Sweet Sound of Silence

by Melanie Dawn

  I nodded. “Yeah.” How exactly did I explain Ian? Ian Absher, musical heartthrob sensation. First real boyfriend. First real everything. We’d been together a couple of years. I’d met him when I was fourteen. He was fifteen at the time, with big dreams to be livin’ large in the musical industry. Chris had worked hard to condition him for musical success, and over the past six months Ian was really starting to get his first taste of it. I didn’t really want to say he was starting to change, but he was. I couldn’t deny it, and neither could he. We were still technically together, but with celebrity status on the horizon, I knew that time was of the essence. Ian Absher would soon belong to the masses… masses of groping, clamoring girls. Responding to Gia’s curious stare, I explained, “Ian Absher. He’s a musician. You might have heard of him?”

  Gia’s mouth fell open. Point made. “Ian Absher? As in… the Ian Absher?”

  I nodded. Only he wasn’t the Ian Absher to me. He was just Ian, my best friend, until recently when we’d sealed the deal one amazing night in the back of Chris’s recording studio. Mom and Chris had headed out early, and I’d stayed back to lock everything up. Ian was practicing a new song, one he’d written just for me, his best friend. At least that’s what he’d said. He sat in the booth with his Beats on his ears and a guitar in his lap. The way his lips moved against the microphone, I couldn’t help but feel something low in my belly. I watched him as he closed his eyes, getting lost in the melody. He grazed his fingers ever so softly against the strings of his guitar, singing with such passion and fervor. In that moment, I knew I was love-struck. He opened his eyes again, watching me through the glass and piercing me with his caramel colored eyes. He knew what he was doing to me. I knew he felt it too. We’d been best friends for a couple of years. We’d kissed a few times. Even made out one drunken night in the hot tub on my back patio before finally admitting our feelings for each other. The next step seemed inevitable. He drank me in, seducing me with that velvety voice and his knowing eyes. Before I realized it, he was in my face pressing me back against my chair. I welcomed him. Needed him. Craved him. I lost my virginity that night to my best friend, and I’ve never once regretted it. I loved Ian, and he loved me.

  “Oh my god!” Gia jumped up on her bed, giggling. “You’re dating Ian Absher? Hearts-Don’t-Lie-Ian-Absher? No freaking way!”

  I nodded. “Hearts Don’t Lie” was his newest hit. The one he’d written for me. The one he was singing for me the night I gave myself to him. But I didn’t need to go into all those details so I just nodded. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy knowing that my song was being played by loads of other girls who sat and listened, dreaming that Ian was singing it just for them.

  Gia sat back down again. With a serious expression, she declared, “Oh my god. You have to tell me. Is he a good kisser?”

  I chucked a pillow at her head. “Are you serious right now?”

  She giggled. “Inquiring minds need to know!”

  “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.” I folded my arms over my chest, pretending to be angry. Only I wasn’t, really. Was I?

  Gia shook her head. “That’s Ian-freaking-Absher I’m talking about.”

  I peered at her, her eager eyes dying to know if the swoon-worthy Ian Absher was a good kisser. What was the harm in indulging her a little?

  “He’s the best,” I giggled, and flopped back onto my bed.

  She sighed, flopping back on hers too. “I can’t believe my roommate has kissed Ian Absher!” She emphasized his name like he was a god or something.

  We’d done a lot more than kiss, but I’d keep that my sweet little secret for now. I wanted to keep Ian all to myself for as long as possible. I worried that bringing him onto campus would be a mistake, but I couldn’t keep him locked in a tower. I had to share him with the world, just like my mom did with Chris.

  I texted Ian to let him know about the party.

  He responded immediately. I’ll b there.

  Great. I miss u. Can’t wait 2 c u.

  I miss u 2 baby. C u soon.

  Gia and I spent the rest of the day roaming around campus, trying to find the right buildings for each of our classes. Later that night, we rearranged our furniture to open up the room a little more. We lay awake for hours, just talking about anything and everything—life back home, concerts we’d been to, our dreams for the future. Even though I missed Ian and my family, I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be.

