Saved by Silence

“Sue, I’ll work the silent retreat if that suits you.” Ginny offered. 

“You will? My boyfriend and I are going out of town tonight. It’ll be nice to stay the weekend.”

“Oh, thanks so much. Have fun!”

“Yeah, you too.”

#

Tailing me—even for my soon-to-be ex-wife—means she’s desperate. Drastic circumstances lead to drastic measures. Ugh—okay, what the heck? I’ll try anything once. 

“Hi, I’m here for the silent retreat if openings remain.” Dave looked around anxiously, as no other people were signing in. “Thank you.” The person behind the desk put her index finger to her lips in a shh and pointed to double doors. I pushed them open and straight into the mix.

What the hell is that sh*t? 

Look at all these kooks in here!

“Everyone in the room has one,” I mumble, which everyone hears since everyone else is silent. 

I want to talk to my agent! A rusty, red-haired woman repeated as she shook her head and held what looked like a script. 

Oh, hell no. I’m never going back. I’ll be calling my attorney. Yeah, that’s what I’ll say next time. I’ll be calling my attorney. The man with the fu man chu moustache and big hands thought. 

Laundry, piano and swimming lessons—free at last, free at last. It’s about time he did some of these things. Maybe he’ll appreciate me a little more that way. A man in his late twenties thought.

He’s a big waste of skin. I heard him outside before the doors opened on his phone, talking trash about Arabs. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The man I knew was from Libya said. I ought to assemble a group of guys to educate him on our identities.

Agh. This is ridiculous. Who ever heard of a silent retreat? 

Another weekend away from home. Thank you, sweet Jesus. 

I’d tap that. 

I’m bushed already. I'll just look interested with my eyes open.  

I ask myself, How is it possible? I’m privy to each person’s thought bubble; the information overlaps inside my head, and I can only think about having tea. I asked the girl in the kitchen if she could help me with the hot water part. It is not an easy task when on a silent retreat. I pull out my tea bag and put on my sweetest face. Thoughts zigzagged all over, but surprisingly, I couldn’t see any bubbles over this one. 

She smiles and gets me some hot water, nods at the condiments available and then goes about her business like I wasn’t there. 

The person in charge stands up front and attempts to get people’s attention. It’s painful to watch. 

This guy sucks balls; he’s a dud. 

What’s on his shirt collar?

Is his hair considered dirty blonde?

He needs a new pair of shoes.

What? Someone’s up there? I can’t wait to see the latest Planet of the Apes movie. It is a new one, and it looks great. 

Hurry up! I want to go for a smoke.

This retreat is enough to make you want to drink.

The man in charge claps his hands and gets a rhythm going. Immediately, I disliked him since he broke the rules by clapping. He continues until pretty soon, the people follow what he’s doing, and when everyone’s participating, a woman steps onto the stage and sends Mr. Happy packing with his kumbaya. I guess it was our last noise, and we all did it together. Whatever that meant. 

Oh, not another one. What an awful retreat. I wonder if they’ll give me my money back. 

A robust woman with tired eyes and bags underneath to prove it was up next on crowd addressing or lack thereof. Her long—too long for her—dark hair with specks of grey hair was scraggly and greasy. I felt a bit sorry for her and her appearance. 

She thinks everyone out there's in their underwear. You can do this. 

Logistics Lana showed where the washrooms, exits, kitchen, and courtyard are and went over the golden rules—all through sign language and gestures. When she left the stage, catatonic mania had taken the retreat members hostage. Everyone looked like they had smoked a big bag of weed, and their eyes were glazed over.

Two people yawned. Another strategically picked his nose, and a third sneezed. 

Hey, is that Harry Vollans? Jumping warts on a grasshopper! It is Harry. I haven’t seen him in 15 years. What an odd coincidence to see him here. I never would have taken him for the retreat type of guy, mainly because it’s silent. Hmm. The things that make you go, hmm.

Sal Pelkey, the keynote gesturer, goes onto the stage, points at the watch, claps, and while everyone looks at him, he flashes all 10 fingers twice. Then he points to the exits. 

People slowly get to their feet and move toward the exits. In his head, he’s screaming, Come on, you idiots! Get with it. 20-minute break, and we’re back in here. Go! He pushes his hands away from his chest, like pushing them to the exit doors. 

