Alone in the Silence

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write.

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write.

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. 

There’s a rhythm to the routine. A stillness with the days now. The days seem to blend into one another.

I thought about bringing a dog up here with me. I thought about the possibility of a dog. I thought that this might be the right time. But stopped myself. I realized that solitude meant just that— solitude. No people, no contact, no animals— just my own self absolutely alone. The time alone was necessary. The alone was necessary. 

It’s been a year since I’ve been away. 

It’s been longer than a year since I’ve finally felt like my true self. 

The city started to eat me up— whole. When did i start to care so much about what people said about my work? When did all of their opinions become the only things that ruled my life? I’m unsure of how i got this way but at least I got out. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. 

Harmony is what I need. Harmony with myself— with what is happening within myself. No longer do I have the trappings of the outside. 

No one understands what it takes to be me. No one understands how hard it is to be an active person in my own life. 

The thought of coming up here alone frightened everyone. To be up here— isolated with no electricity, no means of communication terrified all of them— everyone except me. 

It’s what I needed. What my writing needed. 

The snow started immediately when I got here. And I welcomed the white silence every morning. I felt enveloped in it. I felt wrapped in the white noise and finally I was able to write. Harmony. Silence. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. 

How long have I been up here now? A week? 

The only concept I have of days, weeks, months is my planner. The one I use to log my writing progress— the one that reminds me that all of this also has an expiration date.

Days sped up recently. I hadn’t realized it had already been so long. My muscles seem to have relaxed— have they forgotten how to move? Have I forgotten how to move? There may have to be a new rhythm to my days now. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. Walk. 

It was time for me to move further than the distance from my bed to the kitchen. There had to be some physical change in order for me to push through the rest of my time here. 

Three months— three months and I’ll be back to my old self. Back to the person that can write. That can put something out there worth mentioning. 

I just had three months. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. Walk. 

The walks I’ve welcomed. They have been a good way for me to end my afternoons. I love how my feet carved impressions into the snow. I love the way the snow caved under my feet as I walked. I found a stillness in the woods. I have never thought of myself as a person that felt ‘at one with nature’ but here I am. Here— I finally do. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. Walk. 

And there she was. Another person. I had run out of plush snow; I had gone further out than I usually had. And for the first time in I have no idea how long, I saw another. How long had it been? Two weeks? Three weeks? She looked at me as I stood in the snow that was slowly caving under me— surprised as I was. 

It’s been so long since I spoke to another person. I had only heard the sound of my own voice as I wrote. Reading back my own words to ensure the pacing, that the rhythm was right. 

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to say anything but also my legs had stopped moving. I was stuck in my snow. I tried to move myself. To do anything but stand there staring, but it was too late. She made her way to me. Here she came— moving towards me with speed. A pace I hadn’t expected; one I had forgotten about until now. 

Well. Hello. I didn’t think anyone else was up here besides me. 

She was speaking. Her voice seemed to echo in the bare. I smiled. I think I smiled. 

Are you up here alone? I am. I got up here three weeks ago. I guess I just needed some time to get away. But then I guess everyone feels like that when they’ve lived in the city as long as I have. How long have you been up here? Are you from the city? How far is your cabin? 

She couldn’t stop speaking. She was prattling off questions like the riddler. I still hadn’t decided how to respond. But it wouldn’t matter— she continued.

I just got back from going to the grocery store. I guess I should have planned better. But I didn’t realize that the snow storm would have been so bad. I almost ran out of food the other day. I wish I had known that you were up here, then I could have come over and we could have at least kept each other company in all this quiet. Don’t you think it’s kind of eerie how quiet it is up here? Like anything can happen to us and no one would know. Well I guess, eventually they would know— you know? But then again, I have my phone so I guess that people would figure it out. I could always call for help. But then again by the time that I do, it may be too late. You know what I mean?

She wouldn’t stop. Her nervous one-sided conversation continued. 

