Enough pain. Enough emotional turmoil. Enough violence. Just enough. This wasn’t the way her life was supposed to go.
She was only 24, but she’d been with the old man for four years. Back then, she was searching for a way out of her family situation. Now, she was searching for a solution to her ill-advised solution back then.
She knew he would eventually kill her if she didn’t escape him. He had seemed so kind and gentle at first. As time passed, there were still moments of that, but most of the moments he saved for abuse.
It started with verbal abuse. He would say terrible things to her about her appearance and temperament. He ramped it up with emotional abuse. He would withhold any affection for weeks at a time. He would do horrible things just to make her cry. As he got older, he couldn’t stand that she was still young and jealousy sprung up.
He insisted on a sparkling clean house no matter how she felt. She hated the sight of that mop in the corner. She wanted to chop it up and throw it away. He had started hitting her in the head with it along with his fists. She swore to herself never again.
When he came home that night, and hit her again, she was ready for him.
The mop had one more use. She had to mop up the blood before the police came.
Introduction: Way back in the day, everyone loved Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.” It was an anthem for the baby boom generation, including me. Flash forward to about 2016. I heard a cover of the song by the band Disturbed and it knocked me off my feet – and still does. This story is about that song, but the Disturbed interpretation of it. Maybe I should say my interpretation of their interpretation.
Here are the lyrics for those of you not familiar:
Hello darkness, my old friend I’ve come to talk with you again Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams, I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone ‘Neath the halo of a street lamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light, I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening People writing songs that voices never shared And no one dared Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools” said I, “You do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you” But my words, like silent raindrops fell And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made And the sign flashed out its warning In the words that it was forming Then the sign said, “The words on the prophets are written on the subway walls In tenement halls” And whispered in the sound of silence
The Sound of Silence
No one talks to each other anymore. At least not in America. Not in other countries either or so I’ve heard. All we hear is the sound of silence. People who are alone and lonely. Families who have broken apart. Friendships that have been destroyed. Neighbors holding grudges against neighbors.
When people do talk to each other, it is with raised voices and it is a tirade of hate, misunderstanding and evil. So silence has fallen upon the masses.
We’re afraid to disturb that silence. Our society has become so fragile we can hear our world coming apart. The ripping of those societal bonds is silent, but we know and hear it anyway.
We try to talk with them, to reason with them. We might as well stay silent as their neon god has convinced them that it is us against them. All we want to do is save ourselves and our country. They don’t seem to see that we will be destroyed if the silence prevails. How have they been blinded and deafened? Can’t they compare the current state of affairs to history? Instead of dialogue, there is the well of silence.
That was decades ago. I can’t imagine why one has popped up in our neighborhood. Who reads anymore?
People say they are visual learners now. Pictures, videos, multimedia. I wonder if many books are even published anymore. I haven’t seen one until that mobile library in many years.
I know many books, back in the day, were banned and burned. They say it was for our own protection. I do remember they were protecting us from the Others who don’t think like we do.
The elderly lady looked up and the shutters were open. Her heart skipped a beat. She had waited for this moment for 50 years.
She tried to pull open the door of the old, dilapidated building, but it was stuck. She pulled as hard as her old bones would allow and it popped loose.
The memories came flooding back. This corridor used to be light and airy and full of dancing children, including herself. That was so long ago that it left her breathless.
She got to the stairs and began to pull herself up by the railing. With every step, the past flashed before her eyes. Her father and mother waiting for her at the top of the stairs., Her sister racing up the stairs by her side.
The air was musty and the old woman had a hard time breathing. She tiptoed inside the sunny apartment.
Ghosts. She saw them all. Her family. Laughing and talking. She and her sister, so happy, so innocent in those days. She came here because she wanted some of it back, the innocence. Maybe it would bring joy to her life.
She found the boxes in one of the bedrooms. Her dolls. Her puppets. Her childhood books and records. As she looked at each item, she smiled and cried at the same time.
All that was left that was important were the ghosts.
It descended upon her while she was walking through the woods. A giant web of some sort, but it didn’t seem to be finished. She heard something weaving.
She was frightened. It felt like it was grabbing at her and she tried to swipe it away.
She was coming to what seemed to be the end of it. The web had gotten smaller. The sound of weaving had gotten louder.
She fought it and tried to pull it off her. It seemed to tighten and then wrapped around her.
Welcome to my #weekendcoffeeshare #167! Please join us and pour yourself a cup of coffee or tea. There are lots of varieties on the bar.
If we were having coffee, the first thing I would share with you is that I have revamped my contact page. If any of you would like to contact me, please feel free. Just click on the link!
