|There may be a dulcet "bang"|
followed by a melodious trickle
of profanity. That is all.
An expeditious sleeper, me. I am asleep as soon as the body hits the mattress if not sooner, but not so Nancy. She will sit up and read, which I am too generous-hearted to mind. True, the light is on, but that's no big deal, and at times it seems she has to turn pages with astonishing force, but these are things I can live with. Sometimes, however, she discovers she has some urgent business at the other end of the house and must leap from the bed to see to it. Whatever this thing is, I've never inquired, but evidently it requires she stomp all the way to get there. I suppose for some reason she has to avoid sneaking up on it. She also stomps all the way back. If she uses the bathroom, and this I really cannot explain, the flush is extraordinarily loud. I do not know how she accomplishes this. Some sort of amplifiers in the water tank, I suppose.
I know this is not all in my imagination because I am quietness itself when I get out of bed in the morning. The fog that comes in on little cat feet has nothing on me. A butterfly's shadow floating over a velvet cushion would make more noise than I. What little sounds I do make serve rather to enhance the silence rather than disrupt it. The toilet, when I flush, makes a soft whispery sound, like a gentle zephyr wafting through a green canyon. On the occasions, usually no more than three times per week, that I stub my toe or bang my shin against the unforeseen corner of some immovable object, there may be a brief, dulcet, "bang," followed by a melodious trickle of profanity, but that is all.
When Nancy arises from her peaceful slumber, she would probably be unaware I had gotten out of bed at all, were it not for the few little tokens I leave behind, like a stealthy magical creature of folklore such as the tooth fairy or the sandman: a few coffee spills on the counter and floor, perhaps. Possibly some packets of sweetener that failed to land in the trashcan. A sodden towel lying in the middle of the bathroom floor, maybe. Perchance, a dollop of yogurt on a seat cushion. Just these, and nothing more.
Why can't everyone be like me?