First excercise 7/7

This is what I wrote in response to the prompt "Teenage son's music is too loud".
I'd love to get some comments.
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Damn. I slammed down the knife on the cutting board. The booming base of the music welling out from my son’s room made the whole house vibrate. It poured out through the keyhole, through the gaps between the door and the doorframe, through the all too wide gap between the door and the hardwood floor. I instantly regretted removing the carpeting. The old carpet had acquired a color that made it look dirty, no matter how recently it had been shampood or vacuumed. But it had muted the constant noise called music from his room.

The frantic rhythm made my heart race. How was I supposed to think or act rationally under these circumstances? I knew my son was hurting. I wanted to talk to him desperately. But I didn’t know what to say. How do you explain something or provide comfort when you don’t even understand what’s going on yourself?

I went back to my slicing and dicing. I had never been a particularly good cook before. When all this happened I dove into the cooking thing, as a way to distract myself. Then it just took off on its own. The recipes got more and more complicated, I started scouring the ethnic stores for exotic ingredients. Dinner took longer and longer to prepare. And, as I always came home the same time at night, we ate later and later. Jack isolated himself in his music, I in my cooking.

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I actually don't know what happened to them yet. It might be the death/leaving of the father/husband. Or it could be some kind of betrayal that one of them did against the other.

The story is about how the one of them finally finds the inner strength to face what's happened and how they both grow from it.
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ps. this is the first time I'm posting to a blog (and I'm supposed to be a techie).
Hooray, I've entered the 21st century!!