It is a Sunday evening and I am filled with the same melancholy that descends every Sunday night. Monday morning feels very close and I want more time for me and for what I want to do or need to do.
The dog has just leapt up on to the window sill and lands with a thud. All 65 pounds of him have landed a jump three feet straight up. A dog is barking outside on the street seven stories below but the canyon of the buildings echo it up to us. My dog is growling long and deep and slow. It is as if he is deciding whether or not to bark. He holds one long growl that ends in a burst of a bark. The dog below barks up at him and now my dog shoots four quick barks back.
A sudden burst of laughter from the other room makes me jump. My husband watches television on his headphones because he needs the volume a little loud. So when he laughs, the laughter is so much louder than he knows because he can not hear himself. I am at first a bit irritated and then I smile. I love his laugh.
Sunday evening has a lot of car and truck traffic below. I wonder if people have all extended their day just a little longer than they probably should have because… the sun. Perhaps they too are feeling the Sunday night blues.
Footsteps. Luke. Fast and heavy steps. Fridge opens with the sucking release sound of the vacuum seal. It closes again quickly with an unintentional slam and the jars in the door rattle.
Then there is some banging from my other son’s bedroom. He is in a gaming tournament and usually the banging means bad news.
The radiator in the living room just loud banged like a drum. Just one time. I know that means that it had been off all day because… the sun. Now the metal is expanding and it drum bangs every few minutes. The night is getting cold with the March wind.
Footsteps. Dylan. Heavy and slow. Sucking release of the fridge door and slight aluminum clang of a seltzer can and then the slide of his barn door. He is back in his room. I hope there is no more desk banging.
Now the dog is on his side and he is snoring. It sounds like the purring of a cat. And, because this is a post about what I hear, I can not share with you the smell that seems to be coming from him all of a sudden.
Water running in the kitchen sink and something is being washed because I can hear the interrupted flow. Not all of the dishes though because now it is done. There were more dishes than that.
Every time I shift on the couch, there is a creaking sound of plastic rubbing against the cement wall. It is the surround sound speaker that is perched on the corner of the couch. It does not deliver any tv sound but it does make a racket of creaking. I wonder why we keep that speaker that never speaks.
It is Sunday night and while I am a bit melancholy, I am also warmed by the closeness of my people, in my Bronx apartment, by my banging radiator. When I really listen to the noises, my heart quiets. Contentment sits with melancholy. The tension between the two tires me toward sleep.