The Sound of Endings


When I was a boy and wanted to listen to music, I would pull an album from its sleeve and put it on the record player. The arm would lift and move into place. There was a moment of nothing, then the song began.

But the nothing was something: the sound before the sound, a faint scratching.

If I loved the song, I might lift the needle and put it back at the beginning. Or wait inside the nothing, the second or so before the next song began. Sometimes I’d listen with my full attention: Maynard Ferguson playing trumpet on “MacArthur Park” or Rickie Lee Jones’ sad throatiness on “The Last Chance Texaco.” Other times the music receded into the background while I read or focused on other things.

Since the pandemic began I have often thought of my earlier self, the one in high school or in the first year after I left home and lived in the dorm at Baylor. I had so many ideas about what I would become and how my life might unfold. And here I am, 58 years old, sorting through it all to discover (yet again) my future.

The college where I teach ended classes on March 12 and my courses migrated online. Within a few days, Bill would begin working from home. We were fortunate (and we knew it) to keep our jobs in the midst of so much chaos.

At the beginning, I read for hours about COVID-19 and the deaths in Italy, then Spain, then the horror in New York City and the spreading contagion across the globe. The images were shocking: refrigerated trucks lined up outside hospitals to hold the dead; makeshift clinics in Central Park; rows of coffins being buried in a Potter’s Field; the death toll rising faster than anyone could really comprehend.

In a creepy way, the horror of it felt exciting. Everyone kept repeating: I can’t believe this is happening. It’s extraordinary. The world has turned upside down. 

Bill and I wore masks and gloves from the very beginning, when we were the only ones in the supermarket taking precautions. (We had masks left over from the California wildfires.) People understood what we were doing, but they looked at us as if we were over-reacting.

But that was then. Face masks are required; many people wear gloves to enter a business. Bottles of hand sanitizer are everywhere.

The sense of excitement, though, has ended. This is a different phase, one more difficult to comprehend. Complacency is growing. Taking care of ourselves (and protecting others) has become politicized so that a mask (or its absence) represents “liberal” or “conservative.” This has led to what we are seeing now: another wave of infections spreading through the U.S. Whether this is “more first wave” or “second wave” seems like splitting hairs.

When the album came to the end, the needle would make this whooshing sound as the album continued to turn beneath it. This would go on till I would get up, return the arm to its cradle and turn off the record player. 

But sometimes I would listen to that nothing — scratchy, somehow hollow like air in a cave… it wasn’t music but it had a beat to it: thrrup, thrrup, thrrup. It was neither pleasing nor irritating, just the sound of the end. Sometimes it became such a part of the room’s noise I no longer heard it.

Thrrup. Thrrup. Thrrup. It’s lost to time, in a way, because we rarely hear it anymore. Record players are used by a limited few. Only people of a certain age (and those who have reverted to vinyl) know the sound.

I’ve come to that point in the pandemic. I no longer look ahead and imagine the future.

My days have become strange and monotonous. Our social life has crumbled to the occasional socially-distanced evening or a zoom happy hour. I cook three meals/day and have for months. Restaurants are rare, and then only for take-out. Travel (and the fun of planning) is off the table. Teaching and work are virtual.

Another day begins, then it ends a few hours later. That’s how it feels.

We are entering another year of this crisis. How many more? How long will this lockdown be our lives? If this holding pattern had a sound it would be like an album’s end, the needle left in the black groove, an eerie rhythmic turning. 

10 thoughts on “The Sound of Endings

  1. Wonderful metaphor for the epidemic; life on hold. Thrrup. A good reminder that even though the music is playing again now, the needle is always moving.
    (I found myself replaying MacArthur Park in my head again. “I don’t think that I can take it…” I didn’t either at the time.)


    1. What a nice surprise to see your comments, Doug. Here it is late 2022 and I don’t know if I fully understand what stage of the pandemic we’re in. Sometimes I think “it’s not over” and sometimes I convince myself that the *crisis* part is behind us even if the sickness’s still continue. Maybe no one really knows. Perhaps it will be years before we can truly label what this is.


  2. I think I have almost resolved to think this is the new life. I don’t want things to go back to what were the old “normal” things. Life was too hectic. I would like to know I can go out and not fear getting sick but there is something about the whole social distancing that is sort of better.


  3. Hey Bart, I can relate all the way around the record! Thanks for sharing and continue to be safe!
    Paula Gray


  4. I, too, was delighted to see the email today about your blog post, Bart, after all this time! I can’t say I am happy now to have immersed myself in the weight of it— 😉 —but it is truly beautiful and powerful writing! Your gift is so strikingly evident here. I love the weaving of the record player throughout, too. Thank you so much!


  5. Life was already pretty slow for me before Covid-19–certainly slower than most people. I keep busy with Ancestry which is nearly endless fascinating to me, and cooking or baking things I can take to my mom in the nursing home. I did visit her every day until they stopped it. We are now, however, doing video visits and that is some relief! I read with interest every line you write and can just hear you, which is a good experience! Love and hugs!


  6. Hi Bart,
    Such a pleasure to hear your writing voice again. I have found it ironically difficult to do any writing during the pandemic, when there is ample time for it. Perhaps it is the emptiness, as you say, the ending before whatever is to come next manifests, that makes it difficult to accomplish tasks that seem like part of a world that may not exist anymore. I am not fond of Zoom classes, but I might make an exception if you are teaching Creative Writing in the fall. Best to you and Bill, Terri


  7. Hi Bart,
    This is beautiful and more closely expresses how I have been feeling than anything else I have read. I found it unexpectedly uplifting to hear “my thoughts” spoken so eloquently by someone else. Maybe it is the feeling of connection, especially in these times, that makes it all the more powerful. Thank you for putting this out there. I have missed your blog!

    Take care,


  8. Beautiful as usual, but more heartbreaking than pieces of yours I’ve read in the past. For good reason. You expressed my sentiments exactly.

    That being said, I’m glad you guys and Marty and Graham have been able to at least visit. I’m not even ready to do that! Holding you close in my heart and sending lots of masked hugs.. . If only we could!

    Love you!

    Xo Teen

    Sent from My Blessed IPhone



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