by Brooke Harrison
Growing up with the sound of cars always passing by on the highway. Even at night either my dad or brother would always play music to sleep. The shouting at home, the dogs barking outside, my brother playing guitar. It was never quiet.
Lying in the backseat of my car. No matter where I parked, I always had to sit somewhere with a lot of commotion to keep safe. I’d hear conversation outside, the different types of voices I hear through my car window. Laughing, crying, yelling. To zone them out, I would wear my earphones on full blast to keep to myself.
It was never quiet.
I met my love.
Moving in the city with an actual roof than a car roof. It was new but I knew I was safe. Each day I hear different things going on outside. Sometimes it would be scary. I hear airplanes passing by, along with the sounds of the traffic. I hear kids running around on the streets. It was chaos.
But still. It was never quiet.
Moving into my dorm.
Where it seemed like the middle of nowhere. I move in, the only noise I hear are from other students walking in. I unpack and my love ones leave me. I’m alone. And it’s quiet. At night I hear nothing, the quiet haunts me sometimes, so I walk around, and it’s still quiet. I never got to really hear myself think until now. At times it scares me, but it also relaxes me. It’s quiet here, and I like it.