of Phil's suits from the laundry. Tomorrow, I'd do that. I also remembered that he wanted me to pick up a new battery for the camcorder at the Radio Shack in the mall. I wasn't in a hurry to do that since I never learned how to use it. The evening passed with all new episodes of our favorite shows and I just enjoyed the mindless noise. I was tired tonight. I really just wanted to go to bed and try to catch up on my sleep. I had been restless the past several weeks, waking up often before turning over to try to go back to sleep. I knew what was bothering me but I didn't know how to fix it. I had made a mistake. A very bad mistake. As I started thinking of it again, it all came crashing back on me. It was our twenty-fourth anniversary, and we had planned to go out to dinner, and then to a movie we both wanted to see. I had a new dress for the occasion, a neat little black thing that showed too much of me for comfort. But Phil loved me in it and I agreed to wear it for him. He was to pick me up at 7:15, in time for our reservations at Michael's. I expected a wonderful evening with a nice ending in bed with the man I loved. At 7:10, Phil called to say he was going to be late. It seemed a client of the bank had just arrived in town and the President wanted Phil to take him to dinner. When I complained, Phil told me that this client was very important and his assets were vital to the bank. He had no choice. I was not convinced and I was furious with him. This was our anniversary. He pleaded with me for understanding but I was too angry to listen. He suggested we plan to do our dinner the following night but I wouldn't listen. As he attempted to placate me, all I responded with was my silence. We hung up, me angry at him still. As I sat there fuming, I decided to ask Karen Hall to go with me to make use of the reservations and charge the evening to Phillip. Karen and Charles were our next-door neighbors and Karen was my best friend. When I called, I got Charles, Karen's husband. It seems that Karen was at her mother's house in nearby Silverton. I knew her mother had been ill but Karen didn't mention being there tonight. I told Charles that I wanted her to go with me to dinner but not to worry now. Charles wanted to know if I wanted him to go with me but I declined. Actually, Charles gave me the creeps sometimes. He seemed to always be trying to get a glimpse down my top or watching my ass as I walked by. Karen never commented on it so I let it go. I hung up the phone and decided this night was going to be a bust. I poured myself a glass of champagne from the bottle I had chilling which was going to be for a toast before our evening began. I was about to raise my glass in sarcasm when Charles knocked on the back door. I let him in without thinking about it and offered him a glass of the champagne. He helped himself and we sat down at the kitchen table and toasted each other. I was enjoying the champagne and the company and I began to feel a little warm. The glow from the champagne was pleasant and Charles was being pleasant and I let my guard down and told him about my aborted evening. I told him how I was hurt, how Phillip had let me down, how he had ruined my evening, and I mentioned with a leer that he wouldn't be receiving my charms that night in bed. We were laughing and drinking the champagne and I was feeling better. Charles was actually being good company. We continued to talk as we finished the bottle of champagne. I didn't notice that I drank most of it while Charles made sure my glass was never empty. The bottle was now empty and it was getting late so I suggested it was time to call it a night. I was feeling tired from the champagne and the depression from the whole evening contributed to an overall lethargic feeling. I just wanted to go to bed and forget it for now. Maybe things would be better tomorrow. Charles rose to leave and I started to walk him to the door. I staggered a little and Charles put his arm around me to help me keep my balance. As I straightened up, he pulled me tight against him and kissed me hard on the mouth. I was so surprised that I think I responded without thought. His kiss was not all that unpleasant but I was not thinking too clearly. He dropped his hand down my back and pulled me against his body. Before I knew it, we were upstairs and Charles was pushing me back against the bed. As the edge of the mattress hit my legs, I fell back and ended up sitting on the edge of the bed. I was still trying to understand what was happening when Charles unbuckled his belt and let his pants drop to the floor. For a second I just stared at the bulge in his boxer shorts. The whole thing happened in a fog but it was beginning to clear. I think my panic and my fear of what was going to happen burned away the fog of alcohol, and that was enough to shock me back into reality. I was about to push him away when I heard a roar. "What the hell is going on here?" Get the hell away from my wife!" Phil was standing in the doorway, having just come home. Not finding me, he had come upstairs looking for me. The face I now saw was a picture of fury. Charles moved back quickly, releasing me and mumbling, "I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry!" He yanked his pants up, stumbling as he tried to move away from Phil at the same time. He finally