Silence

by Deborah Lytton

  From seven to fifteen, I was silent. After eight years, my voice forgot how to work. Now, every time I hear myself speak, I am reminded of the silence, and the reason for the silence. It takes me right back there, to the place I want to forget. I call back the words as they come out, pulling and pushing them at the same time.

  That is why my voice sounds like a train chugging up a hill, pulling and pushing. Never knowing if it will ever reach its destination.

  I collect the empty flats. Stack them neatly, fitting each one into another. I enjoy the mindless work. I carry the pile to Jeremiah. He points to a spot near the door.

  “That’s great. Just leave ’em there.”

  I set the flats down.

  “Can you give the indoor plants a drink before you go?” Jeremiah asks.

  “Sure th-ing,” I tell him. I step into the shaded part of the nursery. The indoor plants are neatly arranged in circles on a large table. In the middle is a giant fern. I smile at my display, which is much better than the one Jeremiah had before—the plants in complete disarray. Now they look like they belong.

  I fill a giant blue watering can from the nearby faucet. Then I give each of the plants a long drink. I watch as the clear stream pours out of the neck of the can, disappearing into the shiny green leaves.

  If I’d had a friend when I needed help, if I hadn’t been so alone, maybe things would have been different. Maybe.

  I think of Stella’s last text message. Maybe.

  I move around the circle, watering each of the plants. A ray of golden sunshine trickles through the awning. I watch as it showers light on the leaves of the giant fern, and I add water to it. I can almost see the leaves stretching before me, reaching to the sky.

  I think of Stella again. Maybe she needs a little sun and water. Maybe that will help her reach out.

  And that’s when I know exactly what we will do tomorrow.

  SIGNS

  — Stella —

  It’s 1:45. I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror.

  Half of my head is shaved. A bandage is on one side of my head. My eyes are still sunken, the bruises faded to a pale green. Add that to my inability to stand without getting dizzy, and I’m not exactly looking my best.

  But I made a bargain, and I am going to keep my word.

  So, looking in the mirror, I make a decision. I won’t worry about how I look. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it anyway. The decision is surprisingly freeing. I’m letting go of what is on the outside. Letting go of what is out of my control.

  I pull on a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I push my feet into my sneakers, lean over to tie them, but the room begins to swim, and my stomach churns. I leave them unlaced.

  I open the front door and sit on the front step. Mom is at work. Emerson is at a friend’s house. I am the only one here.

  I have no idea why Hayden is coming here. Maybe he’s the type who likes charity cases. Like the people who bring home stray kittens and injured baby birds. Maybe he thinks he’s responsible for me because he saved my life. Or maybe (and this is the worst possibility of all), he likes me. The thought is so scary that my throat closes up. I gasp for air.

  No boys has been my mantra for two years. It has anchored me to my other mantra, Someday Broadway.

  That mantra is gone now. I’m set adrift without an anchor. I don’t like being tossed about on the currents of the unknown. It makes me feel even more unbalanced. Confused. Through the haze, one thought becomes clear—I am going back inside.

  Just at that moment, his blue truck pulls up. I close my eyes and will myself to normalcy. When I open them again, he is walking up the sidewalk to my front door.

  Taller than I remembered, blonder than I remembered. And definitely handsomer than I remembered.

  But his eyes are just as I remembered. Piercing.

  He’s wearing faded jeans and a blue T-shirt with a plaid shirt tied around his waist. No clue from his clothes where we’re going. But I do know that I have dressed appropriately.

  He’s smiling at me, and before I realize it, I am smiling back. The haze has disappeared. I can see clearly now. I see Hayden.

  I stand, a little shaky. I wobble slightly as he towers over me.

  “Hi,” he mouths slowly.

  I smile back.

  “Ready to go?” he asks, again slowly enough for me to read his lips.

  I nod. He notices my laces and looks at me, a question in his eyes.

  I shake my head. “Dizzy.”

  “May I?” he asks.