It’s been a busy week, both on the blog and in other parts of my life! Summer has begun here in Kentucky, U.S.A! The temperatures are heating up and the vegetation here in Daniel Boone National Forest, where I live, is lush. We had so much rain in the spring that the forest responded and the vegetation is especially lush this year. It’s like living in the rain forest!
Early in the week, my husband was doing some yard work and came across a timber rattlesnake. He was far enough away from it so it couldn’t strike, but it tried. They are quite poisonous. He took care of that problem. Here is an image of a timber rattler in case you need to know.
Timber Rattlesnake
If you see one of these guys, be calm, back away slowly, and either leave it alone or end its life as this snake is very poisonous. It’s also very common in this part of the U.S.
This week, we also attended a Celebration of Life for a friend who just passed away. She was one of my best friends and it’s been a sad time. We met when we were 6 years old and have stayed close our entire lives. I will miss her always. The Celebration of her Life was so nice with a huge turnout. It was nice because I got to see a lot of friends who I seldom see. Carol would have enjoyed it.
The cupboard was bare here at the beginning of the week so we made a trip to a couple of places we shop for groceries. One place was the local vegetable market, only open in the warm months. They have wonderful fresh vegetables and fruit. Since we try to eat healthy, we frequent this old-fashioned market often.
Fannin’s Vegetable Market, West Liberty, KY, USA
We’ve had good and healthy food to eat this week!
I’ve spent a lot of time with my two dogs this week, engaging in some dog training. Sophie, my German Shepherd dog, is already trained in obedience and protection, so I spent some time teaching her to play fly ball, which she loves. The next task is to teach her to play frisbee! Sophie likes to play fly ball with her squeaky chicken!
Sophie and her squeaky chicken
Hazel, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, is my other dog. She will be two years old soon, but she got a rocky start in life. We rescued her and she has some health challenges, so she is a little behind the curve. We love her and have to protect her from too much activity. I’ve started taking her on short walks, getting a bit longer each day. She loves her walks!
Hazel
We went out to dinner this week which we don’t often do. There is a wonderful restaurant in a little town about 40 miles away that is right on the Ohio River. We had dinner with our friends there and we really enjoyed seeing them.
If we were having coffee today, I would very much enjoy seeing you and sharing my week!I look forward to reading your #weekendcoffeeshare.
Once upon a time, there were two children who lived in the country. The girl, Mary, was 12 and the boy, Eddie, was 10. They were neighbors and became the best of childhood friends.
Mary and Eddie lived in the forest with their families. One day, their adventures led them to some steps that went up from the forest into a small clearing with the forest on either side.
Every day, they would sneak up the stairs to the clearing and play one of their imaginary games. They usually played a game they called Explorer. They would pretend to camp at the clearing and explore the forest.
One day, they discovered the remains of a campfire. They ran off into the woods to see if they could find the campers. The children stumbled across two hunters who warned them that it was hunting season and they should stay out of the woods.
They were disappointed but there were always other games to play.
Many years later, Eddie was ill. He sat in his recliner at his home and his wife tried to get him to go to the hospital. Instead of answering her, he fell into sleep or perhaps a meditative state.
He told her this story, but in bits and starts. She thought he was hallucinating and called the paramedics. Before they arrived, Eddie finished the story, fell into sleep, and then he was gone. He left with the memory of his Glory Days on his mind.
Thanks to Ayr/Gray for hosting the #unicornchallenge.
The picture that you see above was where my grandfather went to what passed for higher education (college) around the turn of the 20th century – the late 1800s and early 1900s. It was called the Kentucky Normal College.
Higher education in Appalachia has always been problematic because of both the geographic isolation of the region and the Appalachian cultural values. To this day, there are few good roads in and out of the heavily mountainous region of the U.S. Until fairly recently, there were few institutions of higher learning that existed in the region.
Cultural values also played a role in the lack of higher education in Appalachia. Jobs that were available were mostly blue collar. Coal miners and farmers are two of the main examples. It was not thought that men working at those professions needed to go to college, except in the case of mining engineers, and women were encouraged to make a family and not to go to college.
Appalachian women were certainly not encouraged to seek higher learning in the past since their role was to run the family home and raise the children. Some of these stereotypes still exist today.
The maternal side of my family, who lived deep in Eastern Kentucky, did not subscribe to these beliefs. My maternal grandfather saw it as a great point of pride that all of his eight children left the area to receive college degrees and some higher levels of graduate education.
He was a farmer and an employee of an oil company. He had a large farm, but simultaneously he worked for an oil company in Kentucky helping to map the mineral deposits and who owned them in his part of the state. Kentucky, particularly the Appalachian portion of Kentucky, has vast deposits of minerals including coal, oil, and natural gas. He believed in higher education and wanted his eight children, including the six girl children to do well in life.
