The Empty Halls

I live on a college campus. Not a very big or active one, but a college campus all the same. One of the classroom buildings has a little library only open three nights a week, but the room is adjacent to my mother's office, so I can go there between times and look around.

On this campus, there are bells to mark the beginning and end of every break, and they don't turn them off during weekends. So the bells ring anyway, automatically, and it's an eerie sound.

Suddenly, you hear this incredible bell ringing the way that it always does--but then you hear something else. Or you hear the absence of it, I should say. There should be a thousand students bursting out of the halls, talking and laughing, eager for a break--or else the sound of teachers beginning (my mother begins with a song) a class, and running feet as the tardy ones hurry. Instead, it's quiet.

Oh, so quiet.

Haunting. Like somebody's hijacked a student and now they're cancelling all students for awhile for safety's sake. Yet the bells are still there, ringing, calling--"Come" or "Go", to the dust mites on the walls and the ever-ticking clock.

Yet with the strange, haunting sound comes the knowledge that tomorrow is Monday--and the halls will be bustling, once again.