MOSTLY SILENCE OF VARIOUS KINDS
Words By Jefferson Navicky
Illustrations by Jazmine “Chewy” Sosa
9:05 — The sound of lateness: hurried footfalls down a carpeted hallway. The metal click as the archive door opens. Alarm begins to sound until I punch in my code. Double beep and it’s off.
9:17 — I am alone today. Begin human rustling sounds, clickety-clack of keyboard, my shoes slide against mat, itch behind my ears (which sounds loud to me, but would not be to others, if there were others here).
10:22 — The HVAC system, my constant companion: sometimes the silence isn’t silence, rather is the whisper roar white noise of air pumped through vents. Sometimes nothing more eloquent than the silence you create.
11:03 — A researcher clicks open the door. Scratches pencil into log book. Indistinct chatter of chit chat re: parking and weather – I hear my mouth engaging to lift up at the corners. Manuscript Room door yawns, movable shelving unlocks little green plastic knob click, then the shoosh of the handle wheel rolling with the metal track sliding below. Boots on plywood. Box of diaries slipping off shelf, smooth cardboard. “Good luck” to the researcher. Scrape of wooden reading room chair against industrial carpet, slight creak of wood joints as weight settles in.
12:02 — Researcher’s cell phone goes off. Husband wants to go to lunch. “Give me another forty
minutes. Get yourself a snack. It’ll be worth it.”
12:59 — Researcher raps knuckle gently on glass of my office door. “Thank you!” She’s gone. All sounds
reverse to put things away.
1:15 — Clink of tea mug against standing desk. Rustle of PG Tips box lid opening and slip out of tea bag.
1:19 — Sound of Empty Archive during lunch. What sounds exist when there’s no one there to listen to them?
1:36 — Processing sounds begin: blend of paper shuffling, folders opening with thumbs, newspaper crinkle, big slip of cardstock broadside poem, quiet scrawl of pencil on folder tab, folder slides into box, paper settles in recycling bin like it wants to take a nap.
3:27 — “Super Breath” by Karen O and Danger Mouse on Spotify a few times for mid-afternoon Pick Me Up. Then, “Landslide”
4:04 — Mail delivery, hello to Larry. “Have a nice weekend…”
4:30 — Methodical, ritual flicking off of light switches, keys bite into locks, turned and locked. Flap of alarm panel opens, four beeps with my code, then the countdown beeps usher me out. Clicked and locked behind me. Pause – no sound of darkness at this time of year out the windows staring back at me.
4:33 — Foot falls down empty library hallway.
Jefferson Navicky is the archivist for the Maine Women Writers Collection at the University of New England, Portland campus. He is also a poet, and has published four books, including Antique Densities: Modern Parables & Other Experiments in Short Prose, which won the Maine Literary Award for Poetry.
Illustrations by Jazmine “Chewy” Sosa
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