The Silent Sounds of Chaos

by Kristina Circelli

  Curling up around it, Finn pulled the grass figure from his pocket and traced his fingers over it, deciding not to call for Snow again. She didn’t need to know about the life he wished never existed at all.

  THE GIRL CURLED up in the top corner of her bed, snuggled beneath a soft star-patterned blanket and listening to the sounds of morning time just outside her bedroom door. Her parents’ voices echoed through the wooden door, laughing as breakfast was made and plates set on the table for their first Sunday meal.

  She knew those voices, loved them with all her young heart. One belonged to the lady who smelled like caramel, with her curly brown hair and friendly eyes that always seemed to be smiling. The other belonged to the man who laughed like Santa Claus, with his thick, dark hair, equally dark eyes, and big hands that made her feel safe each time they picked her up for a hug.

  She hadn’t known them long, but, already, she’d come to love them.

  Sunlight blinked through her curtains, urging the girl to rise. As she did, memories of last night came to mind. The voice. The boy. The conversation that lasted until she fell asleep. She took a moment to reflect on that conversation, remembering how she’d been lying in bed, staring up at the glowing stars stuck to the ceiling and feeling so alone, when a voice suddenly spoke inside her head.

  Please make it stop, the little boy had said.

  Perhaps she should have been afraid, but instead, she was intrigued, and a little worried for the boy who sounded so scared as he pleaded for help. Of course, he refused to admit he was afraid, or that he was crying and called for help.

  Boys. The girl shook her head to herself and crawled out of bed, making her way down the hallway. She liked talking to him, even if he was a stranger. She didn’t have many people to talk to in this new town with new kids who already had friends of their own, and the boy who called for help was all hers.

  Her young mind couldn’t process the possibilities of his voice in her head, but then, it didn’t need to. She had a friend. How she made that friend didn’t matter.

  “Good morning, honey,” the lady at the stove greeted when she walked in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” the girl replied around an exaggerated yawn. Her hopeful sapphire eyes that perfectly matched the pale hue of her hair turned up to the frying pan. “Can I have some pancakes, please?”

  “Silly goose, you know you don’t have to ask.” The lady smiled down at her. “You take a seat at the table and we’ll serve you up a nice, big breakfast. How does that sound?”

  “Good!” The girl did as she was told and took a seat across from the man with the Santa Claus laugh. He scrunched up his face at her, crossing his eyes in a way that made her giggle. She liked it here, with these people. They were funny and nice, and liked it when she laughed.

  When the lady set a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of her, the child nearly bounced up and down in excitement. “Thank you, Mrs…”

  Her voice trailed off uncertainly, but the lady who tucked her into bed last night wasn’t fazed. “Sweetie, you know you can call me Mommy, if you want to.”

  She did want to, desperately. “Thank you … Mommy.”

  Her new mommy—the best mommy—leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You are most certainly welcome, my beautiful little girl. Now, dig in. I can hear that belly rumbling all the way over here!”

  The girl giggled again and did just that, stuffing her mouth with the best-tasting food she’d ever had. After a few minutes of eating, the man she guessed she could call Daddy spoke up.

  “How did you sleep, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

  She loved her room. Her beautiful room, with her own bed and her own toys to play with. It was the best room she’d ever seen, and her first night had been the best night of her young life. “I love it,” she answered honestly, though she did leave out how scared she had been. Even the nightlight in the corner couldn’t cast out all the shadows that worried her seven-year-old mind.

  In fact, she’d been fretting over those very shadows, silently praying for them to leave her alone, when she heard the boy’s voice in her head asking for help of his own. Talking to him and earning a new friend had helped her get over her fears.

  “My friend helped me fall asleep,” she put in innocently, stabbing at a bite of pancake with her fork.

  “Oh? Did Amelia tell you more bedtime stories?”

  “No.” Snow swallowed and wiped a glob of syrup from her cheek, thinking first about her new big sister who shared her room and was still sleeping upstairs, then her new friend. Amelia was nice and talked to her after they were both tucked in, but she fell asleep fast after that, leaving Snow to adjust to her new room alone. “My friend. He said my room sounds nice.”

  She didn’t see the look her parents shared across the table. “Your friend?” her mom repeated. “Who is your friend?”

  “His name is Finn.”

  Her mom laughed, though Snow was too young to hear the relief in the sound. “Finn, huh? Kind of like Huckleberry Finn?”

  “I think so. He wants to be an explorer and go all over the world and see new places. He doesn’t like his house so he wants to see lots of others and make friends everywhere he goes.” Finn had told her all those things during their long talk last night. He had big dreams for a little boy, dreams she admired. She’d never thought that hard about her future before and what she wanted to do when she was a grownup.

  Her new mommy tucked back her hair and nodded. “Well, Finn sounds like fun.”

  “He is. We talked to each other in our heads. He’s my age.” She told them more about her new friend, as much as she knew, anyway. By the time she was finished her plate was empty. Carefully, she scooted off her chair and brought the plate to the sink. Manners were important to her. She had to clean up after herself to make sure her new parents wanted to keep her. She’d do anything to avoid going back to her old home where there was no one to want and love her.

