I love big, empty rooms.

Few things call to me quite like the beauty of a large space meant for a large crowd waiting hauntingly vacant. The silence that lies there is a special flavor like no other. You’d think that sitting there, the echoes would come back to whisper, but they don’t. The contrast of a large space and no noise almost always makes for a perfect temperature.

I have detoured my trip to the art room because the gymnasium door was enticingly cracked open. I walked right in, hair lifting off of my neck as the air pushed through the tiny crack in the doorway. My footsteps made no sound, as they rarely do, and I made my way to the exact center of the room. I turned in a complete circle, taking in the lines and angles of the room—the walls, the bleachers, the railings, the wooden panels of the floor, the glass blocks of the windows—before sitting down.

At first, I turned to face the entrances that lead to the hallway. Not a very dynamic visual, so I turned back around, looking up at the windows again, at the rows of bleachers on the loft, the locked doors that lead to places I know well used to know. I lost track of how long I sat there, the only sound in the gym the humming of the air vent, like breath.

I heard the door click shut behind me and then the nearly imperceptible jingle of keys as a person walked in. The person, who sounded like an adult man based on the gait walked in a straight line for about five or six paces and then began to make a turn.

“You okay?”

I turned. Garcia had his backpack slung over one shoulder, going home after a day of work, it seemed.

“Yeah I’m fine,” I gave him a polite smile and turned back to the ceiling.

“Just meditating?” as he walked past.

“Something like that,” I admitted.

Not more than ten seconds later, he was out the door and it was quiet again.

I’ve found my way into the auditorium while the school was mostly absent of other people. The lights were off, and while I’ve only performed here once or twice, I knew I could easily find the switches and turn them on. But why? I could see well enough, even with the only light being a couple green LEDs on a control panel across the stage and the windows in the doors behind me, the doors twenty meters ahead.

More by feeling than sight, I strode to center stage. I could see the silhouette of rows and rows and rows of endless, unoccupied seats—seats upholstered in deep red, seats I’ve sung to, and sat in. I could imagine sitting there, on a stool with my guitar, singing softly to a full house, or to just one person. I almost wanted to say something just then. Anything, just because I could, because the space was open for the taking.

But I couldn’t even whisper. It would be a heinous crime to break such a stunning atmosphere. Peace and bliss blanketed my skin, and the darkness in the room fell into my lungs with each breath—calm and cool and sweet.

I’ve dreamed up pictures of grand hollow buildings—ballrooms and endless corridors and concert halls and carved out attics that I could visit alone and sit there in the largeness of it all. Maybe they’d be tearing apart at the seams, with paint chipping off like tears from the walls, and a thick layer of dust on the floor, but I wouldn’t care. I’d just like to stay and rest a while, forget myself.