Sound of Silence

by Mia Kerick

  “Not going.” Maybe it is two thirty in the afternoon. And maybe I’m still in bed. It’s not a crime in America, I’m certain, to sleep late. I pull the sheet over my head.

  Morning, however, is determined to see things go her way. The side of my bed sinks, and I know she has seated herself beside my pillow. Her delicate hand slides under the sheet and is soon in my hair. Pushing it back, rubbing at my scalp. Managing to relax me when I have no interest in being relaxed. “Listen,” she says softly, “you may think that I don’t need you beside me anymore, but I do. I always will too.”

  I admit to myself that those words sound fucking awesome to my ears. Fucking awesome. I refuse to admit that I wish Renzy would speak those very same words into my ear, softly… sweetly… in that same way he said he loved me.

  However, it would be just as good if he wrote the sentiment down on the back of a grocery receipt, folded it like a tiny paper airplane, and shot it in my direction.

  Or if he showed me how he felt by clinging to me again, the way he did in the mansion bed at the honeymoon suite.

  Wishes don’t wash dishes.

  Nothing is gonna change for me. I’m stuck here in this empty life. In this dark, pathetic, empty life—with no prospects for the future beyond June 30th when I “come into the light” and graduate from online high school. Morning has goals: she wants to seek some legal vengeance on the one who set her back and once she has done that, she wants to travel, free and easy, until she decides upon what she wants to study in college.

  But for our entire miserable lives we’ve been traveling. Moving from one city to another at the drop of a hat, placing down roots just to have them ripped up. In fact the only time a journey wasn’t boring was when we were off seeking the truth with Renzy.

  Shit… maybe it wasn’t so much because we were seeking the truth, which is very sad to admit. Maybe our impromptu road trip was just fun because of the Renzy part.

  For a brief time, I had this tightknit little family. I was taking care of them; they were needing me.

  Then it was suddenly over, and they didn’t need me anymore.

  Morning yanks back the sheet rather forcibly. “I’ve been going to the Abuse and Neglect Survivors meeting for the past several weeks, Seven, while you’ve been sitting in your bedroom moping, and it has been immensely helpful to me. But today I’m not up for going it alone.” She stands up and drags me to my feet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you join me—Edgar and Rhonda neglected you, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “Christ, Morning!” I spit the words in her face as if she’s annoying the living hell out of me. And maybe she is. I’m in such a dark place that I just don’t know. But I dutifully stride across the room to take a peek at myself in the mirror that hangs above my bureau. Taming my platinum tangles as best I can with my fingers, I mumble, “Don’t give birth to a stress baby, Matin. I’ll go with you.” I don’t intend to smile, but I do. Maybe I’m secretly thrilled that she still needs me just a little bit. And maybe I’m a total loser now.

  “YOU FUCKING knew he’d be here.” I send Morning a glare capable of dissolving battery acid as I stand up to leave. “Renzy Callen’s presence is a deal breaker, ma soeur.” I haven’t called her a conniving little bitch since we were in sixth grade, but I’m ever so tempted right now.

  Because… because I frigging called him. I texted him, I emailed him. I’ve even spoken to his father multiple times. I did everything short of showing up at his house and begging to see him, which I was seriously tempted to do. And I consider his silence to be a definitive goodbye. I know only too well how to interpret the absence kind of silence. My parents taught me this quite effectively by never being around when I needed them.

  The sound of silence from the people you love is more truly the sound of indifference. Which is callous and selfish and hard… and it leads to one place.

  One dark, lonely, deserted, fucking depressing place.

  “He’s only one of the reasons I asked you to come with me.” She sounds genuine, but I’m not having it. “The group talks about shit you need to hear, M&M.” She hasn’t used that nickname in forever, it seems, and I missed it. “Shit like the impact of abuse and neglect on an adult’s life… about how we can become depressed and detached and take unnecessary risks… and how we struggle to bond with other people.” Tears are rolling freely down the former ice princess’s cheeks. I guess she truly has melted.