  At the sink, she heard whispers behind her, words like imaginary and worried and doctor. She hoped her new parents weren’t mad she was talking to Finn. Even though she had just met him, she didn’t want to let him go and didn’t want them to think he was bad.

  Suddenly concerned, Snow turned from the sink. Her expression was somber as she faced her parents, her father with a smile on his face and her mother looking concerned. “Finn is my friend. He’s nice and I like talking to him.”

  Her mommy smiled and gestured for the child to come over, waiting until the girl climbed onto her lap. “Of course he is, sweetie.” She held Snow against her, one hand gently patting her hair. “And I like his name. Is it his real name?”

  “No,” Snow answered automatically. “I remember what you told me. Since we’re strangers we came up with fun code names! I chose Finn for him. I like it. It’s fun to say.”

  “It is fun,” her mother agreed, shifting so she could look down at her daughter. “What does he call you?”

  “Snow.”

  Next to her, Snow’s father chuckled. “Snow? Does our little girl like to run outside and catch snowflakes on her tongue?”

  “No.” Snow giggled. “Because I like animals and want to be nice like a princess.”

  “A princess, huh?” he repeated, one hand lifting to his forehead dramatically. “Royalty in our family! Honey, did you hear that!” he said to his wife, who raised her eyebrows playfully. “That must make me the king.”

  “King Daddy,” Snow confirmed, picking up a pen and tapping him on both shoulders as she’d seen people do on TV.

  “I like the sound of that. And I think Snow is a wonderful name. You just tell this new friend Finn that he better be nice to you or else he’ll have to answer to me. And you just remember what we told you about talking to strangers.”

  “I will.”

  And so the girl now named Snow tucked it away in her mind that her new friend came with rules, rules she knew better than to break.

  Dirt kicked up beneath worn sneakers as Finn p
ushed off the defensive line, aiming for the quarterback. He was small and quick, his wiry frame making it easy to slip between the other players. Two hands shoved the other boy to the ground before the ball could be thrown. He landed with a grunt and glared up at his opponent.

  “Geez, you didn’t have to push me,” the boy complained, shooting Finn a dirty look. “It’s touch football. Chill out.”

  Ignoring him, Finn jogged back to his team, feeling victorious and quite pleased with himself. He’d been amazed the older kids, kids he’d just met in the field in the back of his school, had even invited him to play. Now that he was in the game, he had to be the best. Having seen his friends teased and shoved by other older students in the past, he’d made a promise to show them just how tough he was. Finn wasn’t going to let them push him around if he could do the pushing first.

  One of his teammates in the game of pickup clapped him on the back. “Awesome block, dude!”

  Finn bit back a grin. Now wasn’t the time to celebrate and act like a kid, not when the game was on the line. It was important to look tough. No one messed with the tough kids and thought they could run them down on the field.

  When they see how much you don’t care, ain’t a person out there who can hurt you, his mother had once told him. And, for once, she was right. She didn’t care who and what she was, and no one in town could bring her down.

  He kept that in mind as they got into position again, his concentration focused on the quarterback—a big kid who was at least four inches taller and a good ten pounds heavier. Overhead, the sun beamed down from a cloudless blue sky, warming their backs and lighting the way for more awesome plays. At their feet, ankle-high grass clung to their ankles, leftover morning dew making their runs slippery.

  The ball hiked into the opponent’s hands. Surging forward, Finn pushed past the center, spun in a circle to avoid a two-hand touch, and reached his destination. His shoulder pounded into the quarterback’s chest, bringing them both down. Finn was back on his feet in seconds, breathing heavily yet triumphantly, not even noticing the dirt caked in his hair or the scraped skin on his knees. The other boy tossed the ball to the side before getting up slowly, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest and glaring over at the new kid they’d made the mistake of feeling bad for and letting join the game.

  “What’s your problem, man? You don’t have to be such a jerk.”

  Finn glared at the boy, who was brushing off his jeans. “Don’t get mad at me. Not my fault you’re so slow.”

  “Whatever.” Already dismissing his opponent, the quarterback walked away, back to his team, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder at the “new kid with serious issues.”

  Finn heard the laughing jabs from his place at the edge of the huddle. He wasn’t a jerk, he considered. He was tough. The quarterback clearly didn’t understand. Football was not a game where people chilled out. It was about winning and being the best. This boy wanted him to play like a girl, to be weak. He refused. Weak people got hurt. Weak people died.

  Before he could come back with a retort, Finn was hit with a wave of sadness, one he recognized not as his own, but belonging to the girl he’d talked to only once. As the feel of her presence filled him, he realized Snow was back; he realized how much he had missed her, how complete he now felt knowing she was with him.

  But he didn’t like the sadness. It was overwhelming, a sensation he didn’t know what to do with. It made him feel vulnerable and too much like the kind of person who could be hurt, like his mother said. So instead of being sad, he channeled a different emotion—rage. Yes, anger was easy. It was familiar. Anger he knew what to do with, even if it meant being a jerk and pushing other kids to the ground.

