The Noise
Mandy (20s) waits to be interviewed by the police. She questions her actions and tries to work out why she did what she did.
(3-5 minutes). . .
Why did I do it?
Because I wanted it more than I ever wanted anything … It didn’t matter that my dream was someone else’s nightmare.
I had the formula; disposable nappies, dummies, a teddy from Save the Children because babies don’t notice second hand do they?
Nobody even noticed it was missing.
And I grinned all the way home. Visions of soft pink skin smelling of Johnson’s baby powder, happy smiles and contented gurgles . . . and cuddles – so many cuddles. I’d be a good mum, a kind mum, loving, patient, and never ever cross . . . I’d read it stories and sing it to sleep. Its first word would be, ‘Mummy.’
When we got home . . . it all changed.
Just a whimper at first; you could ignore it. I tried to pretend it was teething pains – not as in teeth – Christ no, it was far too young – but teething as in a problem – my problem, because I wasn’t used to it . . . didn’t know what to do because I didn’t have anyone to show me.
I did what I could. Changed it, fed it, waved the teddy in front of its face . . . and I laughed. Convinced myself we just needed time . . . time to get used to each other.
‘You’ll love me one day,’ I told it, but it didn’t help . . .
The whimper turned into a wail. And it wouldn’t give up. On and on and on and nothing I did made a difference. And suddenly . . . it was me. I was the one shouting, “Shut the fuck up!”
And I was tired . . . so so tired. I begged it, “Just give me a couple of hours, please.”
But of course, it wouldn’t listen and I couldn’t think straight because noise – unwanted noise – it’s like a hammer, banging, pounding, constantly . . . bang, bang, bang . . . and it won’t leave you alone. You can’t think about anything else and there’s no way out while the noise is there, happening, inside your head. I had to stop it.
Didn’t have a choice.
I grabbed the Silent Night pillow . . . and it delivered on its promise.
I slept then.
Don’t know how long, but I slept . . . like a baby. And in the morning I made coffee, tried not to look at my mistake, turned on the TV . . . and there it was . . . breaking news. An appeal for witnesses. On screen, the Mother’s Hospital, and that woman crying noiselessly, flawed by the loss of her child.
I heard them coming. Didn’t bother to run or hide. What’s the point?
The sirens, getting nearer . . .
Boots thundering up the concrete stairwell . . .
Doors banging, men shouting . . . smashing down the door . . .
And people I’ve never met before spilled into my life, uninvited.
“Why did you do it?” they said.
Good question.
I guess it was the noise.
Too. Much. Noise . . .
But not enough to wake the dead.
© Wendy Storer 2020