Do you find it odd that whenever there’s a silent moment, there’s a smell that accompanies it? I didn’t realize it at first, mainly because the scent is so stealthy that it creeps into you without you realizing. It starts as the faintest whiff, and before you can wonder what it was, it’s invaded the undertones in the air.

It doesn’t matter what the air previously smelled like, because as the silence grows, so does the smell. Slowly, until that’s all that there is in the air, and any other smells are hidden. And when someone breaks the silence, your brain’s attention shifts to their startling voice _just_ long enough for the scent to disappear without a second thought.

I first realized during the chaos of a family gathering. I had walked into the bathroom because one of my aunts has an extremely strong perfume that was irritating my nose. As I was blowing my nose, I heard them call out that they were going to have a moment of silence for a loved one that had recently passed. They went quiet and I listened to the silence.

I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even realize my lack of sniffling. The scent had drowned out my aunt’s perfume. It seemed that the smell had invaded my brain after I realized. I was always on alert for the smell, trying to identify what it was. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember what it smelled like so it was like looking for alfalfa in a hay stack.

The next time that silence’s smell crept up, it took me a full eight seconds to recognize it. I breathed in the smell that had been haunting me. An indescribable, calm smell. It could have been a soft lemon, or a vibrant huckleberry. A deep, mahogany smell, or a faded field of wildflowers. It was a beautiful smell that carried so many emotions in it.

Just as I realized what the smell was, a tap startled me. I looked at the person who had tapped me, and realized that their lips were moving but I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to ask them what was going on, but I wasn’t sure if my voice was working, because I couldn’t hear it. I think we both started panicking after another moment of confusion and I was eventually taken to the doctors.

I’m deaf now, and that smell is my constant companion. I suppose that I must have breathed in too much of the silence or bonded with it, because now it lives inside me. I am constantly in a state of unawareness, feeling as though this silent world was just a dream. I have often cried over the loss of sounds, though I am much more peaceful.

So if you learn anything from my story, I want it to be that you shouldn’t always chase silence. Enjoy the sounds and noises, the laughs and symphonies. And when there is a silence, and you smell that smell, don’t delve into it too much. Don’t be afraid to speak up and break that muted moment.