Despite the chill I feel at my desk, the
heater roars, ineffectually, but steadily—mere white noise that I
generally endeavor to ignore. In quiet, thoughtful moments, it returns to
my awareness, and in an odd twist of perception, it seems as if someone were
playing with its volume as my attention meanders to and away from it.
Reflecting on that noise, I expand my awareness, considering the other
oft-ignored stimuli in my ears—the tapestry of sound hanging in the background
while I work.
 |
| By Luis Lima89989, via Wikimedia Commons |
I hear my own keyboard clacking faintly as my
fingers slide here and there, pressing keys. Farther afield, in various
unseen corners of the large space in which I sit, chairs momentarily creak or
roll. Someone taps papers together.
To my right, a printer revs up with a whirr, and
I hear it churning out documents, each page landing with a gentle tick.
Moments after it finishes, some unidentifiable machine in the coffee
shop’s corner starts grinding away. Before my muscles can start to ache
with tension against the unpleasantness, the clamor stops, replaced after a
while by the musical clinking of glasses being jostled together.
A soft creak emerges on my left as a student
opens the nearer door leading to the vestibule, followed moments later by a
louder “swoom,” like a great inhalation, as another student broaches the door
on the far end of the same area. My opposite ear hears a metallic click
and snick, then a more generic thunk as some sneaky person uses the stapler at
the front desk and sets it down, then departs with nary a tramp of a foot or a swish of clothing.
Through this mesh of sounds occasionally comes
the scrape of shoes passing over the carpet by the doors, as well as the tapping—near
and distant—of footsteps on waxed tile, varied with the intermittent squeak of
tennis shoes or the slide of a foot—a susurrus like someone practicing soft-shoe.
These are joined in some cases by the jingling of keys with each step, by the
hum of a briefcase or bookbag rolling on wheels, or by the
high-pitched “cling” of something metal striking the barricade around the
atrium overlooking the library.
A regular, percussive rhythm enters the room, joined shortly by a set of footsteps and the harsh, staticy jangle of indistinct
music pouring from poorly insulated earbuds. I give the student a minute
to settle in, a chance for him to do the considerate thing and drop the volume.
Under the “music,” I listen to his steps, the roll of a chair, the plunky-creak
of him sitting. Moments later, the metallic beats fade away, leaving only the
usual ambient sounds.
A woosh accompanies a small group of people who
slowly tap their way into the room, one voice chattering above the rest as a
student ambassador guides the prospective student’s family around the building.
Above the ambassador’s voice, and above the sharp, steady ripping of
paper from a notebook, the familiar tones of an instructor carries from the far
corner of the room where she conducts her class. Elsewhere, someone’s foot
drums a quick rhythm, then stops just as suddenly as it began.
After the tour group passes, quiet voices
continue to murmur here and there. A laugh rises momentarily like
birdsong above the forest. For a moment, all fades to unexpected silence…
Then, a pair of coughs. The symphony of
sound resumes: The sibilant slide of a coat sloughed off of shoulders. The
quiet thump of a book set on a counter. A ringtone, sharply cut off. Approaching treads followed by
the grinding of the pencil sharpener just yards away. A high-pitched
thrum, signaling that someone has activated the automatic door. It admits quick, clicking footsteps and the faint whizzing of a bookcase wheeled
along behind.
All the various sounds weave together, creating
a tapestry of space and activity almost as clear as sight. And through it all, though I still
sometimes tune it out, the heater’s fan roars on like the din of a distant
waterfall.
