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Look! I can see it, feel the glass beneath my palms. They’re out of reach. The room filled with flashing dancing colors countered and followed by black and white. The rhythm thrums against my skin, yet I do not hear the music. My voice burns within my throat yet it does not reach my ears. Not even the blood frantic beneath my skin makes a sound within my head. Against my chest, it nearly hurts with the strength of it, my heart pounds, panicked and desperate.

I wake to find myself in my apartment, alone and still. The energy of my dream still coiled beneath my breast. For a moment I listen to the sound of my breath as it hisses between my teeth. To the thud of my pulse against my ears. I will never know how long I lay in my bed like that. Eventually the noises of the city streets begin to overtake the sound of my blood. The low drone of a siren passes by. A cop, followed minutes later by the higher shrill of an ambulance. The ache in my chest eases and I no longer feel the racing of my own heart.

I fall asleep again sometime later. Thankfully I remember nothing after that. If I dreamed again I can’t say. I open every window I have to let in the morning. I sit on the wood floor in the sunlight and listen to the honking of horns and the chatter of people passing by. There’s always noise in the city. At every hour, day or night. An energy ever rising and falling against the surface. It lies beneath the sound, the thrum that reverberates through your veins.

It’s always the same dream, the night before I leave the city. I can be going for a week, day, or an hour. The moment I know I have to go the silence starts to creep in. It hasn’t even been a decade since I moved to the city, yet within the first week it took hold. You breath the air, and walk the streets. You feel the thrum. Somewhere along the way your body synchronizes, feeding on the light and noise until you barely notice it. Until you realize, one day you’ll be without.

It’s my mother’s birthday, and as I do every year I take the train the two hours out of town. Away from artificial lights, running sirens and thrumming streets. I find my way back to my childhood, back to my parents and the home I do not recognize. I put my bags down, and kiss my father’s cheek, hug my mother tight, I have missed her presence dearly. I wish her happy birthday and eventually I make my  way into the kitchen. My sister’s already there, the cakes in the oven. I could smell it when I walked through the door. She’s mixed up the icing and she gives me the metal mixers like she did when we were kids. Together we sit out on the porch, she sucks on the rubber spatula while I lick the mixer. The energy here hums, low and steady. The bugs are buzzing, the breeze is at our backs.

I ask about her husband and the kids and she tells tales about crayons and school plays. I listen to her voice. Steady, constant. She’s half way through her second story by the time I realize my legs bouncing, my heal tapping against the porch. I force it still. When dad tells us the steaks are done I jump up to help set the table.

I sleep in the extra bed in the room that isn’t mine. The window’s open and I can hear the crickets chirping, the wind through the trees and I lay awake. Ears straining. There are no street lamps. The room is dark, the sky is cloudy so not even the moon shines through. I lift my hand and can’t see it inches from my face. I twist onto my side and try to ignore the sounds. My heart is pounding beneath my chest. Out of sync with the room, possessed by Electronica while playing the Waltz. I close my eyes and count, wait.

Look! I can see it. Just ahead the glowing lights, there in the distance. The sounds echo through the darkness. I can not feel it, but I know it’s there just the same. My body is moving, my heart is beating, yet the lights go dim, everything goes still. For a moment I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. My heart has gone still.

I wake half startled. Light has flooded the room. I can hear people below, my sister must be in the kitchen. It’s the same dream. The first night out of the city. When the silence has taken hold and the noise is bleeding out.

I’m in the shower minutes later, bathing in the white noise of running water. Breakfast is on the table when I come down. Foods I haven’t seen since Christmas. I eat three pancakes, two pieces of bacon, and a dozen strawberries all the while half listening to the idle chatter. My lips move when needed, I smile and laugh when called for. I’ve danced to this before. I know the steps. Then the clock strikes noon and my sister drops me off at the station. ‘You should stay longer,’ and ‘You should come more often,’ she says and I nod and agree. Two steps forward, hug, two steps back. Three steps to the train, turn back. Wave, goodbye.

I’m in my seat, my headphones on. It’s something new, it pulses and races and my heart goes steady with the familiar. My body goes still, eyes closed and I know I’m going home. I can feel the pull, the familiar embrace as we get ever closer to the city. For the first time in two days I can feel the thrum.

I step onto the platform and stand in the sunlight. It’s less than a moment, but I can feel the hum. The train shakes the platform as it passes by, the people press close and we dance aside, draw close and shift away. That night I’m curled deep, my quilt wrapped close around me. My windows are closed yet it bleeds through glass. My heart beats to it’s rhythm and I am lulled to sleep.