  AFTER MY RUN-IN at the bookstore with that chick from the party, I dropped off my new textbooks in my dorm room and headed to town to stock up on college survival food—Hot Pockets and Ramen. I also spent some time in the local art supply store, perusing the aisles for any must-have purchases, to try to kill time before my therapy session.

  My second year of college with a new semester of classes, some unfamiliar professors, and a hoard of incoming students, who knew nothing about me, seemed to exacerbate my anxiety level. And the fact that I’d just come face-to-face with an eager freshman with a contagious smile and shimmering eyes didn’t help matters at all.

  Later that afternoon, my therapist, Leslie, sat opposite of me in her large office. “I know they’re in there, Ryder. The words are sitting right there on the tip of your tongue, just waiting for you to set them free.” She tapped her pencil on the notebook that sat in her lap, patiently waiting for me to respond. My father had insisted that I continue with my sessions until I had a breakthrough. I usually sat stoic, unyielding, until Leslie would give up at the end of the hour-long appointment.

  I just couldn’t bring myself to speak. I tried. Believe me, I’d tried. Part of me wanted to feel normal again. To feel like the old Ryder. The one who sat on his bed, playing video games with his buddies until the wee hours. The one who was the life of the party. The one who flirted with girls and talked shit with the guys. But, that Ryder was long gone.

  “Come on, Ryder,” Leslie coerced me. “You can do this. I am going to ask you what your name is. The question is easy. You just have to say one word. One word. That’s all. Now…” she sighed, taking a deep breath full of anticipation, “what is your name?” She drew out her words, louder than normal, speaking to me as if I were a small child who was non-fluent in English.

  Ryder. That word hovered in the back of my throat. Of course the question was easy. The act of answering, however, was not. I sucked in a cleansing breath. The moment the word lunged forward in my mouth, my throat seized. My tongue felt paralyzed. It felt as though I’d stuffed a mouthful of cotton back toward my tonsils. I swallowed hard, forcing my answer back down into the pit of my stomach, which clenched and quivered in my abdomen.

  “Ryder,” Leslie encouraged me, softening her expression. “You can do this. It’s not that difficult. Fight through the anxiety. The words will set you free.”

  Ryder. What was so hard about saying that word? And yet, my body fought it off with all its might. My heart pounded in my chest like the whooshing sound of a helicopter’s blades during take-off. I could feel the burden of my silence weighing down my shoulders.

  “You’re holding yourself hostage,” Leslie’s hands moved across her aura, as if to simulate a type of release. “Don’t give your fear the power.”

  Easier said than done. I could feel the fear. A trembling I couldn’t control. It began in my toes and worked its way up my body to the top of my head. I gulped. Bile had risen to the back of my throat. I forced it back down again, fighting the thickness that seemed to be swelling back there. The cold sweat that had broken out on my forehead was evident when I wiped a shaky hand across it.

  Leslie sighed, “You’re so close, Ryder.”

  But I wasn’t. I wasn’t any closer in that moment than I was at Mercer, a mere week after Chloe’s death. This should have been easy. Why was I fighting with myself so much? I couldn’t explain it. It was an irrational fear that I couldn’t comprehend. Something I felt I had no control over. Some iniquity that held me like a prisoner inside myself. An
d at the same time, in some ways I had no desire to fight it. I brought this punishment on myself. It was a rightful retribution for a horrific mistake.

  Leslie sat quietly, staring at me. Her hands now tightly gripped the pencil she’d been tapping earlier. “Next time,” she assured me. “You’ll have your breakthrough next time.”

  I glanced at the clock. Our time was up. Thank god. I couldn’t handle this torture another minute. Poor Leslie. She tried so hard. Part of me wanted to speak up for her… to thrive for her. And yet, part of me wanted to wither away to nothing.

  “Thank you for trying,” she assured me as she ushered me to the door. “That’s all that matters. The fact that you’re trying.”

  I felt sure that she felt as though she carried the burden along with me, just as baffled as I was. I carried my guilt around the way Atlas hauled the heavens on his shoulders. Of course, I wanted to feel whole again, but not at the expense of forgiving myself and letting go of Chloe’s precious legacy.

