Finding a Voice

by Kim Hood

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve arranged for the group home supervisor and your school counsellor to meet with you tomorrow. It’s going to have to be here, because you aren’t going anywhere until the end of the week. All going well with that conversation, the whole matter will be dropped.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I approved. I just wanted to get the apologies over with now.

  ‘There’s more though,’ Francie continued. ‘I’ve talked with your mom, and this little stunt of yours just proves that you guys need more than me stopping in for a chat every once in a while. And it seems the stubborn pair of you may actually agree with me for once?’

  ‘I love my mom, Francie, but I don’t think I want to be the one to keep her sane anymore. You know what? I don’t even think I can.’

  It was such a relief to say that out loud. I could feel where that saying taking a weight off your shoulders came from, because I literally felt the weight shift.

  ‘Well hallelujah for that! And lucky for you, resources being as tight as they always are, you went and scared the bejesus out of everyone. It’s doing things like that that gets you moved right up the wait list. You just won your mom a community mental health nurse – coming soon to your house five hours a week!’

  The meeting with the group home staff was scheduled for 10a.m. on Monday. The nurse had helped me into the wheelchair and wheeled me into a small room filled with sofas where I was expecting Dr Sharon and Mary from the group home. I wasn’t expecting three other group home staff. Along with Mary, Cynthia walked in and two others who I had not met. Like Alison, who I had met when I went to the group home, they were youngish, and didn’t scare me as much as Mary and Cynthia. They introduced themselves as Trisha and Julie, smiling politely, but saying nothing more while they perched expectantly on their chairs, waiting for Dr Sharon.

  We had to wait another ten minutes, as Dr Sharon – characteristically casual – walked in late, taking her time to get out her note pad and pen before addressing the group.

  ‘Welcome all,’ she started. ‘I’m a school psychologist for the district, and Jo and I have been doing some work together for the last couple of months. My job here today apparently is to facilitate a conversation between all of you. We’ll see if we can all be on the same page by the end of our session. So, Mary would you like to start by letting Jo know the impact of her actions?’

  Mary held a piece of paper in front of her and her hands shook slightly.

  ‘It was just really hard to believe when we found out Chris was gone. The worry that night was unreal. We were worried about his medications being missed, if he was going to get to use the toilet, about how you would know what he needed.’

  ‘The big question that night was why. Why would someone take Chris?!’ Julie exclaimed.

  ‘Can you answer that, Jo?’ Dr Sharon directed the question to me.

  ‘Yes. I’ll try,’ I said quietly. ‘See, Chris isn’t just someone I help out with at school. He is my friend, maybe my first ever real friend. It started out with him listening to me. I didn’t know if he could understand what I said, but it was just so easy to talk to him.’

  I looked up. All eyes were on me, listening.

  ‘And then I found out he could read. Not just small words either – but whole books. And then we figured out a way for Chris to talk to me. The police officer told you that, right?’

  ‘He did. I’ve told everyone and we want to know all about it!’ Trisha said excitedly, and then looking around added with less enthusiasm, ‘That is, after we’re finished this part.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think I should have trusted people then, and told Mr Jenkins about Chris talking. I should have told all of you at Chris’s house too,’ I went on, ‘But then I saw how Chris lives. It’s so busy and there isn’t time for talking … And I’m sorry if I’m wrong for saying it – but it can’t be right for someone not to even have the door closed when they’re going to the toilet!’

  ‘So you thought it might be better to take Chris into the woods? How exactly were you able to help Chris in a better way?’ Mary shot back.

  ‘I think what Jo might be saying, is that she felt for her friend, from the life perspective of a thirteen-year-old. Not that she even thought as far as having any answers,’ Dr Sharon interjected.

  I nodded gratefully.

  ‘I was wrong. You’re right, I couldn’t look after Chris. But I thought Chris was asking me to take him away. He said, “Sad, home.” But he meant me,’ I admitted. ‘He meant I was sad in my home. He was kind of right.’

  ‘Okay. As long as we have that established,’ Mary admonished.

  ‘But I know you’re right too about what you say,’ Trisha said. ‘Everyone has a right to dignity. We forget that sometimes.’

  ‘But you didn’t see it all, Jo,’ Mary defended, ‘I hope you’ll come back again. I promise to listen to any suggestions you have about how we can improve things. But you have to promise to stay around long enough to see the good things about Chris’s home.’

  ‘Okay, it’s a deal,’ I smiled, relieved that I wasn’t going to be shut out of Chris’s life.

  ‘So! Can we finally move on to Jo teaching us how to talk to Chris? I’m dying to know!’ Trisha exclaimed.

  ‘Anyone have a cell phone?’ I asked. Four phones were raised immediately.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was the second newspaper article that changed everything. A reporter had come by to ask me questions early the next week, when I was still in the hospital. She wasn’t allowed to speak to me without Mom’s consent though, and Mom had point-blank refused.

  ‘I will not have my daughter flaunted as some allegory of the society we live in!’

  As usual, I hadn’t a clue what she had been talking about, but I was kind of glad not to have to talk to anyone else. I had had quite enough people in my life to explain my actions to, without adding a stranger to that list.