  I lower my eyes. “Thank you.”

  Butterflies crash around in my stomach as I watch Hayden tie my shoes for me. I’m not sure I even breathe as he stands up again and grins.

  I walk beside him to the truck. Wait while he opens the door for me. I climb in, and he shuts the door.

  While he walks around to the driver’s side, I have a moment to collect myself. I’ve never really been out on a date before. Not a real one, anyway. Just those group outings with Lily to hang out with boys she had crushes on. And I’ve never had a boyfriend. I don’t know whether this is even a real date, but suddenly, I am overwhelmingly shy.

  I look around. The truck is clean inside. Mint gum sits on a shelf in the dashboard. His cell phone lies on the seat. No other clues as to who this magical person may be.

  Hayden gets in and smiles at me again before he starts the car. The keys in the ignition dangle back and forth on his keychain—a knot woven of silver. I’ve seen it before. That night.

  I shiver slightly, remembering when he said my name. How it sounded like music. I may never hear Hayden speak my name again. My chest is tight with the loss. I watch the knot swing back and forth. Better than staring at him.

  I turn to look out the window, watching the streets we pass. I think about why I am here. Try to imagine myself in a new way. And that means letting go.

  I am here with Hayden. That’s all that matters. I glance at him. As if he knows I am thinking about him, he looks at me. The tightness in my chest begins to loosen like a rosebud beginning to bloom in the sun. Petals slowly open.

  I’m still a prisoner in my Miss America bubble of silence, but I notice something new. The silence isn’t as lonely as it was before. Somehow, it feels . . . peaceful.

  After about fifteen minutes, Hayden turns onto Pacific Coast Highway, which runs along the beach. Sapphire waters melt onto the shore. Hayden leans across me to roll down my window. He’s so close that for a moment, I can feel his warmth. His hair brushes softly against my cheek, leaving the scent of coconut shampoo in its wake. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I resist the urge to cover them with my hands. Before I know it, the moment is over. The rush of fresh air from the open window cools my flaming skin.

  I breathe deeply. Taste the salty air on my tongue. Then I lean forward to let the wind blow on my face. I close my eyes and let myself be.

  When I open them again, we are pulling into a parking lot. Hayden turns off the truck and comes around to my side to help me out. He grabs a backpack from the bed of the truck and slings it over his shoulder.

  Then he turns to smile at me. “Let’s go,” he says.

  As I walk beside him, he slows his pace to keep time with mine. His stride is smooth, effortless. He glides.

  At the edge of the sand, he leans over to pull off his sneakers. I try to do the same, but as soon as my head drops below my waist, I stagger. I give up. I can’t even take my own shoes off.

  This is not how I pictured my first date.

  I step into the sand, and my shoes sink into the softness. Hayden walks closer to the water. Then he stops and pulls a blanket out of the backpack. Together we lay it across the sand. Gingerly, I sit down. Hayden sits next to me.

  Being so close to him makes my heart race. I imagine he can hear it pounding in my chest. I dare to look at him. He gestures to my sneakers.

  “Can I help you?” he asks slowly.

  I nod.

  Hayden unties my sneaker
s. From there, I can push the shoes off my feet. I dig my toes into the sand. Touch the coolness beneath the surface.

  The ocean sparkles in the bright sunlight. Seagulls swoop into the water, making U shapes in the sky as they rise and fall. The waves roll and wash on the shore, sending foam splashing into the air. The spray drifts across my cheeks. Sprinkles me. The beach is almost empty, save for a couple of joggers and the occasional surfer. I sense my breathing slow. My heart rate calm.

  “You remembered,” I say. He remembered that the beach is my dream vacation. I don’t say that I remember it is his favorite, too. I don’t have to.

  “I remember everything about you,” he says. I imagine how his voice sounds as he forms the syllables—slow and staggered. But when I read his lips, the words are smooth and easy. Slow.

  The meaning of his words dawns on me, and a delicious joy curves my lips into a smile.