  I traipsed across campus and sat in my usual spot down by the pond. I always found peace and solace in nature. Many times, I brought my sketch pad and worked well into the evening on my drawings. Today, I just needed a quiet time to reflect, where no one urged me to speak. Where no one expected anything from me. I just wanted to sit by the water and pretend for a moment that silence was commonplace.

  I’D TOSSED AND turned all night, worrying about getting lost on campus or embarrassing myself by saying something dumb in class. Around five that morning, I’d finally crashed, with just a couple of hours left before my alarm went off. Despite the lack of sleep, I made sure to get up early so I had plenty of time to get ready, eat breakfast, and find my first class.

  The first morning of classes had gone pretty smoothly, beginning with Statistics. I knew right away that particular class would be the death of me. Math had never really been my thing. Next, I had freshman English. I’d had to take the entrance exams for English immediately following final exams my senior year of high school. Although I felt sure I could’ve placed out of freshman English, a week’s worth of sleep deprivation and too much stress was detrimental to my final score. So I was forced to suck it up and start at the bottom, which in some ways could’ve been a blessing, because I hoped I could breeze through it.

  My next class, after lunch, was Psych 10. I recalled seeing Ryder standing in the Psych section of the bookstore. I wondered if he might end up being in my class. I stepped into the door of the brick building with my nerves sparking like live wires. I found the same room number that was listed on my schedule for Psych 10 posted above the door. The large room smelled a little musty. At least thirty students were gathered in there as they talked to their friends.

  My eyes swept the classroom for an empty seat. Sure enough, a familiar face stuck out among the crowd. The look on Ryder’s face when he saw me, spoke volumes. I could practically see his chest deflate from where I was standing. I didn’t know what he had against me. I’d never even formally met the guy. I mean, I’d seen him at the party, and made a fool of myself at the bookstore, but that was all. I could almost feel his contempt for me exuding off of him.

  The professor stood at the podium in the front of the room. She had long locks of graying hair that cascaded down her back. She wore a flowing skirt, a crocheted sweater vest, and clunky, brown Birkenstocks… clearly, a free spirit. “Good afternoon and welcome to Psych 10.”

  I quickly made my way to the only available seat—next to him. His eyes remained focused on the professor. I slid my notebook out of my backpack and grabbed a pen as the professor began her spiel.

  “I’m Dr. Atkins. This is an exploratory class on the different schools of psychology. We will be learning the history of psychology and about the most influential theorists in the world of psychology. We will also experiment with several different types of counseling methods. I want this atmosphere to be as relaxed and enjoyable as possible.” She glanced worriedly at Ryder. She must have known about him too.

  Ryder sank in his seat, staring at his desk. For a moment, I felt bad for him. It had to be uncomfortable knowing all eyes were on him, eager for him to speak out. The moment his eyes lifted, I flashed him a sympathetic smile. Rather than smile back at me, he returned an angry glare. I snapped my attention back to the professor. Geez. What did I ever do to you?

  I’D NEVER BEEN in Dr. Atkin’s class before, but she already knew about me. The fact that I was a genuine head case on this campus was no secret. I’m sure a few professors thought there was no way I could pass their class without speaking, but I’d proved them all wrong.

  Just before Dr. Atkins introduced herself to the class, that girl from the party just floated into the room, sitting her spritely ass down at the desk beside me. Great. In bounced Little Miss Sunshine like she was ready to absorb every ounce of happiness in the room, and reflect it tenfold like some kind of magical entity. Dr. Atkins’s eyes lit up. Kindred spirits, apparently. Dr. Atkins had that same free spirit as this chick seemed to have. Sunshine Girl took out a notebook and pen and laid them on her desk. I rolled my eyes. Freshman. So prepared.

  Dr. Atkins got through her spiel and immediately began her lecture. She wasted no time with pleasantries, and before long she had us pairing up to meet each other and discuss that day’s lesson.