  It turns out the reporter was still able to get her story, though, as Mom pointed out an article on the bottom of the front page when she came in the next morning.

  ‘Now that’s better, Jo. Page one this time,’ Mom said matter-of-factly. ‘Not that I approve of this sort of publicity mind you. I think you’ll be pleased though.’

  I took the paper, eyes drawn to the article near the bottom.

  In Search of a Voice

  The curious case of a thirteen-year-old girl who disappeared with her severely-disabled peer last week has become clearer this week. It seems that there was more going on with the pair than anyone could possibly guess.

  The lead investigating officer was astounded when he interviewed the young girl, and was told that the disabled boy she absconded with would be able to give his account of events that occurred late last week, despite the fact that he had no known way of communicating with words and was believed to be too intellectually disabled to do so.

  ‘The guy can’t talk. But this young girl said he would be able to spell out, letter by letter, answers to my questions. I have to say I was pretty sceptical. Kids in trouble can come up with the most elaborate lies,’ said Officer Morgan.

  It turns out she was right. While no one else in Chris Fern’s fifteen years had ever found out that he could read, write and use those skills to communicate, Jo MacNamara somehow discovered that indeed he could.

  ‘We look after Chris every day,’ said Mary Saunders, supervisor at the home for disabled children where Chris lives. ‘We know him better than anyone. But we never knew he would be capable of this. All of a sudden, he has things to say to us that we never imagined. It is going to change his life, and ours.’

  The pair of teens had apparently been ‘talking’ for weeks, based on a system modelled simply on the number pad texting system employed by classic cell phones. Using this crude communication tool, Chris was able to tell the police officer that he held no bad feelings toward Jo for absconding with him, even though he was later hospitalised after
suffering hypothermia and dehydration.

  We spoke to his teacher, Bernard Jenkins, to find out his views on the student he has taught for over two years. Jenkins was instrumental in coordinating a search party for the pair that included Jo’s family, Chris’s long-term carers and concerned fellow students and community members.

  ‘Chris is one of many who deserve a means of communicating,’ he said. ‘Jo knows that, and as a young person not yet jaded into accepting the practical limits, she is one of the only people Chris has trusted to ask for this basic right.’

  When asked what he thought Chris needed he said, ‘The only thing needed now is a proper system for Chris to use. In this day and age Chris should have access to technological tools that you and I take for granted. Unfortunately, there just isn’t the five grand in the school’s budget for the equipment he needs. And as a ward of the state, it’s not like he has any family that are going to step up to the plate either.’

  I didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset. It was great that there was interest in talking to Chris. But it didn’t sound like Mr Jenkins was any closer to getting Chris the equipment he needed, despite his promise to ensure he got it.

  I didn’t have to go back to school that week. Or the next. I was slowly getting used to relying on others for even the simplest things, like getting from the bed to the wheelchair. It gave me an appreciation of what Chris experienced every day of his life.

  I was finally let out of hospital though the following Monday. That morning both Mom and Grandma came to take me home. I was going to be confined to a wheelchair for a while, at least until the surgeon was happy enough with my leg healing to let me begin to use crutches. Grandma had decided that if she couldn’t take her granddaughter home for good, maybe she could handle living with her daughter for a week or so to help out.

  ‘I suppose if the pair of you needs me I could just about manage another trip west,’ she had said to me on the phone a few days before. I would never know how the conversations had gone between Grandma and Mom about who would have guardianship over me. Something had changed though, and both of them seemed more settled in how we all fit together as a family.

  ‘Shall I bring the car to the door, Sue?’ Grandma asked when I was settled in the wheelchair, for once consulting Mom about anything at all.

  ‘Such a nice day, maybe we’ll just walk the twenty kilometres home!’ Mom exclaimed, and when she saw Grandma stand slightly more erect, said quickly with a smile, ‘I’m joking of course Mom! Yes, bring the car around, thanks.’

  So, it wasn’t like in the movies when everything between us was instantly perfect, but it was better and for once I was going to enjoy it while it lasted, for as long as it lasted, instead of worrying about when it would end.

  It was a couple of days later, that I heard a shout from the kitchen. It was just after ten in the morning, and both Mom and Grandma had agreed that it was no harm for me to spend leisurely mornings in bed. Since Mom was camped out on the sofa, giving her own bed up to Grandma, she was now up before me for the first time since I could remember.

  So it was Mom who rushed into my room with my new best friend – my wheelchair on loan from the hospital.

  ‘Let’s get you in this contraption. I think you may want to see this.’

  ‘What is it, Mom?’

  ‘Just help me get you in this chair before you miss your Grandma being human. I don’t think I’ve seen her so animated since I took her to see that Broadway musical, I don’t remember the name, that one she loves. It was years ago. I haven’t seen her smile like this since then, anyway!’

  I was wheeled into the kitchen before I was fully awake. Then Grandma shoved the newspaper into my hands, pointing to a small article that she had circled in red.

  A Voice at Last

  In a dramatic conclusion to the unfolding story of Chris Fern and Jo MacNamara that we have been following since the two disappeared from Thorton Secondary nearly two weeks ago, Chris will finally have a means of communicating easily.

