Peace and Quiet

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Peace and Quiet

By Plot Roach

“I’ll only be gone a couple of hours.” Jason said, as he kissed his wife goodbye. “I just need to get this article written so that I can email it to my boss tonight. Otherwise, I won’t get paid.”

“I know, Honey. Just do your best and I’ll be here with the kids.” she said, her eyes glazed over from lack of sleep. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and made a dash for the car, in case she should change her mind. He waved goodbye, but she did not see, having already closed the door behind her.

Once in traffic, he began to feel the weight of parenthood drop off of his shoulders. It was an almost giddy sensation, tinged slightly with guilt over escaping screaming children and an irate spouse. He looked into the rearview mirror and sighed at his own reflection. He looked like a human raccoon, with dark circles under both eyes from lack of sleep. A few stains on one shoulder betrayed the spit up he received from one of the twins, Casey, when he walked her through their minute apartment in order to calm her cries before she could wake her brother, Connor.

“Gotta get this done.” he said to himself. “If I put this article off one more time, the boss is going to have my head on a silver platter and a pink slip in my fist.” He dodged through traffic at the fastest speed he dared without gambling for a speeding ticket. Within twenty minutes he was at the 'Writing Room', a studio where writers could get a little peace and quiet with a cup of coffee as they worked on their projects.

He pulled into the parking lot, almost forgetting to lock the car in his eagerness to get into the building. He lugged the laptop case behind him, feeling the weight of it and vowing that he would find a way to get more sleep and be more productive, even with the new twins.

Again, the poison of guilt rode to the surface of his thoughts, as pictures of the twins, asleep and cute, flashed in his brain. Then came the mental image of his wife, thin and beautiful, as she was before the pregnancy and birth of their offspring, not the bloated and exhausted creature she had become in the last few months. He slipped his identification card through the reader and the door rewarded him with an audible click. He rushed past reception, barely speaking: “The usual, Vicky.”

He took up his usual spot, the last office on the left of the hallway. He was close to the bathroom and the emergency exit, and far enough away from Johnson, a man who insisted on using an old fashioned typewriter, though the keys could be heard clacking through the walls of anyone unfortunate to be seated next to his office. Why can’t the old man join the new century, he thought. Laptop keys are much more quiet. He unpacked his laptop and plugged the power cord into the wall. Next to come out of the case were the gel wrist pad and the optical mouse. A few other odd bits and pieces exited the bag, including a number two pencil that had been chewed until most of the yellow paint had fallen off. This Jason put behind one ear. It was his good luck charm. Anytime he became frustrated with a piece he was writing on, he would slip the pencil in his mouth and chew on it a bit, relieving some of the tension, though at times it added yellow bits of paint in the crevices of his teeth.

A light tap was followed by his studio door opening, Vicky held out the coffee mug. “One cream and three sugars.” she said, smiling as he nodded his thanks. His hands were already flying on the keys, the article being summoned by his sheer force of will. He was well within his ‘zone’ when the music that was piped through the offices as ‘white noise’ switched from a naturescape with accompanying piano to a new piece he had never heard before.

It stared off with the noise of cars, engines revving, gears changing and even a honking horn or two. Then came the sounds of people talking. And last there were the babies. The unmistakable cries of newborns that haunted his nights and ruled his waking hours. Babies crying! Anything but babies crying! And they are worse than my own children, he thought. And summoned once again to his mind came the crying faces of his children and the screaming face of his beloved wife. He had left them less than an hour earlier, but here they were in his little sanctuary. Gone was the writing mojo that he had summoned like some godlike muse to help him finish his article and beat the last deadline. The last line he typed stood out like a skeletal limb of a tree against a hellish winter storm. It hung there in cyberspace, flaccid and fruitless.

He took several deep breaths, trying to summon the courage and tranquility to start again. But it was pointless, all he could focus upon was the family that he had left behind. “Vicky!” he called, perhaps a bit too shrill.

“Yes, Mr. Hannover?”

“What is THIS that is playing over the speakers?”

“Oh, that. It’s called ‘Sounds of the City‘. Some of our other residents said that they couldn’t concentrate with the tranquil things that we play here, so we decided to play something that they were used to. You know, sounds that remind them of home.”

“Can you turn it off?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s locked into the system and the computer to change it is at an offsite location.”

“So when will it stop on its own?”

“Not for another six hours, I’m afraid.”

Jason began to pack up his laptop, throwing the other items haphazardly into the case after it. “What’s wrong?” Vicky asked.

“I’m going home.” he said, almost snapping his lucky pencil between his hands. “Where I can get some peace and quiet.”