THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE

I walked down the hall on my way to programming logic class but my attention was diverted by a noise coming from the boiler room. It was a strange sound. I wanted to know what would make such a sound badly enough to employ independent thinking, venturing through the darkness of the stairway where I knew I shouldn’t be, down the cement stairs, and closer to that sound.

When I got to the bottom of the stairway I could see Vincent, the maintenance man, sitting on a box with his back to me, all hunched over. The sound he was making was bizarre and it was also quite beautiful, I think.

He heard me approach and turned his head, looking over his shoulder he said, “Who’s that?”

“It’s only me, sir, Carmella Jones. I’m sorry to bother you but, what is that sound you’re making?” I asked. “Is that what they called music?”

“Why, little miss, haven’t you ever heard a harmonica before?” He asked.

“No, sir. I never have but it’s very interesting. How does it work?”

“Come on and set yourself down right here and I’ll play you a nice little song,” He said as he patted the top of the crate that was just to his left. “But you’ve got to promise me you won’t tell anyone, okay? Deal?”

“I promise. Is it hard to make it do that, to make those sounds? Do you have to program it?” I asked.

“No, little lady, it’s something…..well it’s something you feel inside your heart and then you blow it out into these little holes and out comes the music. It’s like magic. Sit down, sit down and I’ll show you” Vincent said.

I knew that music was not allowed in school and although my actions were very illogical and definitely not approved, I eagerly sat down.

The noise he made, oh, it was wonderful and I smiled. He tapped his foot and soon I was tapping mine. How barbaric it was but mesmerizing. My body swayed back and forth in the most peculiar, animalistic manner and we were having a fine time, Vincent and I, until Dean White came down the stairs.

Vincent stopped making the noise. He stood up abruptly and turned around to face the Dean.

“What is going on down here, Vincent? What are you two doing?” He asked in a loud voice the echoed through the basement.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I was just finishing my lunch hour when young Carmella wandered down her……I was just playing a little tune” He replied, his voice quivering. “I see no harm in that, Sir.”

“A little tune! You know there is no music allowed on school grounds and we have zero tolerance about this issue. I’m surprised at you, Vincent, such a frivolous activity, filling this child’s head with that type of stupidity” Dean White said spitting as the word stupidity came off his lips. He was very agitated.

I stood motionless, my eyes down to show respect and submission and in recognition of the error of my actions. I should have never come down here.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again, I promise” said Vincent. He hung his head, eyes down and nervously played with the zipper of his uniform jacket.

The Dean walked over to me and taking me by the arm he abruptly led me back up the stairs. I looked over my shoulder at Vincent, standing there with his harmonica silenced, shining in his hand, the light casting a white wash of illumination over his final image. I smiled at him, to thank him. He smiled back, knowing that he had shown me something they didn’t want me to know about. Something that made me feel good inside.

“Dean White, sir, why is music not allowed in school?” I asked as we headed down the hall. “What makes it so bad?”

“It's been proven that music has no value in the modern educational system. It has very little use in today’s society at all. In fact, it has no relevance in intellectual stimulation whatsoever. Silliness is all it is. You attend your classes here at school to learn life skills that are valuable and important, skills you need, not to waste your time with such frivolous activities like listening to music or drawing pictures” He said.

“But Dean White, surely it can’t hurt us to listen to music just once in a while” I said. I couldn’t believe that I had really dared to say this out loud.

“Young Lady, I think it will do you some good to spend the rest of the week in detention, practicing your discipline, logic and programming skills. These are the things you should be focusing on, Carmella. Music and art, they belong in the museum with the dinosaurs and the cavemen” Dean said.

He opened the door to the study room and sat me down at one of the open terminals. I placed my hand on the access panel and the terminal screen recognizing my handprint and microchip and instantly replied “Good morning, Carmella. How are you today?” Microchips are implanted in your left palm between your thumb and pointer finger within hours of being born.

I didn’t ask any more foolish questions for fear that I would be sent back to BME. BME is Behavior Modification Education and when you get out of control that’s where you’re sent. Even now, two years after my one and only visit there when I was six years old and misbehaved, I am still required to take the additional supplements they ordered. Every morning I have to swallow eight huge capsules instead of the usual two. Probation won’t be over for almost another year and then I will still have to be re-evaluated at that horrible place. Independent thinking just isn’t worth the price you have to pay for a few silly thoughts.

Logical thinking was re-established. In the year 2110 we considered ourselves to be a very civilized society of high intelligence and social obedience and order. Music hasn’t been heard in schools for almost a hundred years. Most people don’t remember music and have no exposure to it except when they read about it or visit a museum. All logic aside, this made me forlorn because people didn’t care about music or art and no one, except for me and Vincent, seemed to miss it at all.

The world was full of larger and more important issues. The environmental cleanup after the Great War that ravaged the earth in 2010, eradicating two thirds of the population of this planet and the nuclear radiation factors had kept the other third of the world’s population busy with the dilemma of survival. They were too busy during the last hundred years to do anything else and evolution had phased out everything unnecessary including art and music.

The next day the announcement was made that Vincent had been replaced by a man named Tony who had a sad, stone-face and a monotone voice. I was sent back to BME for disobeying the rules of my probation. But, no matter how many drugs they gave me, no matter how many times they told me to forget, no matter how much I wanted to forget, I just couldn’t and that little tune still lived in my heart for a very long time. If the people at BME only knew I’m sure they would have wanted to remove it, heart and all.