Listening

            I am sitting in Graham dining hall. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind so that I can focus on just my sense of hearing. At first all I can hear is the dull roar of students talking, laughing, whispering, screaming, and shuffling their feet along the tiled floor. There is a squeaking of sneakers against the floor, the shuffle of boots, and the click of heals as people run around and get their food and seat as fast as they can. Then I can hear the clinking of silverware being pulled out of their holders and thrown onto trays. They crash into plates, plastic trays, plates, some fall onto the ground and then the cup and the plate fall as well. There is a loud crash and some bouncing and when the cup and the plate finally start to settle on the ground, there is a loud and then muted suction sound. Then the laughing begins and the chaos of noise in the dining hall continues. There is a boom of trays being removed and replaced with more food. There is scraping along the trays as students scoop out their food of choice. There is a hum of the drink machines and a rumble and a splash as the liquids pour out into the cups. There is a buzz of a heating system and a background noise of some sports team playing above me. Finally I hear a screeching of pushing chairs away from the tables and a smash as they are pushed back in.

            I am sitting in the lobby of Shaffer art building. It is the middle of the day so it is fairly busy. I re-center myself so I can focus on listening again. There’s an echo and a rumble from behind me coming from the auditorium. I can hear a professor droning on about something or other trying to get her students involved. The door opens and I can hear the wind hissing outside. There is a shuffle of feet and a brushing of heavy winter coats and boots. Someone around the corner is talking about the art hanging on the wall. There is someone here drawing and I can here the pencil up against her paper swooshing up and down. Her hand is against the page and it brushes against the paper every time her pencil moves. There is a clanging of pencils in her pencil case as she pulls something else out. Then I hear the rubbing of the eraser and quick strokes fixing an error in her drawing.  Someone else walks in and sits down on the benches next to me. I hear the squish of the cushion and the smack between the person’s body and the leather seat. They un-zipper their bag and pull something out of it. They begin typing on their computer, and I decide to make me exit.

            I am now sitting in People’s Place under Hendrick’s chapel. It is fairly quiet here since this is not only a chapel but also a kind of a study room. There is a clanking of coffee cups, a rustle of saran wrap, a crunch of paper bags, and the slap of coffee cups to a table. There are orders being placed in the background and change being spilled on the ground and on the counter of the window. There is slurping of liquid and smacking of teeth chewing some sort of baked good. There is whispering and giggling and a series of zippers being unzipped, turning of pages, and slamming of textbooks. The person next to me has their ipod on very loudly and I can hear the dull roar of whatever hip-hop they are listening to. There are doors opening and closing from the outside and a dull squeal of the wind outside. It sounds cold. When I listen closely to this “quiet” place of refuge, I realize it really isn’t very quiet at all.