Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  A note, to him—my unspoken words.

  “What are you doing? Turn the flashlight off,” Chris grouched.

  I shined it directly into his eyes. “Shut up. I’m nearly finished.”

  “I’m gonna wake you up by farting on your head.”

  My face contorted. “You’re so disgusting.”

  “And you’re so annoying. Turn it off!”

  “In a minute. I’m just reading it over.”

  “No one reads over their diary.”

  I shined the light back into his eyes. “It’s not my diary.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m writing Connor a note about grief. I’m hoping it will help him feel less sad.”

  Chris’s sleeping bag ruffled as he turned over. “So what does it say?”

  I knew my brother better than he knew himself, and this was him feeling crappy for thinking bad of Connor. As stupid and as gross as Chris was at times, he had a conscience; a small part of his small brain that was capable of small love and small remorse.

  “You really wanna hear it?” I asked, unsure. “It’s kinda lame. I just don’t know what else to say. Apart from losing my Barbie and Ken dolls that time in Queensland, I’ve never lost anyone before. I don’t really know what grief feels like.”

  He snort-laughed. “That was so funny. You were like, 'My Barbie! My Ken!’” Chris pretended to wail like an eight-year-old girl who’d left her two favourite toys under the hotel room bed by accident. “My Baaaaaaarbieeee. My Kennnnnnnn.”

  More snorts

  More laughing.

  “Are you done?” I deadpanned.

  “Yes. Please continue. I want to hear it.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  His sleeping bag ruffled again. “Suit yourself.”

  Argh! He was so stupid and annoying.

  “Fine. It says, ‘What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away. Hold on to your memories. Hold on. Always.’”

  Chris made a scoffing sound.

  “It sucks. I knew it.” I tore the note from my book and went to scrunch it up.

  “Wait! Don’t. It’s really good, Elliephant.”

  I paused, shocked. “You think so? It’s not”—I pointed two fingers at my mouth and made a gagging gesture—“it’s not vomit material?”

  “A little, but it’s good. Now turn the flashlight off and go to sleep.”

  I smiled to myself and smoothed the creases of my note then wiggled out of my sleeping bag. “Be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere.”

  I unzipped our tent as quietly as possible then stepped out into the campsite, the moonlight illuminating a visible pathway to Connor’s tent.

  “Ellie!” Chris whisper-shouted, his head poking through the open flap of our tent. “Come back!”

  I placed my finger against my lips and shushed him then waved him off and stepped up to Connor’s tent. “Connor?” I whispered.

  Silence.

  “Connor, are you awake? It’s me, Ellie.”

  “Ellie?”

  Excitement buzzed through my body at his response. “Yeah. Open up. I want to give you something.”

  The sound of material ruffled, his tent wobbled, and the zip slowly screeched and pierced the still night air as he slowly undid it. I stepped back when he pushed aside the canvas door, revealing him hunched over like a giant wearing only a pair of basketball shorts. He was holding a battery-powered lantern, and his hair was a matted mess.

  I smiled.

  He scrubbed his sleepy face and squinted at the light. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry I woke you, I just …” I looked down at the note clenched tight within my fingers, its presence unmistakable. “I just … um … wanted to give you this,” I blurted, shoving the note at him before spinning on my heel and rushing back to my tent.

  I didn’t wait around for his response. My note was for him to read in his own time. I just hoped he liked it. I hoped it helped. But, most of all, I hoped he didn’t think I was stupid and never talk to me again.

  Chapter Four

  Connor

  I’d read Ellie’s note maybe ten times before finally switching my lantern off, but thoughts of wavy red hair, hazel eyes, and the words ‘What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away. Hold on to your memories. Hold on. Always’ kept me from drifting to sleep after she’d fled back to her tent. So did the persistent sound of a bouncing basketball and Aaron’s voice calling for me to ‘take the shot’. That sound, those words, they were always there in my head—loud in the quiet and even louder in the dark. I just wanted them to stop, and the only time they did was when I played my guitar.

  Humming a riff, I pressed my eyes shut and willed myself back to sleep.

  To a place of dreams.

  To a place of lies.

  Where we pretended things were different.

  When I woke the next morning, Ellie’s words still played in my head, and I didn’t know what to do with them. She was only trying to help, just like my parents, friends, teachers, and counsellors. But talking about Aaron didn’t help. It only made things worse. It only hurt more and made me angry, and I didn’t want to be angry because it upset Mum and Dad, which was why I chose to block them all out, to block everything out. Except, no matter what I did, I couldn’t block out Ellie’s words; they kept repeating over and over, like a song. Get out of my head!

  Rubbing the palms of my hands over my face, I groaned, sat up in my sleeping bag, and grabbed the neck of my guitar. I slid it onto my lap and lightly strummed a few chords, the tune instantly bonding with Ellie’s words but not drowning them out like it did the sound of the bouncing basketball. Curious, I went to play louder but thought better of it, not wanting to wake everyone up.

  “Screw this!”

  I threw on my clothes, laced up my runners, and collected my guitar before stepping out of my tent. Mum and Dad were still asleep, but Mr Mitchell was already awake and preparing the fire for breakfast.

