Static

The alarm went off at 06:12. I turned it off. The room was empty. It was always empty.

I sat up. Thursday. Early autumn. The window was open a finger. The air was cold, the street below quiet. A car went past. Then silence.

I made the bed, washed my face, looked at my phone. No messages. I put it down.

I made coffee, drank half. The rest sat on the counter until lunch.

I put on my coat, the bag on my shoulder, my earbuds in. There was static. I adjusted the wire. It cleared. The left earbud did this sometimes. I left.

The trees were turning. The crossing was empty. A man swept the pavement outside the bakery. He nodded. I nodded back. The bakery smelled of bread. I kept walking.

The pharmacy was open, empty. A woman walked a dog. The dog pulled at the leash. She said sorry. I said it was fine. It was fine.

The smell of rain was in the air. It had rained and it would rain again.

I bought soy milk at the corner shop. The man behind the counter handed it over without looking at me. He never looked at me.

The office was on the far side of the railway. The underpass was the short way. The stairs went down, the steps wet.

There was writing on the wall. It had been there for years. I did not read it.

The tubes flickered. A tube was dead — had been dead for months. The underpass was colder than the street, silent. A train passed overhead, the concrete shaking.

The static started halfway through.

It was flat. The podcast was playing. The static got louder. The podcast went away.

Then a boy said, Hao.

I stopped. The name was mine. There was a way to say my name. He found another. It was a boy’s voice. Young. Small. Close. The static went on.

I took the earbuds out.

There was no reason to be afraid. I was afraid.

I stood at the top of the stairs until my hands stopped shaking. Then I walked back home.

The flat was exactly as I had left it. The coffee was on the counter. The soy milk went in the fridge. The earbuds were old — the wire frayed, the left one dying for months. I took them out of my pocket and put them in the drawer.

I worked from home the rest of the day.

I wrote to the office, saying I was working from home, that I would be in Monday. That was all.

I did not open the drawer. I did not touch the earbuds.

The coffee was still there. I poured it out, washed the mug, put it away. I made tea, drank half of it.

When the room went gray, I turned on the lamp. From the window I could see the railway line. The trains went past. I could not see the underpass. I did not try.

I went out for a walk. A neighbor passed me in the stairwell. She smiled. I smiled. It did not feel like a smile. She said the weather had turned. I said it had. It had.

Chen Wei called. He said, are you coming in? I said no. I said I was working from home. He said, you usually come in on Thursdays. I said the earbuds were broken. He laughed. He said, get new ones. I said I would. He asked about the report. I said it was done. It was done. He said, you sound odd. I said I had slept badly. He said, all right. Monday, then. I said yes. I said Monday.

My mother sent a message. She asked if I had eaten. I said yes. I had. She asked if I was sleeping. I said yes. It was true. Most nights. She wrote that the leaves were turning. I wrote back that they were turning here too. She sent a picture of the town. I had not been back in years. I looked at the picture for a long time. The house was in it. I did not look at the house.

I thought about calling her. I did not.

I did not think about the static. I did not think about the boy. I did not think about the way he said my name.

In the afternoon I looked at the calendar on the wall. The squares were white; Thursday was blank, the week blank.

I remembered filling it. Three meetings. A dinner. A deadline. I remembered the night before. The lamp on. The pen in my hand. I remembered writing the names. The names were gone. The dinner had a time. The time was gone. The deadline had a date. The date was gone.

A meeting was with Chen Wei. It was the reason he called.

I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand. I closed the laptop.

I made dinner, ate at the counter. I washed the bowl, dried it, put it away. I wiped the counter, hung the cloth over the tap.

The dark came early. I sat at the window. The flat was quiet. The television was off, had been off for days.

I picked up a book, read a little, put it down. I went to bed early. The sheets were cold. I lay down, closed my eyes.

I was half-asleep when the water started running.

The water was running.

The water was running down the white tiles.

The water was running.

I opened my eyes. The flat was dark. I lay very still, listening for the water. The pipes were quiet, the street quiet.

I looked at the blank calendar.