Silence is an intriguing phenomenon. It allows for the slightest sound to echo down the hall or across the room. It amplifies every movement and every sound: the tick of the clock, the latching (and unlatching) of lockers, the footsteps of students, the whispers and shouts, the turning of pages, and wind brushing against the window curtains. The silence magnifies them all. Each and every second carries a heavier weight than it had before. Here, in this hollow space, everything is greater than it once was.
Maybe this is why silence strikes fear into our hearts: because in it all things can be heard. Nothing can be hidden in the silence. Every ear is tuned into the slightest change. When we find ourselves immersed in the silence caution overtakes our movements. When we talk we make sure we say the right things; when we clear our throat we do so gently; when we walk we take each step quietly; and even when we breath we do so with intention.
It is in this silence that we are, often, either afraid to be seen or afraid to be a disturbance. For this reason, we rarely live in the beauty that the silence can bring.
Note: Another reason we might fear the silence may be because we fear that nothing will be said or done, and that we will be left alone waiting for words or movements that will never come.