  Conveniently, the girl from the party turned toward me. “Hi,” she greeted me with a bashful grin. “I’m Alexis. You’re Ryder, right?”

  The word ‘yes’ floated to the back of my throat, but I immediately swallowed it back. A rush of adrenaline pulsed through my arteries, my anxiety sky-rocketing. I glanced nervously around the room. God, I hated these situations.

  “It’s okay,” Alexis affirmed, her soothing voice floating over me like silk. “I know you don’t… talk.” She seemed a little uncomfortable, but more intrigued than anything. She continued, “So, Dr. Atkins said that who we partnered with today would be our partner for the rest of the semester. You okay with that?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. Ugh!

  No.

  I glared out the window, refusing to acknowledge this tiny slice of happiness nearly bursting with flowers and rainbows.

  I’m not okay with this at all.

  Alexis stared at me, not really expecting a response. I could tell she was trying to figure out what to do next. Most girls, once they realized I wasn’t going to talk back, chattered continuously to fill the awkward silence, but Alexis didn’t. She just watched me, staring at me with inquisitive fascination.

  Dr. Atkins interrupted the moment. Thank God. I was losing my mind to those dancing, cheerful eyes that felt like magnets to the joy I’d stuffed deep into my hardened heart.

  “I’d like you to take the next few minutes getting to know each other on a more personal level. Since this will be your partner for the rest of the semester, I suggest you exchange phone numbers so you can discuss assignments outside of class,” Dr. Atkins told us.

  Just great.

  Alexis quickly jotted her number down on a slip of paper. “You can text me,” she offered, surely knowing a phone conversation was out of the question. What she didn’t realize… I don’t text either.

  I grabbed her phone out of her hand and added my number as a contact. I may not ever text her back, but at least I’d followed Dr. Atkins’s orders. That was one step in the right direction. My therapist would be proud.

  Alexis prattled on, also obeying Dr. Atkins’s orders. “So, I’m from a small town near Charlotte. Born and raised. My stepdad is Chris King, the musician. You might’ve heard of him.”

  Of course I knew who Chris King was. I used to listen to his band, Fifth Wheel, on repeat before the accident. I just couldn’t enjoy his music like I used to, though. Honestly, I couldn’t enjoy anything like I used to. The only thing I enjoyed was the feeling of dead weight pressing on my body as I drifted to sleep after I’d popped a couple of pills.

  She didn’t wait for a reaction. She continued, “I loved playing volleyball in hig
h school, but I also loved dance. Hip hop was my favorite.”

  I could tell. I’d watched the way she moved when she danced with her friends that night. I couldn’t help the fact that my eyes wandered when she dipped her hips and shook her ass to the beat. I almost nodded, but caught myself.

  “Anyway,” she continued, catching my eye, “My roommate’s name is Gia. I’ve only known her a few days, but she’s already becoming like my best friend.”

  I didn’t have a roommate. The minute he found out about me, he requested a transfer to another room. Now I had the whole room to myself. It was nice. No one expected anything from me, and vice versa.

  “So, I guess now that we’re partners, we’ll be working on projects together. I hope you don’t spend the whole time talking and wasting our valuable time.” Alexis broke out into a huge grin, giggling at her own attempt at humor.

  I replaced the urge to smile with a grimace, clenching my jaw.

  Class ended and people began filing out, heading toward their next class.

  Alexis packed her bag and glanced at me, “So, I guess I’ll see ya around.”

  I hope so. Ugh. Where the hell did that come from?

  I meant, Yeah, whatever.

  SITTING BY THE water’s edge, I stared across the pond. I’d brought my sketch pad and charcoal pencils with me, but didn’t really feel like drawing.

  Sketching and painting had always been my life’s passion. I’d earned several awards for my art in school, but I’d given it all up after Chloe’s death. That is until the day my mother brought my sketch book to me in the hospital.

  “I brought you something,” she grinned, hiding one arm behind her back.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t need or want anything from her. With a huff, I turned my gaze toward the window.

  “I think you’re going to like it,” my mother teased in a sing-song voice. “It may help you.”