Strange silence

My flatmate Dean, he of the often-open bedroom door, had his bedroom door open at 11:30 AM. When I came out of my room to pee again a few hours later, his door was still open, and I noticed an odd silence — his bad rock'n'roll wasn't playing.

That's peculiar, because when Dean's home and awake, his door is always open and there's usually music from his old-time hi-fi, playing loudly because he's deaf and hates headphones. Having his door open without music is rare, perhaps unprecedented.

Peeing again a few hours later, his door was still open, and without music, and I began having daydreams that he'd died. Dean is the oldest of the oldsters in this house, age 72 I believe, so it's far too late for him to die young.

And I wondered, should I knock at his open door and check on him? Much as I hate the man, I'd feel sad if he died of something slow, something he could've survived if only I'd hollered, "Hey, Dean, you OK in there?"

If I hollered, though, and he didn't answer, I'd be stuck with calling 9-1-1 and waiting around for the paramedics.

Or, worst case scenario, he'd answer and be AOK and start talking at me. So I said nothing, simply returned to my room.

At around 5:30, emerging to pee again and microwave some dinner, Dean's door was still open and the house was still quiet, and it was delightful. Being a good neighbor, though, I sighed heavily and decided I'd say something through his open door… if it was still open in a few more few hours.

Tragically, Dean started cooking in the kitchen at around 6:30, talking non-stop and loud enough to be heard over his loud music. Guess he'd simply taken a long, long nap.

When I came out for my next pee, he was still there, playing the Bee Gees and talking loudly in the kitchen, to himself.

♦ ♦ ♦   

A few days after that afternoon of strange silence, I happened out of my room just as my Dean came out of his room, both of us headed to the same destination. There's only one john, and I'd beaten him to it, but as I closed the door, he said cheerfully, "I'll wait."

This has happened before, so I knew what it meant — literally, he would wait. He'd be sitting in the chair just beyond the bathroom door, until I came out.

I wiped the residue from his legs off the toilet seat, and dropped a larger-than-usual bowel movement, the kind where you think it's finished, but wait, there's more. When it finally was finished, I wiped and reached to flush the toilet — but reconsidered.

A line from Doctor Who sums up the moment: "There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."

Instead of flushing, I stepped into the shower, and as I washed my hair and began lathering my pits, the stink of my double-dose poop in the open toilet filled the smallest room in the house. By the time I'd showered and toweled off, the stench was monumental.

Wearing only my undies, I opened the door and then flushed the toilet, and as he'd promised, Dean was in the chair, waiting for me and sipping a glass of white wine.

He put the glass down, popped up and sprinted past me into the bathroom, and as he closed the door, I heard him say, "Oh, my" — the first words he's ever spoken that I enjoyed hearing.

8/9/2023    

 itsdougholland.com
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