Infinite Monkey

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Raindrops and Chainsaws

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evil-dead-image08 jane levy mia raining blood chainsawUm,

it’s 9:17pm on a stormy Saturday night.
The house is quiet.
My kitchen window is open,

venting the steam from a pot of bone broth that is simmering on the stove . . .
and then —
“Is that a chainsaw?” I say.
My husband, in the next room,
pulls the earphones from his ears and says, “Did you say something?”
“Yeah, is that a chainsaw?”
A moment of uncomfortable silence
as he assesses the sound.

“Yeah, that sounds like a chainsaw.”

We both laugh,

but in a way that says, “Is the neighbor being dismembered?”

Then we laugh again
this time more heartily, because we know
EXACTLY what each other’s awkward laugh meant.

(But no one moves)

“At 9 o’clock at night?”
More laughter.
The sounds of a revving chainsaw punctuating the night air
and our conversation.

“Yeah, what could someone possibly be doing at 9pm on a rainy Saturday night — with a chainsaw?”

(– in an apartment complex?)

More laughter.

Still . . . no one moves

No one goes to a window, opens a door or even walks to the room (the kitchen) where the sound is nearest

More chainsaw —
for about 5 more minutes.

Then, nothing.


Written by Rainee Squatch

September 28, 2013 at 9:43 pm

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