Do you have Wi-Fi in your cabin? I don’t. I can’t believe I didn’t double check before I booked it. I swear I think that I am addicted to the internet. Well I guess that everyone is addicted to the internet. I mean. Aren’t you? I know— i’m such a doom scroller. My boyfriend always says that I can’t have a real conversation. That I’m so dependent on my phone for everything that he feels that it’s my actual boyfriend. Isn’t that funny? But I guess I can understand where he’s coming from. Cause in reality—

I imagined hitting her in the face just so that I could return to silence. But instead—

Yeah, I’m up here from the city. I’ve been up here a month or so, trying to get some writing done. It’s good to know that there is another person up here with me just in case. But I have to head back.

Oh that’s great. I wish I could write. What do you write? Have you read Normal People? I love Sally Rooney, I think that she’s one of the best writers I’ve read in a long time. Like I mean, I get it she’s not like Ernest Hemingway or the Bronte sisters, but I mean… she’s current. She gets it. She gets what people want to read. Not that I don’t like the classics, but those are so… you know— the classics. 

Before I followed through with my last imaginary thought, I pushed myself to achieve the last bit of patience I had and smiled. 

I get what you mean. It was great meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you again. 

And finally my body moved. My feet found the pace I had searched for since the first moment I saw her— speed. 

By the time I got back to my space, I couldn’t believe what had happened. I had found the worst version of everything I was trying to escape. And she was just down the ways from me. I tried to find the harmony— the rhythm again. I sat at the desk, pen in hand ready for the moment to pass and for the writing to begin— it never found it’s way back to me that night. I had lost an entire evening to her incessant chatter. 

I gave up on any hopes of writing and attempted to find solace and comfort in the canned soup I heated for myself. Creamy tomato. I hated creamy tomato. But it was my creamy tomato. My solo creamy tomato. 

Eventually night fully came. The stillness in the air was calming and I was finally able to get the voice out of my head. My head empty of her voice and my stomach full, I made my way to the couch to lay in the words of great writers. Tonight was Oscar and maybe tomorrow would be Ernest. She had indeed sparked some inspiration in me after all. 

tap. tap. tap.

I had no idea what that was. Was that the door? Was someone at my door? No. No. She could not have found me. 

And yet, there she was standing at my door holding a bottle of wine and what looked like a casserole. 

Hi. I thought that we could have dinner together. I just finished making some dinner and I thought to myself—why shouldn’t I come down here and share it with you? I mean, I have so much food now that I scared myself into what could be so I might as well not waste any. You know— waste not, want not. That’s the saying right?

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t find the words to stop her from coming in, so in she came. 

Shaking off the cold and snow on her jacket, she handed me the bottle of wine and casserole and took off her coat. 

After the hours it took me to get her voice out of my head, she found her way back in—this time she was actually here in my space. 

I should have told her to leave, that I had already eaten and that this was my reading until falling asleep hour. But instead I found myself sitting at the round dining table eating a semi-warm casserole and sharing a bottle of wine. 

There was no doubt about it. She was lonely. She was not one of those people that could be alone with their thoughts, one of those people that found comfort in the solitude— someone like me. We sat across from one another, sipping wine from mugs and sharing the space that had known no one besides myself. 

Wow, you really don’t have anything in here besides books. What do you do to pass the time?

I couldn’t believe what she had just asked me. She had answered her own question, and yet, she had no idea that she had. 

I read. I write. 

She just nodded through the silence. Sure that I must have something else hidden away. Something that would have given her entertainment. 

I have a tv in my cabin if you ever just need some mindless entertainment. I also have my laptop out there too, in case you need to type up whatever you're writing. Literally, you can come over whenever you want. I would lose my mind if I didn’t have all those things. I mean, I was already losing it with just those things. I don’t know how you do it.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise to her quick judgements. 