  But I’ll never melt. “I’m out of here.”

  Unfortunately, it’s not that easy, because when I storm toward the door, Renzy’s right in my face. He’s opening and closing the fingers of both hands like they’re two little mouths having a goddamned flapping-finger conversation. I know he wants to talk.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Renzy.” I try to push past him, but he blocks me.

  Bossed around by my little sister and now by Renzy—what has my world come to?

  Before I know it, he has my wrist in a vice grip and is pulling me toward the door. Up the stairs, through the heavy glass door, and toward the bench in front of a swing set in the little park down the street.

  “What do you want?” I’m mad and I know how to be mean. I don’t hold back. “What the fuck do you want of me now, Renzy?”

  His eyes are wet, and like Morning’s, tears are falling from them like rain. I don’t understand this at all. I just don’t get it.

  I hate to be lost like this. Small and confused and so insignificant—just like when I was a kid and asked Edgar to kick the soccer ball around with me in the backyard, and he said sure, then forgot while I spent hours sitting on the front steps waiting. Like when I was almost a teenager, and I didn’t feel well—my forehead was burning and stomach was gurgling and all I wanted in the world was for my mother to sit on the edge of my bed and place her palm on my forehead and say, “Oh, dear, you have a fever… let me get you a cup of tea.” But she was then, as always, missing in action.

  Seven, you are not in control here. It is best that you leave.

  But back then I never left… I kicked the ball in the backyard alone, hoping my father would notice me and join in. And I stayed in that bed, all feverish and thirsty and waiting for my mother.

  What am I waiting for now?

  I sit on the bench, but Renzy squats in the dirt beside it. He points his finger and draws a heart, a perfect heart, and then points to me.

  “You still….”

  He draws another heart, and again points to me.

  “You still love me?”

  Renzy nods. His tears still flow, but he has yet to make a single sound. No sobbing or choking or wheezing for breath. Just silent tears.

  “You didn’t call me back… you didn’t want to talk to me.” I accuse him, certain of this fact. It’s the only thing he ever told me aloud. Other than that he loved me.

  Renzy confirms my worst fear with another nod: he doesn’t want to talk to me. Again, he looks down at the dark brown dirt beneath the bench, and with his finger writes the word blue. Then he stands up, straight and tall, and points to the heavens. Renzy stands on his tiptoes and points so high that his T-shirt lifts and I see the smooth belly I once kissed.

  “The sky is blue….” I’m reading his words and gestures. It’s surprisingly easy to do… and satisfying, as well. With each sentiment I grasp, I feel as if I have solved a tiny precious riddle.

  He points to his temple. He wants me to remember something. And I do.

  “There are many ways to say that the sky is a beautiful shade of blue.” I remember the day Renzy told me this. Using all his wonderful clues, but without speaking a word, Renzy had successfully communicated with me that day, which had surprised us both. And he did so in a way that branded his meaning on my mind, so that I didn’t forget. “You’re saying that there are many ways to tell me things. That there are many ways for us to communicate with each other.”

  Upon hearing my words, Renzy drops beside me on the bench. He turns and faces m
e, places one hand midair, palm-up, as if to ask a question, and with the other makes the gesture for okay.

  “Yes, of course it’s o-okay, R-renzy.”

  What’s happening to my throat? It’s getting tight and… and I could hardly get those simple words to come out of my mouth….

  And my lips…. Jesus Christ, I think they’re trembling….

  And my eyes… they sting so badly… I need to blink and blink to relieve the pain and….

  Oh, God. I’m crying.

  I’m fucking crying.

  In one movement, I’m swept into Renzy’s arms, and he feels strong and capable… capable of looking out for me.

  What is going on here? What? This isn’t how it is supposed to be.

  Then words are spilling from my mouth. Words like, “I don’t care if you ever say another word aloud again… as long as you keep talking to me… as long as you keep loving me… because I love you too… I love you, Renzy.”