succeeded and rushed past Phil and down the stairs. I heard the door slam as he fled, leaving me there to face my husband. I was stunned by what had happened and what Phil had witnessed. He couldn't know my thinking. He wouldn't know I was about to stop it. He would only know what he saw. Coupled with my anger at him earlier, his thoughts were obvious: I was going to have sex with Charles to punish him! I had to let him know that it wasn't what he thought it was. "Phillip! Wait! This isn't what it looks like. You have to listen to me. It's not what you think!" I started toward him when he held out his hand, forcing me to stop. He said angrily, "I know exactly what it was. It was perfectly clear. You were angry with me so you decided to punish me." "Phillip, no! No! Listen to me." I had to get through to him. But before I could say anything more, he turned and went back out the door into the garage. I went to stop him but as I opened the door, his car started and he backed out of the garage, his tires squealing as he sped down the driveway. He reached the street and pulled out and drove away. I could only stand there watching him drive out of my life. As I walked back inside, I heard only silence. The memory of that night was still so clear. It was almost as if it was just happening, but I had to stop thinking about it! I decided to put it out of my mind now and just get ready for bed. It was past time and I had to open the store tomorrow so I needed to get up very early for that. Phil always wondered why I continued to work those hours when all I had to do was schedule myself to come in later. I was store manager so it was my call, but I felt if someone else had to do it, I would take my turn. He did understand that. A nice hot shower, time to blow-dry my hair and then to bed. I finished, turned off the lights and climbed into my nice soft bed. Phil would always be there before me and he waited till the lights were off before reaching for me. I always put on just a touch of perfume to make myself more attractive to him, but it never seemed to be necessary. Even when we were both tired and so sleepy that we could hardly hold our eyes open, Phil would reach for me. Always. Tonight, I turned out the light and lay there. I listened to the sounds of silence all around me. Those deafening sounds of silence that were now my constant companion. They began that last night, in that moment when he left the house after seeing what he saw and believing that I was about to be unfaithful to him. That night still played over and over in my mind during this dark time between wakefulness and sleep. His words to me promising to make plans for our anniversary the next night. The plea for me to understand. I heard him but was still feeling so sorry for myself about my disappointment that I didn't even answer him. I hung up on him after responding to his pleas with silence. Phil didn't come back that night. I went to bed hoping he would call, but by morning I hadn't heard from him. I had gone to work then, hoping that Phil would call as soon as he felt ready to talk to me. I knew he would. He had to let me explain. I waited all day but he didn't call. I was just ready to leave the store for home when the phone call came. It was from the police and they told me Phil was killed in a car accident just hours before. He was dead on arrival at the hospital and they told me they could send a car for me. In my shock, all I could think of was that I hadn't had time to tell him how much I loved him and that I had never planned on cheating on him. I had planned on telling him at home that night. I needed to tell him! How could I tell him now? It wasn't right! It wasn't fair! I had to tell him! That was my last thought before I collapsed. It was days before I could honestly say that I began to function again. Days before I accepted that my life had changed for the worse. Days before I knew I would never be able to tell him how sorry I was. Days before I began to live my life alone without the man I loved. Days before I tried to learn how to forgive myself. It was just a brief moment in time. It should not have been long enough to destroy my life! It was simply a moment lost, forever gone, and I couldn't change it. I asked myself over and over again why I had let the situation with Charles develop as it did. Why had my anger made me let my guard down and put myself into a situation where Charles could get the wrong idea? Why had I been so angry? I had no answers, but I wished with all my heart that I could have had to time to try to tell Phillip what I was feeling. He would have been able to tell me what I did wrong. He was so smart, so understanding. He was my rock and he would listen to me and forgive me. He would! I know he would! But I couldn't ask him now or ever again. Phil would never reach for me again in the dark after I turned out the lights for sleep. My perfume would never entice him and he would never cradle me to sleep while he whispered in my ear those precious secrets we shared. I could never tell him all I needed to, things he had to know and understand. He had to know that my life would never be the same again without him. But, all I heard in my restless dreams when the lights went out, when sleep began to approach and I cried out to Phillip to forgive me, was the sound of silence.