  I marvel again at how easily I understand him, when I cannot understand anyone else. Even Emerson.

  I pull my eyes away from him and look out at the rolling water. A whole world is out there. A world that knows nothing about Stella Layne. The thought makes me feel free. Hopeful. Grateful.

  We sit there, side by side. After a time, I steal a glance at Hayden. He looks out at the waves. His skin shines like gold, and his lion’s mane is tousled by the ocean breeze. He is smiling the half-smile that makes him look shy and approachable. I want to know everything about him. Where he got the scar along his chin. If anyone else in his family has eyes the color of jewels. And more than anything, I want to know why he is helping me like this.

  Suddenly, Hayden turns his head and looks at me. And that’s when I see it—something in his eyes. Something so painful. It’s like I can see into his soul. And what I see there is so tragic that I forget about my own problems and reach out to him. I don’t think. Just touch him.

  It is a simple gesture; my hand rests on his arm just above the woven bracelet. But in that movement, in that touch, something happens. Something so profound that it extends beyond this moment. Beyond this day. The moment passes as quickly as one breath, but the world has shifted. And I understand something I have only partially grasped until now. That somehow, Hayden and I are linked. I can tell from the look in his eyes that he feels it too. Words aren’t necessary. Hearing isn’t necessary.

  Suddenly, a mischievous smile flits across Hayden’s face. He stands and runs toward the waves. I push myself to my feet and follow. Hayden is knee deep, waiting for me. The water is so cold it stings my toes, makes them feel numb.

  Instantly, memories collide in my mind. The water of the pool, me drifting down, not breathing. I stumble backwards, away from the pain. Hayden moves toward me, his expression etched with understanding. Looking at him brings me back to the present. Hayden stands with me. On the edge of the water.

  I let the waves lap my toes. I get used to the temperature, used to the feeling. Then Hayden kicks some water toward me. I smile and splash him back. Within moments, we are playing like little kids. Splashing in the ocean. And for those moments, I completely forget about everything.

  When we come out of the water, Hayden tosses me a towel. I dry off. Then he offers me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple. Surprisingly, I am starving.

  “Is this you saving me?” I ask. I am trying to tease him, but I don’t know if my voice has the right inflection. I imagine that it does. I watch for his reaction, suddenly wishing I hadn’t tried to say something that needed inflection to make sense.

  But Hayden grins. He seems to understand that it is a joke. His hair curls at the ends where it is wet. I resist the urge to touch it. “It’s a beginning.”

  He winks at me, and my stomach does another flip-flop. I should be getting used to them by now. I find myself studying the skin of the red apple in my hand. Where the red fades to pink. I touch the stem. Think of the game Emerson and I used to play: Twirl the stem and recite the letters of the alphabet. On the letter the stem releases, that will be the letter of your true love. I spin the stem around and around and think the letters to myself. A-B-C-D-E-F-G. On the eighth twist, the stem comes off. H.

  Hayden touches my shoulder briefly, and I turn sheepishly to meet his eyes. “Tell me,” he says. When he speaks to me, I can read his lips as clearly as if I could hear.

  And that’s when it pours out of me. All of it. I tell Hayden everything. What’s wrong with me, and how I don’t know if I will ever hear again. How I pretended with Lily so she wouldn’t feel guilty. My dad not even looking at me. Losing the starring role to Quinn after all that work. My fear that I will never sing again. And the surgery that promises to make me whole again, the promise that feels like a giant question mark hanging in the air over my head.

  I don’t know how my voice sounds. If I am using too much volume—am I screaming at him? Or if I am speaking too softly—maybe he can’t hear me at all. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter, because I am saying these words aloud. My fears are revealed. My loss is revealed. I don’t have to pretend. Not with him. Suddenly, the way my voice sounds doesn’t matter at all.

  He listens without responding. He just watches me with his mesmerizing eyes and his calm spirit. And I am present. Here and now. Then he reaches out and gently places his hand over my eyes. Closing them. He lifts my hand. Turns it over.

