by Crystal Erickson

Created on: October 05, 2009

I bumped into her at a downtown antique store. She invited me over for a cup of coffee the next morning and I accepted. I hadn't known Susan long but I felt it was worth getting to her know better. She seemed level-headed and self-assured-traits I admired.

I knocked on the side door to the kitchen and heard her say, "Come in!" After offering me a fresh-brewed cup of coffee, she resumed spoon feeding her toddler, Erica. We chatted as she put the baby down for a nap. That's when I noticed it. Absolute silence. I looked around - no television in sight. I spied a radio on the kitchen shelf but no sounds were forthcoming. The rise and fall of our conversation was the only noise that morning as we talked earnestly and at length as young women do, about husbands, children and mutual friends.

Visits to her home became a regular occurrence. I never heard a television blaring or radio squawking. I found myself eagerly anticipating the peacefulness and calm that served as the backdrop for our conversations.

You see, I was never comfortable alone in absolute silence. It scared me. It was oppressive. Whenever I would feel its heaviness surround me I scurried for a dial somewhere anxious to tune it in and turn it up. Yet it was apparent that Susan was very comfortable spending a large portion of her day in silence. I began asking myself questions.

Why did I need constant noise? Perhaps I was lonely and needed the company of other voices? Maybe I didn't like being with myself? Could it be that I was afraid that silence would lead to (heaven forbid) introspection? Nevertheless, I decided to explore this phenomenon and see if I could learn to like it.

I started out in small doses. When getting ready for work some mornings I would "try it out." Then on weekends when the husband and kids weren't around I would "try it on" for an hour or so. I discovered that it wasn't oppressive after all but actually quite liberating.. I came to realize when I made time for silence, how rare and precious it was. Because it never occurs naturally in our daily lives. We are constantly bombarded with noise at every turn. I discovered that I liked my own company and that my soul felt nurtured after wrapping up in a cloak of silence.

Months passed, and a few days before Susan moved out of state she gave me, as a parting gift, the mug that I had always drank out of during our visits. Thirty years later I still have it. Sometimes I'll take it out of the cupboard, fill it with coffee (black), contemplate my life and remember my good friend - in complete silence of course.

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