The Packing Up
/ September 14, 2018
Donna and I never heard a sound coming from our new neighbors, who were separated from us by thick walls of black cherry and forsythia.
Still, whenever we made love, Donna insisted on closing the windows and drawing the curtains.
She would even lock the bedroom door, though we had no children, not even a cat that could nose its way in.
Later, when we had stopped making love altogether, the house held our silence like a broken bell.
Anyone listening as they let their dog pee against our mailbox would be unable to guess whether ours was a house of passion or devastation.
Even the packing up was quiet.
Charles Rafferty is an amateur archeologist who has yet to find any artifacts.