Wall of Silence

by Dorey Whittaker

  Susan couldn’t think. With a fleeting glance toward Lisa, she knew she had to answer him and soon, but her mind simply would not work. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t get her into trouble.

  In a flash, her father spun her around and was right in her face. “So who was this man? And what were you doing with him?”

  “I only intended to stay a little while,” Susan began to explain while steeling herself against the impending explosion. “Carol Anne has a swimming pool, and it was so hot today. All I wanted to do was have a little fun.”

  As soon as Carol Anne’s name came out of her mouth, Susan sensed her mother’s body stiffening. Susan knew she had made a big mistake. One quick glance toward her mother confirmed her fears. She now found herself sandwiched between them, and both were zeroing in.

  Susan felt her mother’s hot breath on her neck as she almost spit out her words. “So! You were going to sit there and make me think it was only a school book.”

  She knew very well that her mother, as she often did, was making sure the anger and attention remained focused on one of her girls and Susan could do nothing to protect herself. She could only let this episode play itself out. She knew not to take her eyes off her father and could only hope her mother would quit egging him on. Susan and her mother studied his face in hopes of predicting the direction of his wrath. She heard her mother clear her throat, which usually meant she was nervously preparing to push her husband’s rage toward one of her girls.

  Without moving her eyes from her father’s face, Susan tried to think of a plausible reason for having the book when her father turned around and shouted at her mother, “I don’t care about some stupid book. I want to know why some strange big-shot came to my door today.”

  Closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the blow coming, Susan pleaded, “I’m sorry. I was having so much fun I didn’t realize it was getting so late. Carol Anne’s father insisted he drive me home.”

  Sick with fright, she prayed her mother would stay quiet and give her father time to cool off. Time stood still. Gradually, though, an uncertain frown formed on his face, and then with a shrug, he apparently decided this was not such a big deal.

  Shoving Susan down into her chair, he growled, “So some spoiled brat let her go swimming. I’m hungry and all this talk is making my dinner cold.”

  Without saying anything more, he turned, took his seat, and resumed eating.

  Susan felt her mother’s continued glare but didn’t dare look over at her. She was quite sure her mother wouldn’t say anything more during dinner since her father had closed the subject, but she also knew this matter wasn’t over yet. She quietly pushed her dinner around the plate, trying to look intent on eating, but she knew she couldn’t swallow a single bite. She was afraid to look up for fear of catching her father’s eye, so she had no way of knowing he had moved on from the subject and was busy finishing his dinner. Finally, she heard his chair scoot back and watched as he walked into the living room to watch television.

  Susan remained very quiet. She knew her mother was not happy about her going to some fancy girl’s house, especially without permission. No one did anything in that house without permission. As soon as her father was out of the room, her mother quickly reached over and took hold of her wrist, dug her nails in deep, and began to twist hard. With a low, hateful voice, she asked, “Did you like being in that fancy, rich house?”

  Lisa gave her little sister a cautious glance as if to say, “Be careful how you answer.” Susan knew she needed to be careful. She couldn’t lie, but she had no idea what to say. Without any warning, her mother reached over again and wrenched her arm hard. She stood up and walked out of the room, saying, “I hope you enjoyed yourself because that’s the last time you’ll ever be in that fancy house. Tomorrow you’re taking back that stupid book. You don’t need their hand-me-downs. You hear me?”

  Saying nothing, Susan simply nodded a yes and quickly started clearing the dishes from the table. She couldn’t believe she had gotten away with it. She was certain she would get a beating, but tonight was her lucky night. A special show was on TV, and her parents were more interested in getting to that than dealing with her. But just to be safe, she stayed in the kitchen for most of the evening because she would have to walk right in front of her parents to get to her room. She wished she could go out the back door and climb up into her tree, but she dared not leave the house tonight. She didn’t want to give her mother anymore reason to start a fight, so there she sat. Even though she needed to go to the bathroom, she had to wait until she thought it was safe. She did not want to remind them she existed. Sometimes her house was way too small. She sat in that kitchen for almost two hours before she heard her father get up and head for the bedroom. He closed the door, and she decided this was as good a time as any to make her way to her room.

  Sneaking through the living room, she noticed the book on the couch where her mother had tossed it. She wanted to pick it up and take it to her bedroom, but with her mother only a chair away, she decided it better not to draw attention to it. Instead, she went straight to her bedroom.

  As Susan got into bed, Lisa came in and quietly laid the book down next to her. Susan wasn’t in the mood to read so she slipped it under her pillow as her big sister slipped under the covers beside her and softly whispered, “I’m sorry, Suz.”

  Many nights after the girls went to bed, they made up stories about how they would run away and what they would do. Susan dreamed of finding a family with lots of kids on a big farm up north. She imagined the fun of milking cows and having a dog of her own. Lisa always dreamed of going to California. She had heard lots of kids went there and managed to live on the streets by begging. The school had assemblies informing the kids how awful that life was, but Lisa said those teachers didn’t know how awful her life here was or how desperately she needed to get away. At age seventeen, tomorrow’s events seem unimportant. Life is only today and what it brings. Nothing could possibly be worse than her life here, and California would be safer than staying here.