We return for 30 minutes and then have lunch. I have two more cups of tea and ask the same girl for water. She happily drops whatever she is doing to get me the hot water.

Everyone does their best to maintain silence. What does that mean for the rest of the retreat? I’m unsure if I imagined bodily functions, eye and hand gestures, tapping, and touching, or if it was real. People were on a freebie and loosey-goosey with their hands and gestures. The place turns into a quick-put-together-looking party instead of a retreat. Thought bubbles pop and disappear. 

Everyone is relaxed and mellow. They feel the silence, and it becomes one with them. 

Except for the couple who came together. 

What the fuck am I doing here? This retreat—is it saving our marriage? Is this his idea of a joke?

She’s a dimwit. This retreat is my response to her asking us to do something together. I found this sucker at the last minute. Surprisingly, they had vacancies. This should shut her up for the weekend, at least.

After a while, all the annoying bubbles shut off. I finally closed my eyes. The drawback for the whole Shindig arrives at nightfall after we share our day in smaller groups of six. 

A loud, raunchy fart rings out—the sound of a tuba with a gush of wind squeezed from it. A blast of a low note that ends high in Brrip! 

Everyone chuckles, and after a moment or two, some hold their noses while others laugh out loud and hold their hands in front of their mouths. Soon, there'll be an equal number of nose holders to laughers in the crowd.

And when things were settling down, someone else let one rip. And a gurgle comes from someone else’s stomach. 

Another cough and a barrage of sneezes fill the air—three in a row.  

I bump into one person and then another, holding my chest. I remember hearing someone say ‘Idiot!’ under their breath, and I staggered on.  

After I bump into another three or four more people, I spot the teenager who works in the kitchen out by the tables. She looks at me, and suddenly, she’s being mouthy with me. “Hey, what’s the big idea, mister? Watch where you’re going, eh? Oh, geez, oh my God. Are you having a—he needs medical attention! Someone call 911.”

The ambulance arrives, and they take me away on a stretcher. My little blonde saviour catches another look. She says, "Geez, mister, that’s a cool necklace. What hospital are they taking you to? I’ll come and visit.” 

“Memorial people hit the lights and siren.” She heard the attendants say before they closed the doors.

#

I was rushed into surgery in the nick of time since I had lots of blockages, and I’m fortunate they did. Accommodations followed a triple bypass in the ICU, and after a few days, I was transferred to a private room. The nurse fills me in on my angel, who visits daily and talks a mile a minute while I sleep.

I ask the nurse to hold off with my sleep medication so I can remain lucid, and I lay in wait. 

“What kind of drug did you give me? You told everyone I was having a cardiac arrest, and the ambulance attendants took me to the hospital. You saved my life.”

"Clumsy you. Bumping into people everywhere. My necklace man, whose tea I tainted with drugs. From there, your symptoms mimicked a cardiac arrest, but you remained that way. You were supposed to come out of it.”

“This isn't about what I think it’s about, is it? No, don’t tell me it’s about the stupid necklace.” 

“It’s exactly what it’s about.”

“Because of a necklace!”

“It’s your soon-to-be ex-wife; she asked me to get it. I told her what I had done to get it, and she freaked out. She wouldn’t take the damn thing. After all that, can you believe the nerve of some people? And then she asked me which hospital you were in. So I told her the furthest one from here.”

“I haven’t worn the necklace in months. It’s an 18K gold necklace with diamonds and emeralds worth a fortune. Do you think I’d wear it for a silent retreat? Not a chance. What you have there is a good phony.”

“What?” She throws the necklace at him. “Take the damn thing, then.” She gets up to go and says, “And another thing: You two still love each other. You should put more effort into saving your marriage.” 

I studied her face and expected a hint of a smile, and I knew when she didn’t—my attacks on Rachel were overboard. I reached for the phone, and as I dialled, my angel left. It rings and rings. It goes to her voicemail. “Hello, Rachel? It’s me. Listen, I think we need... 

Her head pops through the door. She looks dishevelled. 

“Oh my God! Are you okay, honey? I finally found you. I was so worried and couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I smiled with tears of joy, as did she. For one brief second, I wondered if the silent retreat did the same for the other guy’s marriage as it did for mine. Somehow, I doubted it---Hmm.