Silent Scream - COMPLETE

Scream

I found myself sitting in one of the most unlikely places, on a crowded train, embracing a strange man dressed in a somber grey suit. As I settled closely to his side, the beastly train roared and squealed painfully as it moved from one location to the next, but I remained steadfast and sure, clinging to the stranger who was so still and serene that even the steady beating of his heart caused not a ripple in the air.

He carried me with him as he exited the train. The swish, clickety clack and clonk of shoes hitting the ground as people walked, ran or scurried around him was a dull ache soothed by the soundless slip of his feet gliding across the floor. The warm buzz of chattering people seemed to ebb and flow around him, never quite touching him. I was more than myself at that moment, I was a barrier.

And they knew.

The people who pressed their ears close to their cell phones, the ones who pushed earbuds as far into their ears as possible, or the people who walked with someone so close they could hear them speak in whispers. As they waited for the drone of voices or the blare of music to greet them, they walked around him and kept their distance.

I was his keeper.

When people looked at him, I glared back.

There was the sound of keys jingling as they pushed and tapped each other, the thunderous click of the lock turning before the creaking of the heavy door heralded his coming.

He walked past the people sitting in a circle in the living room. They welcomed me as he abandoned me, walking quickly towards a sheltered room, the soles of his feet an ultimate betrayal as they slammed tumultuously against the hardwood floors. A door slammed. The low sound of his muted cries reverberated through the air.

It was a room of women. Their hands reached out to touch a shoulder or a hand or a knee; the comforting connection. Each small movement was accompanied by the small sound of a chair scraping lightly against the floor, or the slight squeal of the springs creaking in the couch. Their unadorned faces looked from one set of mournful eyes to the other. For fleeting moments, their eyes would connect then draw apart. These were speaking glances.

When he finally came out of seclusion, he smiled a trembling smile and asked the quiet room, "Are we ready?" I squeezed his mouth, so that his strange smile crumbled into bits.

I was the only one to answer his question.

In the quiet room, I suddenly felt heavy, carrying around the weight of an uncompromising and relentless grief. As I surrounded them more tightly than I had ever surrounded anything before, I did something I did not realize I could... I screamed.