  He’s nodding against my shoulder. Except for the sounds of the wind and the laughter of a little boy and my occasional sniffling and Renzy’s belly growling for food, there’s only silence between us. But I know we have no real need for formal language.

  I stand up and help Renzy to his feet. I wipe his eyes with my sleeve and he does me the same favor.

  “We have an hour until Morning is out of the meeting. Let’s go get some chocolate croissants—ever heard about this quaint café called Dunkin’ Donuts? It’s right up the street. And as we walk there, I need you to tell me all about what happened with school and your mother and father… and how things are for you now at home.”

  Without a sound—in complete and utter silence—Renzy tells me everything I want to know.

  MIA KERICK is the mother of four exceptional children—one in law school, another at a dance conservatory, a third studying at Mia’s alma mater, Boston College, and her lone son still in high school. She has published more than twenty books of LGBTQ romance when not editing National Honor Society essays, offering opinions on college and law school applications, helping to create dance bios, and reviewing English papers. Her husband of twenty-five years has been told by many that he has the patience of Job, but don’t ask Mia about this, as it is a sensitive subject.

  Mia focuses her stories on the emotional growth of troubled young people and their relationships. She has a great affinity for the tortured hero. There is, at minimum, one in each book. As a teen, Mia filled spiral-bound notebooks with tales of said tortured heroes (most of whom happened to strongly resemble lead vocalists of 1980s hair bands) and stuffed them under her mattress for safekeeping. She is thankful to Harmony Ink Press for providing her with an alternate place to stash her stories.

  Her books have won several Kirkus Recommended Book Reviews, a Best YA Lesbian Rainbow Award, a Reader Views’ Book by Book Publicity Literary Award, the Jack Eadon Award for Best Book in Contemporary Drama, an Indie Fab Award, and a Royal Dragonfly Award for Cultural Diversity, among other awards.

  Mia Kerick is a social liberal and cheers for each and every victory made in the name of human rights. Her only major regret: never having taken typing or computer class in school, destining her to a life consumed with two-fingered pecking and constant prayer to the Gods of Technology. Contact Mia at miakerick@gmail.com or visit at www.miakerick.com to see what is going on in Mia’s world.

  RAINE O’TIERNEY loves writing about first loves and friendship. She believes the best thing we can do in this life is be kind to one another, and hopes her stories always reflect that. Raine loves encouraging people to write and has been known to repeat the phrase “I believe everyone has a story to tell” endlessly, until she breaks down even the most stubborn nonwriter!

  Raine lives outside of Kansas City, Missouri, with her husband, fellow M/M author Siôn O’Tierney. When she’s not writing, she’s either playing video games or fighting the good fight for intellectual freedom at her library day job.

  Contact her if you’re interested in talking about point-and-click adventure games or about which dachshunds are the best kinds of dachshunds!

  Website: raineotierney.com

  Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/RaineOTierneyAuthor

  Twitter: @RaineOTierney

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7770350.Raine_O_Tierney

  By Mia Kerick

  Intervention

  Not Broken, Just Bent

  The Red Sheet

  With Raine O’Tierney: Sound of Silence

  Us Three

  Published by HARMONY INK PRESS

  www.harmonyinkpress.com

  By Raine O’Tierney

  I’ll Always Miss You

  With Mia Kerick: Sound of Silence

  Published by HARMONY INK PRESS

  www.harmonyinkpress.com

  Published by

  HARMONY INK PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  publisher@harmonyinkpress.com • harmonyinkpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Sound of Silence

  © 2018 Mia Kerick & Raine O’Tierney.

  Cover Art

  © 2018 Aaron Anderson.

  aaronbydesign55@gmail.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or publisher@harmonyinkpress.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-64080-096-0

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-097-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911059

  Published January 2018

  v. 1.0

  Printed in the United States of America