  He looked up when I tried to bypass him. “Good morning, Connor. Did you sleep well?”

  I wanted to answer him and say, ‘yes, thanks, eventually.’ Mr Mitchell seemed nice enough, but talking with adults led to talking about Aaron, always, and I didn’t want to do that. Talking wouldn’t bring him back.

  Not wanting to be rude and also remembering that Ellie’s dad was my new Vice Principal, I nodded and quickly headed straight to the river, to the spot where Ellie had pretended to be a tree. I remembered her pink Chucks poking out at the base of the trunk, and it made me laugh. She was kinda funny: odd and a little quirky but also normal—unlike the girls from my old school. They were fake. One day they liked you and the next they didn’t, like you were part of a stupid popularity contest. Aaron and I hated that crap, so we’d mostly stayed away from them and focussed on basketball instead.

  Bounce. Bounce.

  ‘Connor, take the shot!’

  Sitting on the same rock I’d sat on yesterday, I positioned my guitar and started strumming chords again, this time louder. The bouncing sound in my head ceased, but Ellie’s words grew stronger—they hadn’t left my head the moment they’d entered it.

  Hold on to the memories.

  I hummed them, unable to help it. Damn it. I didn’t want to hold on to the memories. Aaron was gone and I’d never see him again. What was the point in holding on?

  What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away.

  I pronounced the words a little clearer than a hum and, strangely enough, saying them out loud wasn’t too bad. They didn’t hurt. They didn’t make me angry.

  They didn’t make me hate the world and everyone in it.

  Sucking in a deep breath, my fingers fell slack, my arms grew limp, and everything stopped—everything but the gentle splash of the river and the chirp of happy birds.

  “You’re singing my words?”

  I snapped my head in the direction o
f Ellie’s voice to find the same pair of bright pink Chucks as I had the day before, except this time they were accompanied by a denim skirt, a matching pink t-shirt, a lace glove—on one hand only—and a big white bow among a heap of boofed red curls, all of which belonged to Ellie.

  “I … er … that doesn’t look like camping clothes,” I stuttered, deliberately turning the conversation back on her.

  She glanced down at her outfit. “Good. Camping clothes suck.”

  I blinked then looked at what I was wearing. “So these suck?”

  “It’s different for boys. All boy clothes suck.” Ellie took a step closer, her voice softer. “Were you just singing my words?”

  I noticed a spot on her face that hadn’t been there yesterday. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the small mark, again, deliberately avoiding her question.

  “A fake beauty spot, like Madonna’s. Except hers isn’t fake.” Ellie’s finger lightly swept over her upper lip, and she avoided my gaze. “I kinda love her, especially her music.”

  I smiled. Eloise Mitchell was confident and honest whether she intended to be or not. I really liked that about her. It was brave. Unique. And it inspired me to be the same.

  “Yes, I was singing your words,” I admitted.

  Her eyes darted to mine, and they shone like green emeralds. “So you liked them? You didn’t think they were stupid … that I’m stupid?”

  I chuckled and simultaneously choked; her eyes were really pretty. “Why would I think you’re stupid?”

  “For writing you a note about grief when I don’t know what grief feels like. I just wanted to help you feel better after I forced you to tell me about your friend. Words make me feel better so I thought they might do the same for you.”

  I shrugged, and this time it was me avoiding her gaze. “Well, they did.”

  An awkward silence settled between us, but it was quickly interrupted by more chirping birds. Or maybe they made the awkwardness worse, I wasn’t sure, so I kept talking. “And you didn’t force me to say anything. I chose to tell you.”

  Ellie lowered herself to the ground next to me. “What was your friend’s name?”

  “Aaron,” I breathed out, the word barely escaping my mouth.

  “How long were you friends?”

  “Since kindergarten.”

  She started gathering random things that were lying around her: stones, twigs, leaves, and began to arrange them in a pattern. I flicked a few strings of my guitar, which was when I noticed the corners of her mouth curve into a small smile.

  It made me smile, again.

  “How long have you been playing guitar?”

  “Since I was six.”

  “Are you in a band?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I never thought about being in one.”

  “Why not?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  Ellie glanced up at me, her green eyes a forest of mockery. “Well, yeah! How am I supposed to find things out if I don’t ask?”

  “I don’t know … listen?”

  “To what? The birds and water? What will they tell me about you?”

  I thought I’d be a smartarse and didn’t answer for a few seconds. “There … did you hear that?” I asked, my excitement overly deliberate.

  Her shoulders straightened, her eyes wide. “Hear what?”

  “The bird. It said something.”

  “What—” She threw a stone at my leg. “Very funny, Jokey McJokester.”

  I snorted. “Jokey McJokester?”

  “Would you prefer Birdy McBullcrap?”

  Laughter burst from my mouth, my shoulders bouncing, my chest vibrating a happy hum. It felt good, so good that I’d almost forgotten how simple laughing was, how easy and … fun, and for a split second I enjoyed it, but only for a second. Laughing still felt weird. I couldn’t explain why, it just did.

  Closing my mouth, I shifted uncomfortably on the rock, silence creeping in between us once again.

  “You’re allowed to laugh, Connor. Aaron would want you to, you know.”

