The Silent Room

The chilly morning air tickled the base of my neck as soon as I exited the car. It was still relatively early, and there hasn’t been much activity save for vehicle of all shapes, colours and sizes rushing out to the roads. I reached into my car to grab the two things that would accompany me that morning: my MP3 player [which I bought from Jason] and Steve Berry’s The Amber Room.

A name card was tucked comfortably near last chunk of pages, marking the spot where the story is reaching its action-movie-like climax. I pushed the glass door open and walked into a fragrant scent of freshly applied floor detergent with hints of disinfectants mixed in between. I almost felt guilty for stepping onto a newly mopped floor.

“Good morning, sir!” greeted a fine young man, his thin moustache decorating a neat line above his lips. His black beret – a symbol of tidiness and hygiene, I believe – sat firmly atop his shaven head. A white earpiece stuck into his left earlobe and a semi-transparent twisted cable ran down his neck and into the collar of his orange shirt that was printed with an outline of letters that spell ‘i’m lovin’ it’.

That morning was probably the first time I ever went for a dine-in breakfast at any McDonald’s outlet, and I just happened to decide on it simply because it had a nice comfortable booth seat and offer free refills for hot drinks. I quickly settled for a Filet-o-Fish set with tea and sank my into the rest of the novel.

Speaking of the novel, at first I almost thought Steve Berry as an equal to Dan Brown, a contemporary. But after three books from each author, I realised that Berry is on a completely different level. Somehow, I feel like Brown writes with the enthusiasm and adrenaline that rivals Michael Bay. But Berry is different.

He doesn’t try to impress you with high-speed chases or fights that send your nerve racking. He tackles his stories and characters with the calm and depth as though you’re hearing the story from a wise old sage. There’s an extremely strong sense of realism – without attempting cheap tricks like declaring “all the historical and scientific facts stated within this novel are true in reality” like a certain popular author does. Nor does he have to resort to plot devices like the often-abused red herring also employed by a certain popular author.

After flipping through a couple of pages, I reached out and took a bite out of the golden hash brown. The crispy texture crumpled gently under my teeth as the soft smooth potatoes melt with a glowing sensation as it warms me inside out. Savoury aromas escaped into my nostrils with every bite, but my eyes and mind were still fixated on what Christian Knoll would do next.

The hot tea sent wifts of fragrant vapor around me after every sip, and the burger left me with profound sense of satisfaction. I relaxed into the soft seats and propped my legs on the opposite seats as I sank deeper and deeper towards the grand finale.

After a quick refill of piping hot tea, I finished the last few pages and savoured the author’s comments regarding his research and I closed the back cover, leaning my head back and let a sigh of relief escape me. This is one of those rare occasions where I spent a beautiful morning in such a pleasant way.

A convenient escape from the harsh reality I’m drowned in, of late. I really should do this kind of things more often.