I hear the muffling in the pillow, the noise that I know now is my heartbeat. From my temple/ears made louder by the quiet and the pillow filling. When I was a kid it haunted me and would keep me up, that noise in my pillow I didn’t know or understand. So much we don’t understand as a child. For example I believed i could see the air, that I was different/special because of it. I have bad vision and see floaters, when I close my eyes at night it’s fuzzy, like the TV static of yesteryear. I thought I was seeing the air, the amoebas in my eyes.
Does anyone even know what that looks like anymore the static snow of a station off the air? The colored lines of one not yet on, a sure sign you were up to early on Saturday morning. It felt like the whole world was asleep, I mean not even the TV was on! It felt quiet. There is no quiet anymore. Noise.
Noise from life in a small house with many children. Noise of the world, of the news, of the internet, or the world. You can’t totally hide from the noise it will find you even if it’s the own noises in your head. I wonder, I wonder what the world would be like if it weren't 24 hours. If we couldn't artificially produce day all the time. If we could return to yesteryear where we rose and rested and with the sun. Where the news arrived by neighbor or paper once a day instead of continuous. Where there was quiet and the world slept.
My thoughts snap back from static and worlds I can’t hide from with the small braying cries of a little boy. Alone in his crib will not do. I scoop him up and we retreat as one back to my bed, less curled but just as cozy I take in his smell, his weight on my chest replacing the weight on my heart with warmth and the small rhythmic breathing of hope, life and future and I cling to that as the static rolls back in and I drift off to sleep.