The shushing of traffic is a constant background companion with the occasional spikes of rumbling coaches unloading coastline visitors and grumbling trucks with protesting loads careering round corners. There are motorbikes gunning for victory in a race only they know about, their baffles hanging out and the vibrations shaking the window panes.
She argues with him. Shrieking, yelling, screeching her pain across the empty garden of the shared apartment complex. It reverberates between the buildings, bouncing off the stonework, ricocheting past the woodwork and skittering through the flowerbeds. An emotional sound boom causing listeners to flinch at her rage and desperation. He returns in a low monotone, words unintelligible, unfeeling and unnoticed by her continual barrage.
Children television show theme songs dance around my head on continuous shuffle, never quite ending their ditsy refrains, snatches of remembered earworm melody, the odd word or phrase sung in chirpy harmony. The bright saccharine sounds blur into one, the many hosts parodying the same sunny smile, sparkling eyes and teeth that stretch for miles in that cheerful chiming voice with no personality.
Squeals of laughter, cries of frustration, demands for attention or food or drink or something they don't even know they want. Children fill silent vacuums with the pitter patter of feet, the clatter of toys falling all over the floor, the gentle sprinkle of biscuit crumbs continuously landing on laminate flooring. He shouts, she screams, he yells, she squeals. The thump of a child falling, the thud of playful jumping and the inevitable smash of an unguarded cup.
These sounds last in my ears. They are my constant companions, the only memories I have of audible vibrations. If I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can I hear one last noise. The blood rushing into ears that no longer work. I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze but each time the blood rush lessens and it is just the memories that remain. The traffic, the shouting, the TV and the children. Sounds of my background life. Sounds I will never hear again.
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Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet, completely addicted to cake. Find all her books on Amazon. Join the discussion in her Facebook group Buss's Book Stop.
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