Notes in the Cell Phone 5

I tried the doorknob. It gave way with a groan. I feel like I’m not supposed to disturb the quietness, my echoing footsteps already so sacriligiously loud. I debate whether to turn on the lights. What if someone finds me in the dark, like one who didn’t want to be seen? There’s nothing to be afraid of, I convince myself. The door was unlocked. I knew it was inside.

I approach it with the ambiance shaking the ground beneath me, the air around me, the heart inside me. Cars honked outside. Trains growled below. Planes breathed heavily overhead. And a indistinct, peculiar buzzing in the air. All sounds of the dying sun, but seeming nothing compared to the cacophony that I can produce; that I will produce. Right now. Right there. I sit down on it. Was that notebook always there? I open it. Yes… Sin was inside. Sin and Innocence. Just like it was last time, I remember. Putting it aside, I gaze at the alternating blacks and whites. Tried one with a finger. What a wonderful noise it made! A hundred times louder than the normalness preceding it. A thousand times more intrusive. A million times more ambitious. Narcissistic, I imagined making it better. Cowardly, I hesitated before distant, muffled voices.

Eyes unmoving, my ears directed me behind in search of the source. Down the steps… out the door… through the hall. Following every yell the floor let out, stabbed by heel after heel. The progressive silence of it… finally punctuated by a wail of bronze hinges and the shriek of frame on closing door. All the while, my fingers hovered over the welcoming, seductive ivory. Caressing, longing to shed the pretence of control and give way to a more natural chaos. To let loose a fury, a scream, beyond the limits of the self-conscious. Must it only be a fantasy? I close the lid.