House of Broken Silence

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Stanley was sitting on his living room couch, reading Fahrenheit 451 for the third time, when he heard his doorbell ring.  His eyes met the cable box under his television set; it read 3:04.  You're late, he thought.  When he put down his book and got up, he winced.  He removed the glass from his foot with pliers and placed two butterfly stitches on the wound that morning, but his foot still hurt when he put weight on it. 

In that moment, he was very grateful that his front door was only seven paces away from his couch.  He opened the door and before he was even sure it was his friend and musical partner, Andrea, he said, “Hey, Andy! Come in, come in.” 

Andrea walked in and closed the door behind her.  “Sorry I’m…”  She glanced at her watch.  “…five minutes late.  Traffic,” she said.

Stanley turned to her and smiled.  “Bullshit,” he said as he chuckled.  Andrea returned the smile and proceeded to walk toward the spiral staircase with her guitar case in her right hand. 

When Stanley reached the top of the staircase, he looked down the hallway to his destination.  The upstairs hallway was only eleven feet long.  A few feet from the staircase was Stanley’s bedroom on the left, and the bathroom was across from it.  At the far end of the hallway was a brown door a few shades lighter than that of the other two doors on the second floor.

Andrea opened it and was walking into what Stanley called his Music Room.  It was the biggest room in the house, because when Stanley moved in, it was the master bedroom; his current bedroom was originally the guest bedroom.  He walked down the hallway and shut the door behind him.

The glass case that was against the right wall was filled with musical memorabilia; autographs from famous composers and performers and rare and valuable musical instruments (half of which Stanley couldn’t even play).

He began walking towards his music stand in front of the glass wall that overlooked Clementine Street.  “Are you okay?” Andrea asked.

“What are you—” my limp.  “Oh, uh…I’m fine.  I just got a piece of glass in my foot, earlier.”

“Oh,” Andrea replied dubiously. 

Stanley picked up his flute from where it rested on the music stand and said, “Ready when you are.”  The song the duo was performing was called “Tainted Love.”  The two musicians, Stanley on the flute and Andrea on the guitar, smiled as they played their instruments because they both knew that their chances of winning the talent show that night were very high.  As Andrea was playing her guitar solo, Stanley gazed out of the wall of glass.  His neighbor, Anthony, was riding down the street on his bicycle with a satchel over his right shoulder.  Coming home from work Newspaper Boy?  Anthony rode his bike into his driveway.  He was only nineteen-years-old and had moved in two months ago.  Stanley dubbed Anthony ‘Newspaper Boy,’ with an obviously negative connotation.  Stanley harbored a hatred for the ignorance that caused younger people to do such stupid and foolish things.  But, deep down, he was truly jealous of their ability to ignore risks and take chances.  Ignorance is bliss.

“Stanley!  You forgot again!”  He turned to Andrea to see irritation on her face and apologized.  He had been having trouble remembering to come in on the last part of the song, after Andrea’s guitar solo, ever since they picked the song.  He was about to tell Andrea to go home—that he would promise to be prepared that night for the talent show.  Then, as fast as it takes someone to blink, an audience was staring at Stanley.  Throwing objects at him.  Cursing at him.  Their eyes hanging out of their sockets.  A glimpse of what is to come.

Stanley heard the words in his head but knew that it wasn’t his own thought.  His vision blurred, and when it focused, Andrea was in front of him saying, “Stanley?”

“Let’s practice one more time,” Stanley said.

“Not to be a downer, but I don’t want you to have such high expectations of our ‘victory’ if you can’t remember what you have to do.”

“I learned a long time ago not to have expectations,” Stanley said, “but I still allow myself to hope.”