Self-Imposed Oubliette

Dearest Rachel –

So there are these places called anechoic chambers, used for testing equipment that are either extremely loud (thereby needing a room that can dampen the sound they emit) or extremely sensitive (thus requiring that all external noise be extinguished or blocked in order to test them). Every surface in the room is covered with foam cones of varying sizes, each designed to absorb a sound wave of a different length. The effect is like walking into a cave made of soft material, with these foam stalactites and stalagmites jutting at you from every direction (even requiring you to walk on a mesh floor suspended above the foam stalagmites, lest they be damaged by your weight).

It’s said that prolonged exposure to such profound silence is psychologically damaging; most people can’t last in such a room for more than a few minutes before asking to be let out. At the same time, it’s a myth that people can’t stay inside one for more than an hour without going mad; it’s just that being able to hear things like one’s own heartbeat and blood flow is, you’ll pardon the expression, disquieting.

So, what does that have to do with anything, you might reasonably ask? It’s not as if I know of such a place to visit, or that I’d even want to; the house gets more than quiet enough at certain hours, even with the boys around. I don’t need to subject myself to much more than that; on the contrary, I keep telling you how I miss your presence, clutter, noise and all. As a general rule, I’d just as soon have more going on than less at any given moment, if only because I worry that, if I were to seal myself up in the house the way Daniel does (setting Logan aside for a moment), I might lose the ability to speak entirely, over time.

Yes, that’s probably an exaggeration, but not as much as you’d think. You and I would sit here in companionable silence for periods at a time, but they would be nothing like things are now. I can spend hours without speaking these days, because who’s there to talk to? Daniel? He’s got Logan. Should I call someone up? I can think of a handful – some of whom are practically in the business of listening to others – but why take them away from their actual business? Any girls I know? Most of them would think I was coming on to them, and most of them don’t want any part of that (and several others, well, I rather they didn’t think that myself). So I sit here, reading, writing, watching stuff, all without saying a word, or checking to see if anyone else in the room cares for some other entertainment, because there isn’t anyone else in the room.

At the same time, there are moments when that kind of silence is necessary. After having come home to an empty house last evening – the boys had gone off to a matinee, and I was aware of it, so I’d picked up dinner for myself (little did I know that Daniel wouldn’t be eating at the theater with Logan – although I’ve been to the place with them recently, and while their food is decent, it’s way overpriced for what you get) and retreated to our room. Nothing out of the ordinary there, and clearly no need to try to make the place more quiet than it already was. But once the boys got back, they set to their usual watch schedule – again, on the opposite end of the house, so no harm done – while I started to nod off to what I was watching, which I took as a cue to crawl into bed.

And here’s where I had to cover my ears, because while I was falling asleep to the gentle narration of some horrific crime, once I was in bed, I could hear most of what was going on in the other room. It can’t be helped; once it’s the only sound in the place, it stands out, even at a reasonable volume and removed by several rooms between us. So I put on my noise-canceling headphones, and an eye mask for good measure; the whole sensory deprivation routine. I basically dropped myself down a self-imposed oubliette.

At which point, I started to wonder if this is going to be my fate. Your French is better than mine, but I think I recall the word as coming from the root word “to forget.” It described a dungeon, with no light, no sound, no contact with the outside world at all; a prisoner would be thrown into this tiny little place, and simply forgotten about. As I recall it, the race was between starvation and madness as to which one would kill the poor soul first.

Of course, given my circumstances, I have more mobility than all that, and my having gotten myself dinner is indicative that I’ve no fear of starvation. But madness? Eh, maybe. I mean, look at me; I’m saying more to you than I am to anyone I actually encounter in “meat space” these days (and while that term might sound amusingly unfamiliar, I think you can figure out what it’s referring to). Of course, this could be resolved, too, by getting out and meeting people for one thing or another, but last night, I was just too tired to do so. It would have been one thing if someone, like yourself, was sharing my space with me, but at present, that’s just not a thing I can wish into existence.

And so I sit in the silence, with only the click of the keyboard to drown out the hum in my ears. And since you can’t be here – and I can’t bring myself to ask anyone else to be here – I’m going to have to ask that you at least keep an eye on me for now, and wish me well until I can climb out of this prison. I’m certainly going to need it.