After my grandfather graduated from what was high school in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, he was fortunate enough to go on to the only real college accessible to him. That college was Kentucky Normal College in Louisa, KY. Another student at that college, at the same time, was Fred Vinson, who later became Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. They were close friends.
As time passed, some of the children of Appalachia were able to attend colleges and universities just outside their home areas. In Kentucky, several colleges were on the fringes of Appalachia and had a large percentage of Appalachian students enrolled. Two of the early ones were Morehead State University in Morehead, KY and Eastern Kentucky University in Richmond, KY.
Many of the colleges were originally “normal” schools. Normal schools are colleges that primarily train teachers. The students received a bachelor’s degree in teacher education. Later, in the 20th century, these normal schools expanded to full-fledged colleges and universities. They still have a sizable percentage of Appalachian students enrolled.
Not everyone in Appalachia was as progressive as my grandfather. That’s still the case in some areas. The girls in many families were not encouraged to go to any college. Even the boys were encouraged to stay and work on the family farm or in the coal mines. Many were drafted to serve in World Wars I and II. Others enlisted.
There are now a few scattered colleges and universities in the Appalachian regions. A Kentucky example is the University of Pikeville in Pikeville, KY which is deep in the coal-producing area of the Appalachian area in the state.
Higher education still continues to be a problem in Appalachia. Many potential students stay home and work close to home, some all their lives. Some have migrated outside the area to find work, primarily to Ohio and Michigan. In the 1950s and 1960s, there was a mass migration out of Eastern Kentucky to the north, often to work in the automobile factories.
It is often even difficult to sell the benefits of high school education to the people of Appalachia. They see more value in their children staying close to home. One of the primary cultural characteristics of Appalachia is the clannish nature of the people.
Distance learning and online education have helped the problem of lack of access to higher education in Appalachia although that is a reasonably new solution. Money for the infrastructure for widely-based broadband in the Appalachia area of Kentucky has recently been allocated under the infrastructure bill.
She walked away from her home because she needed to think. Depression and anxiety were plaguing her. She felt like she was losing her mind. Her heart was sick.
She arrived at the path that led to the ocean. She started to walk toward the ocean. She wanted it to swallow her. Maybe then she could forget.
When she got to the sculptures, she stopped and admired them. A feeling of hope washed over her. She wanted to live, really live. After standing there, she turned to walk home.
She knew what she had to do.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting #friday Fictioneers!
The Appalachian Honor Culture is a phenomenon that exists in the Appalachian Mountains, U.S., but also exists in other forms in different geographical areas in the U.S.
Sometimes I think I have lived in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, U.S. for so long that I take for granted the cultural differences that exist here and other places outside these hills.
The Appalachian Honor Culture is one of those cultural behaviors that have existed in these mountains ever since the Native American people here were encroached on by the white European settlers. This culture involves how people of the Appalachians settle their differences.
If a person, particularly a man, in Appalachia is insulted, embarrassed, called out, or shamed in any way, the Appalachian Honor Culture demands that they react either with threats of violence or immediate violence. As an example, let’s say that one man insults another man’s wife or one man comments on any aspect of another man’s life in a negative fashion, Appalachian men react with their fists first and think about legal charges of assault later.
This scenario is played out in Appalachia, especially southern Appalachia, over and over in cases of small, unintended embarrassments to bigger insults and arguments. There is usually no talking about a problem and settling it peacefully. Either violence erupts or something more insidious like the holding of grudges. Appalachians can hold a grudge, and often do, for a lifetime, even against members of their own family. It isn’t only men who uphold the Appalachian Honor Culture. Women do as well.
Let’s take my maternal grandmother as an example. She was, in many ways, a woman ahead of her time, but she was also an Appalachian through and through. There were members of our family and extended family that she held a grudge against for a lifetime. There was seldom such a thing as forgiveness even long after the issue that caused the grudge was long forgotten.
She loved my grandfather with a passion even though they seldom agreed on anything. If another woman, however, tried to make inroads with him, she would have picked up her shotgun and run her off their property without hesitation. Then, she would hold a grudge against the woman forever. This was and still is normal behavior in the Appalachian Mountains.
In Appalachia, you have a rather odd mix of people who are the nicest people you’ve ever known, the coldest and most stubborn people you’ve ever known, coupled with violence and feuds that could rival any gang activity in big cities.
The earliest settlers of the area came, in large part, from the Anglo-Scottish borderlands, and parts of Ireland and Great Britain with a smattering of Germans thrown in. You may find similar cultural anomalies in these areas that the immigrants brought with them to the U.S.
The Write Scribe 