Virus

       As they occur, the moments are nothing but ordinary. There are words, faces, and noises, and yet in-between all that there is a deafening silence.

The silence, however, is not noticed until later.

Later, as it always has been, is when the mind decides to snap out of its drowsy inattentiveness and face the realization at hand. What it will understand, when this happens, is that it missed a critical moment when she turned to him and allowed the silence to overtake them. The words it understood. The chatter about the day and the weather and what types of dreams they had before do not escape recognition. It is the silence – which creeps in like a robber in the night – that has been hidden and now discovered. It is screaming something far louder than words.

And the idea that is being wordlessly bellowed is terrifying.

Her eyes are happy. She is, and always has been, a happy person, if not somewhat reserved and wary with her words. But she gives them to him regardless of whatever fear held her back from giving them to others, and he cherishes them. Each syllable that rolls off her tongue is a precious jewel that he catches in his open palms and holds close to his chest, so as not to allow others to abuse it.

She is kind, as well. The words that spill from her mouth are rarely given in a cruel or cold nature, and she says them with a slow assurance so as not to imply the wrong meaning. In other words, she is cautious. He realizes now, that had he taken this into serious recognition, he would have seen the train-wreck approaching and tried his best to avoid it.

When they first begin to exchange words, it is nothing but banter: life, friends, ambitions, death. But as the ties between them begin to intertwine, it undergoes a thrilling metamorphosis, and becomes: you, me, us, love. She does not hold back entirely from this new exchange, but she enters it with heedfulness – as she does with most things.

It goes well, and soon they say these types of things regularly. Banter escapes them entirely – for they have found a New World filled with devotion and admiration and affection. These new things become easier to say; it isn’t until later that he first hears the silence.

It is never when she is fully there. Only when he lays awake next to her as she drifts into sleep, or when he sips his coffee next to the sink and absentmindedly allows his eyes to stare at the garden, does he begin to hear it – or perhaps translate it. He finds it lurking in places he never knew existed. In-between kisses, underneath I Love Yous, behind her smiles, and dusted from sight into corners of conversations. Though at times these blackened hushes itch at his mind, he does not allow them to control him. After all, a moment is just a moment – a silence nothing more than wordlessness.

But eventually, after she has left to go out, or when he is alone in the library, his mind begins to detect more lulls than he thought possible. It seems that suddenly, they have infected their Us, their Love, like a latching virus.  Each sentence she speaks and word she utters now has a new virus – a new muteness – fastened to it tightly, infecting other words with ease. Soon, nothing can be taken at face value. Each exchange between them soon has a new reticence of it’s own, appearing in the form of an insidious silence.

Not long after this discovery, they are impossible to ignore. As with a noise that somebody is made suddenly aware of, each thought he owns is dedicated towards unearthing the stillness in which she spoke. ‘I’m going out’ becomes ‘this isn’t working for me’. ‘I’m too tired’ becomes ‘I’m afraid’. With each silence he discovers, he is made painfully aware of the reality facing him: he’s losing her.

And then, eventually, he does,

Though it was never spoken in words – for she was always cautious with language – it has been clear in the nothings she mutters. ‘I need my space’ she says, and the echo proclaims ‘it’s over’. He can do nothing to stop it, now, for it is too late. Had he read the signs – the silence – earlier, he would have possibly had a chance. But dwelling can do nothing. She is gone.

He then realizes, finally, that it was always there. The muteness between them had always existed, because for her the silence was a defense. Whereas the chameleon blended, and the snake played dead, his love was incapable of conveying her trueness in reality, so she exclaimed it in the cover of her quiet.

She is kind, she is happy – but she is silent. She is wordless.

       And the virus has now latched onto him as well.