If I Just Lay Here

I came into the bedroom about twenty minutes ago. I lay on the bed, staring at the wall.

If I just lay here, I thought, I wonder how long it will take for anyone to notice.

So here I lie, waiting, wondering, but mostly, just silently lying here. Staring at the wall. Sometimes, there’s nothing else you can do. Just wait. And stare.

It’s better than thinking, spinning, rolling thoughts.

I hear the buzz of their conversation in the other room. I hear it. I’m not part of it. I don’t really want to be part of it. Chatter, for the sake of chatter. I have nothing of value of which to input, no wisdom to impart. I am set apart from the buzz, from the noise, it belonging to me, but me not belonging to it. Blather, really, of nothing important, no consequence, just idle chit-chat because sometimes hearing the sound of your own voice is better than being uncomfortably silent.

I prefer comfortable silence, but with so many people in one house, it’s hard to be silent, and often harder to be comfortable.

So here I am, just lying here.

No one has asked, “Hey, where’s mom?”

No one has wondered; no one has worried. Yet.

Will they? Will they even notice?

I’m just going to lay here (because, indeed, I don’t think grammatically correctly) until someone notices that I’m doing nothing but laying here.

Banging from the kitchen, some chatter about a card game. I wonder if anyone noticed I was in the middle of making juice and left everything in the other room, unfinished. I wonder a lot of things, because, when all you’re doing is lying there in the bed, staring at the wall, your mind wanders, and eventually, you end up wondering.

About a lot of things.

Arguing now, who is going to wash the dishes. Who is going to clean the floor. Always arguing. No one is eager to do tasks, even though they know it makes my life easier. I get it. Washing dishes isn’t my favorite pastime either, but I’ve washed plenty in my time.

And still, I lie here, waiting for… for what, exactly? I don’t know, but I’m waiting.

I’m sort of numb. I don’t really feel anything. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I’m not… I don’t even know what I’m not, any more than I know what I am.

Well, I know I am just lying here. Waiting. For something.

Time passes, and no one realizes I was just laying there, so eventually, I get up, and I manage to make my way, slowly, always slowly, into the other room.

That is then when I am noticed.

My absence is not worth attention. My presence is. I’m not sure if that is exactly how I would prefer that to be, but it’s something, I guess.

Now, I sit here and type this to you. And you would probably think my life sucks, or that I’m depressed, or that something is wrong. It’s not. I’m not. There isn’t.

It’s just… sometimes, I just want to lay there, and wonder. And sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just lay there.

I guess today is one of those sometimes.

Love and stuff,
Michy

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3 comments to If I Just Lay Here

  • Rissa Watkins  says:

    I could have written this today. Absolutely could have written it. Move over, I am gonna lay there with you and we can keep each other company while we wait to see if anyone notices.

    • Michy Devon  says:

      Pull up a pillow. It’s a huge bed, and I just got brand new pillows in too… they’re soft.

  • Derek Odom  says:

    I have BEEN there! I’ve done exactly this. I used to do things like this a lot as a child. I would just go lie somewhere or hide, and wait to see how long it took anyone to figure out I was gone. Or maybe I’d play somewhere I never, ever played, just so that when mom found me I was playing (or reading) instead of obviously doing nothing.

    I loved the tone of this piece. If this were a story, I’d definitely gobble up more.

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