  Before he could think to ask Snow why she was sad, he had to get rid of these feelings. They were too much for his small body. His young mind was barely able to process his own emotions, let alone those of another. He stepped forward, about to shout the boy’s name and start a fight right there in the middle of the field, when the sadness was replaced by a voice whispering his name.

  I wish Finn was here.

  The wish stopped Finn in his tracks. He heard her so clearly and felt her need for a friend deep in his heart. Was this what she felt when she heard his plea the night they met? A shout from one of the boys on his team had Finn looking up, but he ignored them, turning around and walking in the other direction to the sound of their questions being called at his back.

  They didn’t need him. They didn’t even like him. Called him a jerk with serious issues. These boys weren’t his friends. But Snow was, and she needed him. He was going to be there for her like she was the night he hid in the closet.

  Finding a tree far away from everyone else, Finn sat down and leaned against it, closing his eyes. It was easier to concentrate on her voice that way. The more he focused, the less anger he felt, replaced by a deep desire to make his new friend happy again.

  He’d know what to say to them, Snow’s voice came again.

  She didn’t seem to know he was listening, or maybe she didn’t know he could, he wondered. So he made his presence known by asking, Say to who?

  ALONE IN HER little corner of the playground, Snow pushed off the ground, swinging lightly beneath the afternoon sun. All around her children played, laughing with one another as they conspired with friends and released the pent-up energy that came from a morning sitting in a classroom. Snow watched them wistfully, wishing she had friends like that, wondering why her own invisible friend had left her so quickly.

  It had been one full week since she met Finn, that voice in her head she knew, she knew, wasn’t imaginary like her parents thought. He’d felt too real inside her mind, like he was walking across her brain and sending her his thoughts by shouting them in her ears. Their conversation had been new and exciting, and made her move to her new home less scary. But believing he was real also made her sad. He’d promised to be her friend, then left her all alone, and her feelings were hurt.

  With a sniffle, Snow pushed her long, blonde hair out of her face and stared out at the playground, watching a race in progress. She wasn’t a very fast runner and was never invited to compete with the other kids in her class. In fact, she wasn’t invited to do anything with the other kids. Amelia had lots of friends and sometimes let her sit with her or join in on conversations, but it wasn’t the same as having her own friends to do stuff with. Everyone thought she was a weird girl. Some even told her she was too skinny and that she was too quiet.

  “Hey!” a shout to her right had Snow jumping. She looked over to see Davey, a boy from class, standing with a small group of kids. “This is where we play.”

  Sad, and a little scared, Snow nodded and slid off the swing. She was used to being bossed around by the other students at school, and even the teachers, who were usually grumpy and just wanted to get the day over with. When she made to pass the boy who was clearly in charge, she felt a hand on her arm. “Hey,” Davey said again. “What’s it like where you’re from anyway? You know, at the pet store?”

  Snow’s blue eyes looked up at the boy, filled with hurt. “W-what?”

  “We all know where you really came from,” he sneered. “Everyone knows your parents aren’t really your parents and they picked you out at the store. So what’s the pet store like? Or did they find you in a dumpster?”

  Snow pressed her lips together, determined not to cry in front of the kids who were now laughing at her. It wasn’t the first time she’d been made fun of because of her parents. Or, rather, because of where she came from. They didn’t understand what it was like to have a mom and dad who didn’t want her, so why would they understand how it felt to finally have parents who did?

  With another sniffle she yanked her arm back and ran. Laughter followed her, making her run faster, away from the mean kids with even meaner words. She found a quiet corner away from the playground and sat with her back against the brick wall, pulling her knees to her chest and lowering her head so no one could see h
er cry.

  I’m not from a dumpster, she thought miserably, remembering the day her new parents came to get her from the group home and how happy she’d been. She’d already known them, having met them several times before and visiting their house. They’d been so nice, so loving. They wanted her, even if her real parents didn’t.

  I wish Finn was here. He’d know what to say to them.

  Say to who?

  Snow stiffened at the extra voice in her head, the decidedly boy voice that belonged to just one person. A smile crept across her tear-stained face. Finn?

  Snow? Where have you been?

  Where have you been? she returned, annoyed by the question but grateful for his voice. You stopped talking to me.

  Silence met her thoughts before, I tried to talk to you but it didn’t work. But then I heard you wishing for me.

  Snow frowned, thinking over his response. The first time she’d talked to him, she heard his words whispering across her mind, wishing for someone to make it stop. This time, he’d heard her wish for him to be there. Maybe, she considered, they had to need each other, like invisible superheroes coming to the rescue. She liked the sound of that.

  If you say so, she returned, not sure how to continue.

  …So, who would I know what to say to?

  Brought back to the moment, Snow sniffled again and told him about the mean kids on the playground, about the fact that she was adopted, about the loneliness she sometimes felt because no one seemed to understand. The other kids called her a fake daughter, and liked to make her feel bad because her real parents, whoever they were, didn’t want her.

  You should have punched him in the nose.

  Despite the sadness creeping into her heart, Snow laughed at that, shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine herself ever doing something like that. That’s not nice, Finn.