  Then, grains of sand. Cool. Smooth. Pooling in my palm.

  I open my eyes. Look at Hayden, curious.

  “What did you feel?” he asks.

  “Sand. Cool as a shadow. Soft and heavy at the same time. Like time was passing and standing still. Both at once.”

  Hayden nods. “Close your eyes again. Breathe.”

  I close my eyes. Breathe.

  Smell the salt in the air. Freedom.

  Hayden’s coconut shampoo. Excitement.

  The scent of the peanut butter, tangy and sweet. Comfort.

  I open my eyes again. This time, beaming at him. I’m beginning to understand.

  Now I can feel the wind blowing my hair, lifting it off my neck. Making me warm and cold at the same time. The same feeling I have being close to Hayden.

  “Look,” he tells me as he gestures to the sea.

  I see sparkles of light dancing on the water. The waves moving, like life always moving. An ocean of possibilities stretches out in front of me, leading to worlds beyond.

  Then I notice something else. Dolphins. Three of them. Their backs arch out of the water, shiny and silver. Gliding through the waves. I am blessed to be here. Blessed to experience this day.

  I turn to look at Hayden. He is watching me.

  “What day do you see the doctor?” he asks.

  “April tenth.”

  He says nothing else, just turns his eyes to the horizon once more. As if all of the answers are out there somewhere, waiting to be found. We sit side by side without another word. Until the sun sets like a ball of fire melting into the water.

  And then he drives me home.

  That night, I lie in bed, reliving every single moment of the day. For those hours, I could breathe. I was present, alive. And I could communicate. Even without telling him things, he seemed to know, to understand. I could hear his voice in my mind.

  I know only one thing.

  He is the white feather of hope drifting through the darkness of my days.

  And if I can hold on, I just might be able to fly.

  A pledge of time

  — Hayden —

  I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked sitting on the front step, her shoes untied and her face set with determination. How her eyes lit up like a little kid’s at Christmas when she saw the dolphins. Listening to her talk, seeing her smile, just being with her.

  Stella sees me—the real me, not the stuttering, stammering me. Even before her accident, she saw me. She didn’t turn away when she heard my voice in the theater. She didn’t ignore me and walk away. Stella wants to be with me; I can tell from the look in her eyes. And I want to
be with her—she makes me forget everything that came before.

  She has seventeen more days to wait—seventeen days of silence. After that, she will know if her life will return to the way it was before, or if it will be silent forever.

  I can help her. I saw how she responded to the sand in her hand, to the ocean breeze in her hair. She’s open to life in a way that makes me feel something I have never felt before. Hopeful.

  Hope is like stepping out of a prison cell into a grassy meadow on a spring day. The darkness becomes a distant memory, and it seems anything is possible.

  I finish my calculus homework, and then I write to her.

  I have a challenge for you. You have 17 days to wait. Until then, I can show you all the things you can do without hearing. At the end of 17 days, 1 of 3 things will happen: 1. You will hear again. 2. You can give up. 3. You will be able to imagine yourself differently. Will you let me help you?

  I don’t know how she will respond. Will she say yes?

  She doesn’t say yes or no. She sends this:

  Why would you want to do that for me?

  My answer is simple.

  Because I had to figure things out on my own, and I wish someone had helped me.

  There’s more, of course. Like the way I felt when she touched me. How everything disappeared—the past, the memories. It was like the earth stood still for a split second, and we were the only two people in the world. No one has ever made me feel like that before. I want to feel it again. I want to be with her again.

  I don’t wait long for her response. It shines with promise. Hope.

  Yes.

  17

  — Stella —

  My first thought when I read Hayden’s challenge is that I am depressing scenario number one—a charity case. But my second thought is that I don’t care. Not if it means more time with Hayden.

  When I receive his response to my question—that he wishes someone had helped him—I answer him in the only way I ever would answer him. It seems that we are bound together by circumstance, by pain, and maybe by something more.