Summer of Silence

Summer of Silence

The waves crashed against the shore. A red flag waved from the lifeguard’s chair. The waves were big that day. The sand felt cool. It wasn’t burning hot. I thought it should be hot. It felt like walking on sugar. There were children in the water. They were giggling. They were shouting for each other and splashing in the water. There were, of course, birds flying overhead. They called for each other. Parents watched their children, calling them back if they went in too deep. Children’s sand castles and deep holes stood along the shoreline. Sand pails and shovels were strewn on the sand. Umbrellas and towels stood back and watched their owners play. A small girl ran along the shore in search of shells. She looked at me, hoping I would give her the one in my hand. And so I did.

The trees waved in the breeze, they shook their branches fiercely at me. Birds flew to and from their nests. Squirrels scurried about in search of food. The sun was bright that day. It felt cool out. I thought it would have been warmer. There was a small group of people not too far from me. They were fishing. The kids were excited and wanted to catch something, but the fish weren’t biting that day. Parents called to their children to be quiet, as they were scaring the fish. Bike riders passed me. Wheels turning quickly. They called to each other. Dog walkers passed. Dogs sniffed at me, waiting, hoping I would pet them. And so I did.

Tall buildings watched me intently, wondering where I was heading. Cars raced past me. Pigeons fluttered down from building ledges, in search of food that day. They wobbled around in small groups. They called for each other. People walked quickly past me, some with dogs, some with children. They called to each other. Some called for a cab. A group called out to each other to take a picture. A man sat alone on a step, with a hand-written sign. He looked up at me, hoping I would give him something. And so I did.

The lines of books stood straight and at attention, but you could see they all hoped to be picked. There were whispered conversations between people, but I couldn’t hear them that day. I saw their lips moving. People turned the pages of books and sat silently. Librarians quietly called to people to shushTwo men played chess in the corner. There were children walking around. They had never seen so many books. A little boy pointed to a book on a high shelf. He looked up at me to get it down for him. And so I did.

A long time after I walked back to that beach. The waves were just as big as that day, but I couldn’t hear them today. The sand felt hot today, like I thought it should be. It felt like walking on sugar. There were children playing in the water. They were smiling, but I couldn’t hear them laughing today. There were, as usual, birds flying overhead, but I couldn’t hear them calling today. Parents were watching their children, making sure they didn’t go in too deep, but I

couldn’t hear them calling today. Children’s sand castles and deep holes stood along the shoreline. Sand pails and shovels were strewn on the sand. Umbrellas and towels stood back and watched their owners play. A small boy came up to me with a bucket full of shells. He looked up at me and moved his lips, but I couldn’t hear him today.

A long time after I walked back those woods. The trees shook their branches at me, just like on that day, but I couldn’t hear them today. Birds flew from their nests and squirrels were on hunt for food. There was a group of people fishing not far away from me. There were children with them that were running about. They were excited to fish, but the fish aren’t biting today. Parents looked at their children to be quiet, but I could not hear them calling today. Bike riders went whizzing by. Their wheels turned quickly. They looked at each other, but I couldn’t hear them calling today. Dog walkers walked by. Dogs looked at me, their tongues hanging out, hoping I would pet them, but I could not hear them today.

A long time after I walked back to that city. Tall buildings wondered where I was heading. Cars raced past me like on that day, but I could not hear them today. Pigeons fluttered about, hungrily searching the ground. They wobbled together in groups, but I could not hear them today. People walked quickly past me, some with dogs, some with children. Some stood waiting for a cab, but I could not hear them today. A man sat on a street corner, a hand-written sign by his side. He looked up at me and opened his mouth, hoping I had something for him, but I could not hear him today.

A long time after I walked back to that library. The lines of books stood straight and at attention. People turned the pages of their books, but I could not hear them today. Children ran by and librarians looked at them to shush them, but I could not hear them today. A little girl came up to me. She looked at a book on a higher shelf and I watched her lips move, but I could not hear her today.

I walked back home. My mother and father tried to speak to me, but I could not hear them today. My brother wanted me to come and play, but I could not hear him today. My sister wanted me to ride bikes with her, but I could not hear her today. My dog wanted to go for a walk, but I could not hear him today. I went to my room and I began to cry, but I could not hear myself today. I thought about all the nothing I heard and I missed the noisy world. I opened my window and dried my eyes. I felt a breeze hit my face. I saw a dog walk by with its master. A leaf fell onto my windowsill and I held it in my hand. The summer was calling my name, but I could not hear it today.

Mia Skaliotis