A SOUND MYSTERY

Group Writing Prompt: Write something that begins with “shhh! Do you hear that?”

“Shhhh, do you here that?” I asked my husband to turn the x-files down.
It might have been a fledgling sparrow escaping predators in the dark,
or a squeaking shower faucet from the house on the other side of the shared pink wall. This was on Monday.
Tuesday night I clocked three purse-lipped smooches at nine p.m. and five extravagantly noisy smooches at nine-fifteen.
As deliberate as a code.

Wednesday night at nine-thirty I tiptoed barefoot and bare naked on cool squares of tile to put an ear on the window of the air-shaft by the bathroom, and tried in vain to unlock a rattan closet door whose contents were a mystery. The sweet kisses ceased as I searched alone in the dark house.
Thursday night I sat in bed with an Amy Tan book and my red framed reading glasses balanced on my nose. I ate steamed green beans in bed.
I was interrupted at chapter four by what must have been the most luscious moist lips to make such a sexy smooch. Nine fifteen again. Why does this always happen after my husband is already ten toes up. I am forced again to sleuth alone.
I throw back the covers. Moxy, our brown dog groans, but is disinclined to help me hunt at this late hour. I listen at the downstairs bath. I pass the kitchen. The fridge is noisy and vibrates and hums but does not smooch.
I open the heavy front door and step out into the walled front garden. There is a ceiling of stars and Venus winks at me. I am just about to turn back to get a robe on when I see six inches from the rusty porch light a green gecko as long as my hand.
It turns its head in my direction and smooches three times.
“ah, it’s YOU, is it?”
“Si senorita bonita,que tal? Como esta? Buenos noches, venga aqui, mi amor!”
“I really detest that kind of talk from someone I don’t know,”. I whispered.
“acuerdo, mi amable, what kind of talk DO you like?” He asked.
“Well, you know, instead of insinuating yourself into my privacy with your suggestive nightime calling, you nasty little thing, you could, for instance, ask for an introduction, ask how my day was, ask me what kind of music I like, for instance!”
“How WAS your day, mi ami?” He advanced, putting one tiny weightless toe (or finger?) on my forfinger. I was leaning on the wall, my palm sharing the spotlight, fingers spread on the rough dusty pink stucco.
I exhaled, relaxing, and was about to respond and spin my day in glowing colors for the cheeky little gecko when he said:
“Shhhhh! Do you hear that?!”

“What?”

“Listen, it’s something huge. Something monstrous.”

I removed my palm from the wall and wrapped my arms around my bare shoulders,
preparing myself to find a knife in the kitchen, a stone from the garden, preparing a flight plan.

“Hear it? A rhino snorting, or a giant poisonous frog, or a helicoptor landing on the roof.”

“Oh” I laughed, relaxing. I do hear it. I know THAT sound. It’s my husband snoring. He has a very mild sleep apnea. Come, I will show you.”I offered the back of my hand for a perch as you would a bird and ascended steps with senor.

I sat down on the edge of the Kingsized bed, waking the friendly giant. I wanted to show him the talking gecko, but he was gone. It was like having the telephone evaporate in your hand as you waken from a long distance dream conversation.

“Hi, my husband said groggily, what time is it, anyway?” looking at the clock. The glowing numbers indicated 9:30. I started to tell him I must have been having a dream, as I searched back of my hand, my palm, my forearm, but
“shhhhhh!” he said, Did you hear that?