Quietness

The once bright and untroubled red bricks of the house seemed unbelievable dark and
sorrowful that day. Up until the moment I walked in, I believed there was at least a chance that
he would make it through. It was when I turned the chipping gold door knob that the quiet
creaking of the floor and the hushed whispers of family members told me there was, in fact, no
chance. The calmness of the atmosphere, the tears of acceptance, the small smiles of reassurance.
The quietness. It all reeked of a funeral. He was not a corpse yet, why was everyone acting like
it? It was as though everyone had given up and now they were just waiting. I was there just to
join the waiting.
I was unaccustomed to such reverence from my cousin, he sat there so silently, so
intently. Was he trying to hear the whispered conversations of the adults, or was he trying to
escape into his own thoughts? My sister and my other cousins were crying, it was if they had an
endless supply of tears. There was so much hugging, so much small talk. I just waited. The
horrible anticipation was clawing at my chest. There was a dry feeling in my throat, it was as if I
was experiencing a drought and that was the reason I was unable to join in on my cousins
crying.