Remembering Silence
By Bhavana Nissima
I memorize. No argument. No attempt to reason. Just leave the scene. Take a walk. Call. Stay over at somebody’s house. No argument. Leave. No argument. Just leave.
The moment comes. I say, “Let me leave. I want to take a walk.” Fall on the sofa. Let me leave. Feel myself against a wall. Let me leave please. On the floor.
Now I must scream. Just let your voice emerge from the guttural shadow. Scream… Help!
Knock on the door. Knocks on the door. Watchman and so many people outside. So soon? Just from a scream?
I can run. Run! Out of the door, down the stairs, out of the building, into the dark dark road. Where do I go? Like a cow tethered to the post, circambulating what I know as home.
A young man kneels. “I saw what happened. I was on the terrace opposite your window at a party. We all saw. I will be your witness. File a police report.” Silence. Not a breath escaped the mouth. No report filed.
Like a cow tethered to the post, I return. He asks, “Why were you so dramatic today? I was trying to save you from hurting yourself!”
A decade later pain haunts like an endless night. But today I write.
[Originally published in Tilling The Earthwoman]
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