  Most of the time Susan understood Lisa was only dreaming, but on occasion, her talk felt more like planning. Susan would cry and beg her sister to promise never to leave her behind.. Lisa’s reassurance would calm Susan, but deep in her heart she must have known the day would come when she would have to leave in order to survive, and Susan knew she was much too young to take along. If Lisa were to survive, Susan knew Lisa needed to leave soon.

  ***

  The telephone jolted Susan back to the present. She instantly knew this was the dreaded call from her mother that Lisa’s attorney had warned her about and she didn’t want to answer it. If not for her children sleeping down the hall, Susan would have let it ring until her mother tired of calling. Turning to the willow, Susan explained, “That is my mother calling, I’m sure of it. I’m exhausted and wish to be left alone. My mother has never called me, even once, during the entire eleven years I have been married. Eleven years and three grandchildren never prompted even one call from her. But now, with the threat of a murder trial, she is furious about being subpoenaed and probably intends to vent her emotions on me.”

  Frustrated at being forced to answer her mother’s call, Susan hurried into the house. “It’s funny,” Susan called back to the willow, “my friends in Atlanta see my life and are somewhat envious of me. Many were shocked when they learned I had to pack up the kids and move here to Jefferson to help my sister. No one could believe a sister of mine could ever be involved in a murder, nor could they ever have imagined I would have such a hateful woman for a mother.” Picking up the phone, and with a sarcastic tone in her voice, Susan cautioned the tree with, “People should be very careful whom they envy.”

  “Susan, I want you to tell that attorney of yours I have nothing to say. I don’t see why he needs me on that stand. I wasn’t even there. Tell him to leave me alone.”

  Her mother’s tone was demanding, not pleading. As this familiar voice pelted he
r senses with its hate-filled venom, Susan’s mind was flooded with dozens of childhood memories, and she was having a hard time even listening to her voice. “Mother, I have no authority over Lisa’s attorney. He wouldn’t listen to me anyway. It’s getting late. I have to go.”

  Not waiting for a response, Susan hung up and headed to her children’s room to see if the phone call woke them. After peeking in, she pushed their door open wider to relieve the stifling heat building up in their room.

  She refilled her iced tea and returned to the porch and her silent companion.

  Lifting her glass to the tree as if offering a toast, Susan pondered. “It’s funny how certain smells, tastes, and sounds conjure up feelings—like the smell of Aunt Gladys’s cinnamon buns. They make me feel homesick, but not for my home! The smell of lavender reminds me of my grandmother Miller. Every time I smell it, it makes me nauseated. It doesn’t matter who’s wearing it. Then there’s the sound of my mother’s voice. It always reminds me of a hissing snake.”

  Shaking her head as if trying to toss the sound of that voice out of her head, Susan felt a strange need to explain her statement to the tree. “For years I only blamed my father for what was going on in our house. I thought it was all his fault. But as I got older, I realized that even though mother was his victim, Lisa and I had become hers. It’s ridiculous to expect a child to understand the reasons behind their parents’ behavior. I’m sure they had lots of reasons, but that didn’t help my sister or me. Some people seem to think that because something bad happened to them, they are entitled to hurt others. I’m not saying there aren’t reasons my parents turned out the way they did. I’m sure if they ever told their story, we might feel badly for them. Something in my father’s past made him the mean, hateful person he became. As for my mother, what is it in some women that make them willing to take that kind of treatment? I never knew her parents, and she never talked about them, but she did tell Lisa and me some of the things our father did to her before we came along.”

  Susan stopped in mid-thought and studied her silent friend. She debated whether or not to continue this dialog. “If only I could tell you these things without feeling them. I feel as if I’m right there again and I hate it.” After a long sigh, she decided to continue. “My dad’s name is Chuck Miller, and my mother’s name is Marjorie. They both worked down on the loading docks of a large freight company in Atlanta, and what I am about to tell you will show you why Lisa and I had every reason to fear our parents.” With an almost theatrical flare, Susan again began to distance herself from her memory. Mom, Dad, and even Lisa became like characters in some novel she had read.

  ***

  Chuck operated a forklift and Marjorie worked in the office. Their fights about work had spoiled more than one meal. Marjorie’s job was taking the freight list, checking off what was put on the trucks, and signing them off. When Chuck made a mistake and loaded the wrong items onto a truck, Marjorie had to be the one to point it out. When this happened, he would stew about it all day and blow up during dinner. Chuck Miller was not a man to tolerate anything from his woman—or any woman, for that matter. He was not a big man. Actually, his size had been the cause of many a fight throughout his life. He was constantly trying to prove to everyone that he was as tough as or tougher than the next guy. His hair was jet black like Susan’s, but his eyes were dark brown, and his face was terribly scarred by acne. No one would ever say Chuck Miller was anything but mean-looking.

  Marjorie, on the other hand, had been attractive as a young girl. All the boys hoped to date her, and most of the girls wanted to be her friend in order to be available for those boys Marjorie rejected. It was during her senior year of high school that Marjorie met Chuck Miller. After their second date, he told her she was not to see anyone else and that he was going to marry her. He did not ask her. He told her.

