I don't like walking around this old and empty house…
The silence is heavy and suffocating. He can't feel anything aside from her wrath, the emotion he knows is meant to be conveyed by the quiet. So, he eats by himself, a turkey sandwich with mustard and a tall glass of milk.
Her sandwich sits lonely on the other end of the table and Norman watches a fly come in from the open window and land on it. For a minute, the low buzzing is the only sound. Norman lets it gather around him. Anything's better than her silence.
Later, he tries to read, but the words blur together on the page, resembling some ancient indecipherable language. He shuts it hard, hoping she'll hear it and start scolding him. The house doesn't move.
Norman sighs. "Mother." Nothing. "Mother, please."
There's a blurred space in his memory that won't clear no matter how hard he tries. He can't remember the last time he was with her; he can't remember the last time he even saw her from across a room.
A door slams upstairs. Norman jumps. "Mother?"
Heavy, resounding footfalls. Not Mother. Dylan. He looks sad, just like usual. "No, Norman. Just me…You all right?"
He meets his brother's melancholic expression. His eyes are sloped and he seems disillusioned. Norman can't think of why he'd be feeling that way. "I'm fine." He says. "I'm just waiting for Mother to stop ignoring me and get out of bed."
Dylan glances over his shoulder in the direction of Norma's old bedroom. He couldn't break his little brother's delusion; it would kill him and Dylan…Dylan couldn't lose them both. He refused. A heavy sigh rushes through him as he turns back to Norman. "I'm sure she'll come around in a little while. You know how she is. I have to go to work. Will you be okay?"
Norman smiles. "I'll be fine as soon as Mother comes down. Bye, Dylan."
"Bye."
Tell her that I miss our little talks…