  “How would you know what Aaron would want?” I snapped, straightening my back. “You didn’t even know him.”

  Ellie hung her head and focussed on her pattern of twigs, and I instantly felt bad. She was only trying to make me feel better with her words, that’s what she’d said.

  Before I could apologise, she got to her feet. “You know what?” she said, brushing the dirt from her skirt. “It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know him. Friends want friends to laugh, and if they don’t want that, they’re not good friends.” Ellie turned away but then paused. “I’m guessing Aaron was a good friend.” She took a few more steps and paused again. “And you should join a band. You’re very talented. I love the sound of your voice.”

  A little lost for words, I watched as she walked away, until the crunch of gravel and leaves under her feet were no longer loud enough for me to hear, which was when I closed my eyes and cursed myself for the millionth time since Aaron’s death. Connor, you idiot. My fingers gripped the neck of my guitar, and I was seconds away from smashing it against the ground or throwing it into the river when Ellie’s words once again thundered through my head. Hold on. Always.

  “I don’t want to hold on. I don’t want to do this anymore,” I said, my teeth gritting, a sob ripping through me.

  Thoughts of Aaron equalled pain and anger and me lashing out and hurting people I didn’t want to hurt. They equalled a Connor I didn’t like; a Connor I didn’t want to be, and I felt helpless to stop that.

  Opening my eyes, I let my tears trail down my face, warm, wet, and rushed. I let them soak my cheeks; let them drown me in the moment. I hadn’t properly cried since finding out Aaron’s cancer was the bad type, the type you couldn’t survive, the type that murdered you no matter how hard you fought it to stay alive. I hadn’t cried when he lost his hair, when he stopped playing ball and going to school … when he stopped breathing. I hadn’t let myself let him go.

  Until now.

  He’s really gone.

  Sliding down the rock I was sitting on, I hugged my knees to my chest, my guitar falling to the ground beside me. It landed next to the pattern Ellie had made in the dirt—a smiley face.

  I kicked it and cried some more.

  I cried all the tears I hadn’t.

  I cried all the tears I could.

  Chapter Five

  Ellie

  For the rest of the day, Connor was a ghost; his presence felt but unseen. I wanted to seek him out and see if he was okay, but I didn’t. If he wanted my company, he’d ask me for it, or at least give me a sign that it was welcome. After he’d snapped at me by the river, I wasn’t sure that it was.

  He was hurting; I got that. I’d be hurting too if any of my friends died. I just wished he’d talk about it and use his words. Words were helpful. Important. They were one of the ways our minds and bodies released. Connor needed to release. My guess was that he needed to let go of the emotions that were building inside him before they escaped in a way he couldn’t control. But then … what would I know? I’d never lost my best friend. I’d never known what it felt like to grieve.

  “I’m drying,” my butthead brother stated, snapping me from my thoughts.

  I unsuccessfully attempted to snatch the tea towel from him, growling, “No, you’re not.”

  He held the cloth high above my head. “Oh yeah? And how are you going to dry without this?”

  “Dad said I dry and you wash.”

  “Dad isn’t here.”

  I poked my head out of our annex in search of my father’s brown hair. “DAD!”

  “Waste of time,” Chris taunted.

  I turned back and glared at him. “Where is he?”

  “Nature dump.” Chris twirled the cloth like the rotor of a helicopter blade. “And just so you know, he took his class planner. He’s gonna be a while.”

  “MUM!” I shouted, anger boiling in m
y blood.

  “She’s gone for a walk with Mrs Bourke.”

  “ARGH!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well … you can’t dry if I don’t wash, and I’m not washing. Dad said you had to. I’ll just wait until he gets back.”

  Chris screwed up the tea towel and threw it at my face. “Fine. Baby. I’ll wash.”

  I beamed a ‘suck it, loser’ smile.

  “You won’t be smiling like that for long, Elliephant.”

  His tone was smug—too smug. I didn’t like it.

  Sloshing the water around like a maniac, he started speed-washing and piling dishes on the drying wrack until there was no room left. I couldn’t dry them quick enough and they started to slip onto the table.

  “Stop it! They’re gonna fall onto the ground and then you’ll have to wash them again. You’re so dumb.”

  “Not if I’ve finished, I won’t. If they fall, it’s your fault so you better keep up.”

  I tossed two plates back into the tub of soapy water. “You missed spots.”

  He pulled them back out again. “Bullshit!”

  “Christopher Roger Mitchell!” Mum scolded as she rounded the corner, her cheeks pink and shiny from her afternoon walk. “What did I say about your choice of language?”

  I bit my lip to suppress my laugh just as Chris shoved the two plates in my hands and wiped dishwater bubbles on my face. “There. Done. You snooze, you lose.”

  Mum tutted as she watched him strut away. “I wish you two would just get along. It would make my life so much easier.”

  “I wish I was an only child. That would be even easier.”

  She laughed. “Nice try, sweethear—” Mum’s words ceased, and her shoulders straightened. “Oh, hello, Connor. Can I help you with anything?”

  I swivelled around to see him hunched over so that his head didn’t hit the roof of the annex where it dipped in the middle.