  At first she thought he was kidding, until the night he caught her at the movies with another boy. He sat a few rows back and glared at her. When they left and started walking home, he followed them. She tried to ignore him, not telling her date they were being followed. She thought perhaps if she did not kiss her date good night Chuck would simply go home and forget it. Marjorie thanked the boy for a nice evening and quickly walked into her house and closed the door.

  The next morning a friend called and asked if she had heard the latest. “Doug Marshall got the stuffing kicked out of him after he dropped you off last night and he’s in the hospital. Whoever beat him scared him plenty because he refused to tell the police who did it. He told them he’s afraid the guy will do it again, only worse, if he dares tell.”

  Marjorie knew exactly who had done this and why. She knew he meant business, and she had better follow his rules if she knew what was good for her; he as much as told her so that night. He said if she tried going out on him again, the next guy would wish he had only ended up in the hospital. She never dated anyone else the rest of her senior year, and one week after graduation they were married.

  From the very beginning of their marriage, Marjorie was nervous when they went out together. Whenever some guy made a casual comment about her looks, Chuck went ballistic. He became the man people avoided because, should he feel double-crossed, he fought hard and dirty. He wouldn’t stop until he half-killed whomever he was fighting—and that included Marjorie. One day a new employee at the freight company complimented her attractive hair. That night Chuck stood over her as he heartlessly ordered her to cut off her hair. Being six months pregnant with their first child, she couldn’t risk him hitting her again. Marjorie obediently took the scissors and cut it straight across at the neckline, thinking that would be enough to satisfy him.

  He glared at her and bellowed, “I said cut it all off!”

  Quickly, before he decided to do it himself, Marjorie cut off all her hair. She didn’t dare cry. He hated that, and it only made him angrier. When she was finished, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, muttering, “Now let’s see what he has to compliment next.”

  It was then that Marjorie knew her good looks had become her enemy. How could she stop other people from making Chuck this angry? She took a scarf and wrapped her now-bare head. She knew she had to do something, but she didn’t know what. Chuck wanted her to look nice because she belonged to him, but he didn’t want other men coming-on to her, which apparently included almost anything and everything another man would say or do. If the gas station attendant seemed too friendly, Chuck would get mad and accuse her of leading him on. So by the time Susan came along nine years later, her mother was so physically drab and emotionally beaten down no one would ever imagine she had ever been pretty. Chuck had long since stopped caring how she looked.

  Chuck thought nothing of doing similar things to his two girls, and they were terrified of him. Marjorie had become a bitter person with only one goal in life: to protect herself. She had nothing left inside to care about her girls. She would not even attempt to stop their father from beating them, and worse yet, she would deliberately direct his anger toward one of them in order to save herself. Lisa and Susan learned early that their mother was never going to help them. They lived in constant fear. There was no way to avoid a fight if their father was in the mood for one. They walked around the house on eggshells.

  They all understood that you never could say the right things around Chuck Miller because there never was a right thing to say. He could make a fight out of anything you said, so they all played “the silent game.” The three participants in this deadly game knew the rules: be quiet, don’t make eye contact, and stay out of Chuck Miller’s way. For the two younger participants, there was one other rule: always feel guilt for hoping that if he were in the mood for a fight, he would pick on someone else. Not that you wanted the other person to get hurt, you just didn’t want it to be you this time.

  Susan tried desperately to make excuses for her mother, needing to believe her mother loved her and cared about her in spite of her actions. Whenever Marjorie sacrificed her girls t
o their father’s rage, Susan believed it was simply because her mother was so terribly frightened of him herself that she could not take another punch or slam against the wall. Both girls panicked whenever it was obvious their mother was struggling to think of something, anything they might have done in order to deflect his fury onto one of them. Since this would usually happen during dinner, the girls loathed dinnertime.

  Lisa, on the other hand, hated both her parents. Every time Lisa became the target of her father’s rage, her hatred for her mother was reinforced. Both girls knew Marjorie had a particularly strong hatred for Lisa. For a long time she thought it was simply because Lisa was the oldest and better able to tolerate the beatings. But one night, while in bed together, Lisa told her about life before Susan came along, when Lisa was nine. Susan realized she knew almost nothing about her family, other than the couple of stories their mother told them. Since all her stories were of their father’s beatings, Susan never enjoyed hearing them. But Susan loved her sister, and her heart ached as she listened to Lisa’s painful memories. Loyalty forced Susan to listen, but as Lisa got more detailed and graphic, Susan’s heart felt like it was going to break. She knew Lisa had been through some terrible things—many of which she had witnessed. But these stories were so painful to hear. Susan decided she would never subject anyone else to her own horrid memories. After all, she could do nothing to help her sister, and her knowing about these terrible stories wouldn’t remove them from Lisa’s memory. It just hurt!

  So at the age of eight, Susan lay in that bed and formulated a core life decision that would impact the rest of her life: Never tell those who love you what you’ve been through. They can’t fix it. It only hurts them.