  ‘I met John Smith, a representative from TechnaSpeak, a new technology firm specialising in making computer technology accessible, in a conference I attended just after Chris and Jo were found,’ said Bernard Jenkins, a teacher of both Chris and Jo. ‘He was keen to hear about Chris’s needs, but at the time I didn’t know exactly what they were. I took his card, and I thought that was the end of it.’

  It was only the beginning though. It seems that when Smith read about Chris in this paper, he couldn’t stand by and see Chris’s needs go unmet.

  ‘Chris is the perfect candidate for the adaptations we design,’ says Smith. ‘We’re a new company, and to be honest, Chris is the best person to advertise just how much our products can do to adapt mainstream computer hardware and software to meet individual needs.’

  Smith has donated equipment that will allow Chris to operate any computer with his eyes. Software designed specifically for Chris, will allow his typed words to be spoken immediately.

  Not to be outdone, the national computer chain Compu-World has given Chris a laptop and a handheld device to pair with the special equipment and software donated by TechnaSpeak. ‘Upgrades will be available to Chris whenever he requires them,’ said John Sanderson, manager of the Hillcrest branch of CompuWorld.

  And what did Chris have to say, as he trialled his new voice? His message was simple, addressed to his close friend who inspired everyone to ensure Chris could talk. ‘Get well soon, Jo. And bring the shepherd’s pie!’

  ‘Do you see that, Jo? That’s my shepherd’s pie he’s talking about! And here I thought you were taking all that food I made to a stray dog!’

  I couldn’t wait to go back to school and talk to Chris. We had a lot to talk about.

  EPILOGUE

  I wheeled Chris into the classroom, to the desk that was set up for him. His desk had to be one of the ones on the far right because the power outlet was on the wall nearest to his desk. It was one of the glitches that Chris and John and I were working on concerning Chris’s ‘tech’ as Chris and John called it. Without a power cord, Chris’s laptop never lasted long enough. But I had ensured that he wasn’t stuck at the back at least, even though that had been the English teacher’s first choice. We had had enough of the back of the room in art.

  This was Chris’s first normal academic course without Florence. After Christmas, when I had begun advocating for him to attend more mainstream courses, English was the obvious first choice.

  ‘So what do you think of trying out English?’ I had asked him one lunch hour.

  ‘I speak English,’ Chris had replied, trying out yet another voice that John had set up for him. Chris apparently had not been happy to have any old male voice speak the words he typed with ever faster speed. He kept telling John that the voice wasn’t right; it wasn’t him. Ever obliging, John would go away and return with more voice samples for him to try.

  ‘Ha, ha, Chris,’ I had replied, and then realised that he might be serious. The more Chris had been able to talk, the more I had come to see how little he knew about almost everything. His life had been limited to what had been brought to his vicinity since he was born, and not that much had been brought to him apparently.

  ‘I mean, taking a course about books and poems and plays.’

  ‘Books. Okay. That’s good,’ said Chris’s voice, taking longer than he would have liked. That was another thing he kept asking John to improve.

  ‘Well, and writing too,’ I added, going on to tease, ‘Maybe the teacher can do something about your atrocious spelling!’

  I set up Chris’s laptop for him, making sure the inconspicuous dot on his forehead that acted as a signal so that he could use his eyes as a mouse, was securely in place. Then I hobbled to my own seat next to him.

  My leg was still healing after eight weeks, but at least I was using a walking cast now, so I could go back to assisting Chris in Art and helping out more at lunch. Even when I had been on crutches I had spent lunch hours with
him and there were often three of us now. Sarah had decided to join us for some lunch hours, when she didn’t have a rehearsal. It turns out one good thing had come out of her brief friendship with Lisa. Sarah had landed one of the main roles for the play to be put on in the spring.

  She liked to entertain us with her impersonations of certain of her fellow cast members.

  ‘Honestly, you wouldn’t believe how seriously some of them take themselves!’ she’d said the other lunch hour. ‘Sandra-Lynne, who by the way, will not answer to just Sandra, was, like “I’m sooooo exhausted from all the revision I have to do each night. I have soooo many more lines than all of you”.’

  Chris had smiled the wide smile he used to reserve for me alone. I didn’t mind though. Sarah balanced our friendship out with her calm, accepting nature. She had been instantly comfortable with Chris – flailing limbs, big blue chair, and all. And when Chris was in a stubborn mood, or when bleakness overtook my vision, Sarah had a way of bringing us out of ourselves without either of us even knowing it. I’d thought having one friend was great; having two was heaven. It turns out three people can be friends after all!

  Chris and I had arrived to class early, because he had insisted we leave the SE wing in plenty of time so there was no chance he would be late. He wanted his laptop set up and ready before the last bell rang. Now kids were pouring in noisily and I could tell that he was either excited or nervous because his arms and legs were moving everywhere.

  ‘Are you okay, Chris?’ I asked.

  He tapped to the left with his head, indicating ‘yes’. Sometimes our trusty old system for yes or no worked better than even the best of tech. It’s the system that Chris’s house staff still used the most when things were busy in the house, and even that was helping them to listen to Chris now.