I mean, I guess there are people that don’t need much to entertain themselves. But I’m not one of those people. I’m not great alone, I guess. But I guess I should have figured that out before I came up here. I mean, I guess I could always leave early, but then again— I feel like I have something to prove. To prove to everyone in my life that I know how to do it by myself.

Do it?

Do life. Like everyone thinks that I’m so dependent on them and even though I’m super capable and tell them otherwise, they never believe me. 

So she had also come up here to prove something to herself. Somehow I found this all redeeming. I guess in a way we were all trying to prove something to ourselves. 

Do you have a phone in here? Like do you even have your cell? 

I shook my head in hopes that she would finally understand what I was attempting to achieve in the silence.

Wow. I would really lose it without my phone. So what would you do if you needed help or something?

I shrugged, finding it easier to answer in silence. 

Well you did say you were up here to write, so maybe you didn’t need the distractions. I get it. 

Did she though? She was still sitting across from me, way after my allotted bedtime, attempting to make small talk with me. 

She continued with her one-sided conversation for the remainder of the night. And finally when she realized the hour it was, she made a quick getaway leaving me with the looming words of i’ll come by tomorrow and we can have dinner again.

The drowsiness had seeped into my mind and before I could tell her otherwise, she had planned my evening out for me. 

Wake up. Start a fire. Heat water for tea. Sit. Write. Write. Write. Write… why can’t I write?

Yesterday had exhausted me. The wine and conversation hangover begged for me to crawl back into bed. But I knew giving into my wants would only land me into deeper despair, so I ran my shower— hoping the warm water would wash away last night’s events and clear my mind for the day ahead. 

It was afternoon already, and not a single word was written. I had decided to reverse my routine and to spend the afternoon on the couch reading with my wet hair. I prayed that it would clear my mind of the wasted evening and morning. 

tap. tap. tap.

No. No. No. She could not possibly be outside my door again. 

I thought about not answering. I thought about pretending I was out on my afternoon walk. I sat in silence. Hoping that she couldn’t hear the fire crackling. 

tap. tap. tap.

Hey. I just really need to talk to someone. Will you let me in?

I just got out of the shower. Can you come by later?

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I didn’t want her to come by later. I didn’t want her to come by ever again. 

Please. Please. I just found out the worst news and need to talk to someone. 

I knew I shouldn’t do it. But I found myself standing up. And there I was— opening the door for the pain in my side. 

Unlike yesterday, she stood at my door face flushed with tears holding her phone in her right hand. 

He broke up with me. 

Who?

My boyfriend. He told me that he had used this time to really think about our relationship and realized that I wasn’t the person he wanted to be with. He just needed this time away to realize all of it. 

There she was, crying on my shoulder in the cold winter air, trying to find comfort from someone she didn’t even know the name of. 

She inched her way inside and sat on my couch. Wrapping herself in my blanket she continued to cry, to bellow on and on about some guy named Josh, presumably her now ex-boyfriend. 

I’m sorry to barge in like this on you, I know that you needed the time to write, but I just really couldn’t be alone— you know?

I hadn’t known. I had only wanted the alone. But I couldn’t imagine letting someone like her try to figure it out— alone. 

So we sat on the couch that afternoon into evening listening to her favorite sad songs that reminded her of her relationship. Silence enveloped her as she cried listening. And finally I had found in her what I had wanted in that moment— silence. 

Eventually she tired and fell asleep on the couch. Unable to do much of anything else, I picked up my pen and wrote. I wrote about her. About the interactions she must have had while living in the city and what her life would have been like with her friends and boyfriend. I wrote blindly and unforgivingly about the person she was and the person she had aspired to be. 

The words poured out of me as they never had before and finally I could see the full story in front of me. She was every girl that found it impossible to be alone, to be completely void of human contact, she was me. 

I had gone up there to write. To forget about the relationships that had broken me. The girl was just me. Just the me I had tried so long and hard to forget about. There was no other girl in that room besides me. Alone-- in the silence.