When she’s not writing or rectifying the blankness of various-sized canvases, Ashley Anne Eubanks is rescuing canoes from the commode and dancing arrhythmically to songs about sandwiches with her 2 angelic daughters in their 1688 square feet of paradise on the south end of Fort Smith. At night she tucks the girls in bed and gets lost in cyberspace til slumber time, visions of book deals dancing in her head. Supplemental to creative pursuits, she’s hard at work obtaining her MA in English at ATU-Russellville. Visit her blog.
Room 111
By Ashley Anne Eubanks
By Ashley Anne Eubanks
The bleeping and buzzing of iPhones and BlackBerry devices,
the gushing of rainwater from the decaying gutters and downspouts outside the window,
the harsh white noise of too many conversations competing for air,
the crackling of candy wrappers and snack-sized bags of potato chips,
the crunching of said chips,
the clicking of bottle caps or of nails nervously tapping on desks,
the smacking lips of gum-chewers,
a man walks in with confidence in his step,
saunters to the front of the room, and
–suddenly–
all noise dissipates except
the gushing of rainwater from the decaying gutters and downspouts outside the window.
It is time for class to begin.
Love this. Just dropped my 16 y.o. daughter at school for her junior year. But this is evocative for me too, all those years ago. The imagery is that much better because it is raining this morning as I read it. Thanks!
I had no idea where you were going with today’s mainstream of noises. Then you tied it in a perfect little bow.
I can hear and see this. Well done.