The Silence

Message from an old friend:
Listening to Pink FLoyd, Division Bell.
Never fails to pull back decades ond memories of you.

I had to close the conversation down, because the nearest I am to Division Bell right now is the track Keep Talking. If I talk to my old friend, I will tell him, so I fob him off. But why, when I leave it here in plain sight? For me there's a comfort in putting it out there where anyone could see it, yet somehow it's not loud. I am not hiding, I'm just in a quiet place. And this particular mate has been through difficult times himself to the extent I think it told on his nerves in some major way. He's a kind man. No point adding to the pressure.

That probably makes no sense. Keep Talking's not really applicable either, except partially:

There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I sit in the corner
And no one can bother me
I think I should speak now (why won't you talk to me?)
I can't seem to speak now (you never talk to me)
My words won't come out right (what are you thinking?)
I feel like I'm drowning (what are you feeling?)

Keep Talking is about a relationship falling apart; that's not my issue, unless it's the relationship I have with my own voice. But when I can't talk, I can write, my natural form of communication. I am forcing myself to write this now because something needs to be expressed. It will work, it is working already.

So about that silence; you hear it, recognise it in the moment you tell someone. Perhaps there are particular nuances re breast cancer, for many reasons including the way society's been staring since before the acquisition of one's first bra. The silence seems very still but moves quickly, sharper than a pause, and it comes with a specific expression. I would say pity, but pity has many negative connotations. This is not that simpering thing that makes one want to scream and lash out, break noses, set fire to people's hair. It is shock, regret on one's behalf. The silence is a kind thing. I don't scorn it, but somehow its presence hurts me. And yet I add to it.

I heard that silence today at the doctors, as I got my next prescription of Letrozole and we checked a couple of dodgy moles. There's some kind of weird connection between melanoma and breast cancer. I am pretty much prime melanoma territory, with fair freckly skin given protracted exposure to strong sunlight in early life. But in any case, it doesn't matter yet. After the mole-checking, the doctor paused and there it was again, the silence and that expression before she asked, 'how are you coping?'

I sat there and shrugged.

That's where the song comes in.