Another Game of Guess That NoisePosted: September 22, 2013
Over Sunday breakfast, Mom asked if it rained the previous night.
“Well I didn’t hear anything and I was awake until almost 2:30,” I replied.
“All you have to do is look for puddles in the street,” she said, sipping her morning OJ while Bill cooked. “Then you’ll know if it rained.”
“And did you see any?” he asked, deftly flipping blueberry pancakes in the electric frying pan.
“No, I didn’t,” she responded.
“So I guess it didn’t rain last night,” I said.
“Maybe it did and maybe it didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t look outside this morning so I don’t know if there’re any puddles.”
Bill rolled his eyes at me as he transferred a couple of pancakes to a plate, along with a single sausage link, and placed it in front of Mom.
After she added some syrup and cut a small, bite-sized wedge, she stopped suddenly, cocked her head and asked, “What’s that noise?”
“What noise?” I asked.
“That motor noise,” she said.
I listened for a moment and then said, “It’s the refrigerator. The motor’s running.”
“No it isn’t. It’s coming from the other side of that wall,” she countered, pointing with her fork across the room to the far wall and leaving a syrupy trail along the glass tabletop.
“From the garage?” I asked.
“I guess,” she said, chewing thoughtfully on her bite of pancake. “Did you leave the car running?”
“What, since yesterday?” Bill piped in with a hint of sarcasm.
“No, from when you went out this morning,” she replied. “Didn’t you go out for the Sunday paper?”
“It gets delivered, Mom. We don’t drive 10 feet down the driveway to pick it up,” I said.
“Not to mention the fumes that would probably seep into the house and asphyxiate everyone,” Bill added.
“Well there’s that. So if it isn’t the car, what’s that noise?” she continued. “Are you washing clothes?”
“No, I haven’t started yet,” I said. “It’s the motor in frig.”
“No, it’s something else. I just can’t figure out what,” she mulled before popping a bite of sausage into her mouth.
“It’s the refrigerator,” Bill and I said together.
“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter because it stopped. It was probably just someone driving by,” she rationalized.
“I’m sure that was it,” I sighed. “No doubt someone using our garage as a shortcut around the corner.”
“No doubt,” Mom muttered, polishing off her sausage link.