Chapter Fifteen: A Normal Silence in Dimension #3.

I liked the quiet, because it was such a contradiction of itself. An oxymoron of orchestral cacophony. A paradox of piercing peace.

Even when there seemed to be no sound, no murmur, nothing at all, you could always hear yourself. Your heart beat--bm-bmp, bm-bmp, bm-bmp. Your breath--in, and then out, and then back in again. Once, I heard that if you held your hands over your ears, it would sound like lava. I tried it, and now it's a habit when I think. You can hear your muscles and bones bubble and hiss and pop as they shift ever-so-slightly against each other, creating your very own volcano.

I'm familiar with the silences in my life. I don't live in a city, or near one, and I like it that way. I look out my window and I see hills, lots of them, and when the winds blows and the tall grass waves the hills look like an ocean. I've never seen one, but I imagine that when I finally do, I'll take one look and say, 'You know, the way those waves rush over each other and ripple reminds me of the hills where I grew up.'

I live in the panhandle of Oklahoma, very close to the spot where our state line meets with Colorado's and Kansas'. Did you know that the view is amazing despite the amount of hills? I hear about views from the top of mountains, but I don't think anything is better than seeing for miles and miles and miles and never leaving the midwest.

I don't really have any friends, but I decided long ago that I don't really need people in general. I'm pretty sure that I started listening--and I mean seriously listening--to music around that time, too. Donovan has been, and will always be, my favorite. The Beatles are a close second, but that should surprise no one, considering one of their largest musical influences...

So, really, I don't mind the silence at all--because it's never there.