With the amount of perpetual sounds the modern world has brought to our lives, human beings can no longer handle the sound of silence and I know why. The only time we ever hear complete silence is in sleep, and death.
I bring the silence.
The smell of the simmering bubbles of a fresh Pepsi tickled my nose. I fought back a sneeze.
“One more drink doctor,” Big Jim asserted with a raised index finger.
Big Jim lived up to his name. He checked in just a biscuit under 400. A former farmhand who outlived his profession years ago, Big Jim carried the weight about as well as possible. I could tell his frame was over 6’5 even though I had not seen him stand. He looked like a former NFL offensive lineman you would see at some kind of depressing autograph session in a dusty convention center in Cleveland.
I thought about asking Big Jim if he was a former football player, especially since his dementia was so bad. Maybe he had the football-caused brain damage that is all the rage these days? But resisted. I’m old enough to know large people consistently hate being asked if they used to play sports.
So instead, I let Big Jim take a few more gulps of his last Pepsi and I daydreamed out the dirty window of his trailer home, staring at the light rain misting upon the white propane tank in his backyard.
I followed Big Jim’s voice back to the kitchen table where he placed his elbow on the table and stuck his hand out in a way which made it look like he wanted to arm wrestle me, but I would not arm wrestle the once-powerful man. I would hook his arm to a plastic bag which hung next to my head via a needle and shoot fast-acting poison through his veins.
It never took long for the secret sauce I use to take action. Pretty soon I was alone again in Big Jim’s trailer with just the sound of the sizzling soda lying in front of him on the table.