A KIND OF HUSH...

By Lynne Weaver

Several days ago, while chasing rainbows in search of sun and a beach with no dark clouds hovering, I was overcome with boredom tinged with a little frustration. I had already gone speed-racing down the St. Mary’s River in my little red kayak but the ominous clouds rolling in from the horizon kept me in close proximity to the shoreline and the shelter of my car. It’s unusual to see the beaches I frequent throughout the summer so devoid of human activity. The waterways, usually alive with boats of all kinds, were silent with only the sounds of waves tossed up from this summer’s endless supply of wind.

Hours spent daily in front of a computer tapping away to the voice of my own thoughts, reading the words of anonymous emails and occasionally responding to the rants of internet trolls left me wanting for real human communication. Deciding where to dine, a companion and I were prepared to drive fifty miles or so in search of people but thought better of it in light of the price of gas and my determination to burn as little of it as possible.

Finally, we decided to stay put in the Soo and check out the buffet at the casino. Surely there would be people there to observe and even talk to. We noticed the quiet from the minute we walked in the door and the lack of people and noise continued as we made our way to the restaurant. Only a dozen or so diners were there but it was still early. There seemed to be no shortage of wait staff prepared to care for the dinner crowd that never came. Still it was good to hear the light chatter of customers and staff interacting.

Suddenly, there was a hush that fell over the room. As I strained to find the source behind the silence, my eyes landed on a table at the front of the restaurant. Making themselves comfortable amid the uncomfortable silence they created were several members of the Sault Tribe Board of Directors. The most notorious of all had invaded our pleasant dinner experience. Within seconds, I knew that I would not get my money’s worth from the buffet because my appetite just threw up.

The stare-down between my eyes and theirs pushed my plans to have a pleasant dinner to the back burner. I wondered how one board member could get her fork to face without spilling the contents onto her shabby chic attire since her eyes were upon me the entire time. One board member peeked over the shoulder of another for a quick look while the baddest of the bad repeatedly turned away when I caught his eyes peering at me.

When the partial board headed upstairs for a meeting, a patron on his way to the buffet said, “Thank goodness they’re gone” and the sounds of happy chatter returned as relief washed away the hush that had permeated the room just moments earlier.