by Jarica James
Friday Afternoon
Charlie
“What’s wrong, Charlotte? Nothing to say?” I hear someone ask as I make my way down the hallway at school. It barely registers, the same tired phrases so old at this point they’re redundant. Shifting to the side, I dodge a shoulder bump from another student and stare at the floor. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing the emotion on my face, swallowing it down quickly. I’m slowly becoming a statue and it’s a comfortable state.
Emotionless.
Silent.
Mostly invisible.
The truth is that I’d shut off my emotions three years ago, refusing to feel anything in fear of feeling too much. I also haven’t said a single word to anyone in almost three years, and that’s fine by me. I’m better off alone, it means I can’t lose anyone ever again and loneliness lived in me already; I couldn’t possibly make it worse.
My voice was supposed to come back within six weeks after the damage the man did to my vocal cords and esophagus, but it was more extensive than they had originally thought. Not to mention the nightmares that had me waking up screaming almost nightly, inflaming it all over again. three years later and I’m finally getting to the point they had expected me to be in six months ago.
Thanks to the never ending nightmares, it’s painful and irritated more often than not. Once my doctors had deemed me healed enough for speech, the doctors and even therapists tried everything to get me to talk. I’m sure I could have tried, but I didn’t see the point. It hurt too bad and I had nothing to say. Talking wouldn’t bring my family back, and I couldn’t find the will to fight through it. I had lost everyone I cared about and my dreams for the future in one night. Not to mention I can’t stand the sound of my voice now.
If it weren’t for my constant state of numbness, I’d have probably cared how much I’d changed over the years. I dress in dark, baggy clothes. My nightmares have dark circles permanently under my eyes, and my lack of emotion gives me a resting bitch face. I can’t even remember the last time I smiled.
My teachers wrote me off as mute, and they no longer call on me in class. I keep my grades up and do what’s asked of me, nothing more. My foster parents and adults don’t really try with me anymore. I’m grateful as long as they stop trying to send me to psychiatrists. The one the court ordered me to see said it was a coping mechanism, I was just another troubled youth with a stubborn streak. He was mostly right. He predicted I would talk again in a few weeks after I processed it, stating it was just my way of pushing the world away, but I proved him wrong.
The police investigated the murder and home invasion for over a year and never found any leads. My dad was a scientist and my mom was a teacher with no known enemies. They were the wholesome type who got along with everyone and even gave to charity.
It was eventually ruled as a random burglary. When I wrote my report, I told the police that the men mentioned it was a job, but it didn’t help. I was the traumatized victim and must have heard wrong. They didn’t take me seriously, saying that my memory was affected by my intense grief and mental breakdown.
After the funeral, our stuff was packed away and put into a storage facility paid for out of my trust account. I won’t have access to the life insurance money until I’m eighteen, and only state approved charges can be used before then.
Almost a year after their murder, I was approached by a man I didn’t recognize. He was dressed to blend in, average jeans and a tee on an unremarkable guy. His dad haircut and lack of facial hair making him even more invisible on our small town streets.
As soon as he dragged me into a nearby alley, I knew he was there to finish the job. At first I tried to use my voice to call for help, but it barely rasped out. At that point I gave up, I was more than ready to die, to join my family and end this bullshit life I was left in.
Once he realized I couldn’t yell, a sadistic smile spread across his face. “You are better off not talking, but count yourself lucky. Those idiots thought they killed you until we found out they closed the case on their murder. Keep your mouth shut, kid. I would hate to have to come back and finish their job. Enjoy my mercy today,” he threatened in a low, menacing voice that now haunts my dreams. Ever since that day I withdrew into myself even more. There was no doubt in my mind he would act, so I never told the detectives and simply stared at the wall for an hour in therapy until they stopped asking me to come.
Today is, thankfully, my last day at this school. The psychologist ruled that I would be better off with a change of scenery since they’ve tried everything else. So I’m being moved to a foster family two hours away. I don’t care, they’re all the same. It isn’t going to change my mind, chase away my PTSD, or suddenly make me forget.
Plus, like all the other times, I’m sure the social workers had explained to my new temporary family that I’m a mute. They all talk really loud like deaf and mute are the same thing, then when they realize I can’t talk, they proceed to order me around or ignore me.
My belongings are already packed up in two suitcases and ready to go when I get home. Today was to give me a chance to turn in my books and say goodbye if I wanted. I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone here, it’s not like I have friends or that one special teacher I connect with. Just another pointless day.
Making my way to the doors of the school, I freeze when I see who’s waiting. Lizzy. She walks up and stops me with a faux cheerful smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I heard today was your last day. I hope the move helps you. Stay strong. I still love you, Charlie.”
I nod at her and give a small, dead smile. She has tears on her face and turns to walk away. I’m honestly surprised she said anything. To her credit, Lizzy tried so hard in the beginning to bring me back, but she gave up when I wouldn’t speak, even to her. It was probably for the best. If I pushed her away, then her broken best friend couldn’t bring her down.
With a defeated sigh, I walk through the front of the school where my social worker is waiting. Danielle’s a nice woman who always talks to me like I’m a human, which I appreciate. Most people talk around me, especially when I don’t contribute to their conversation.
It doesn’t mean I don’t listen, though. I swear half the time people think I’m stupid or just use me as a venting session.
Danielle isn’t like that, though. She’s the only adult in my life who respects me enough to still acknowledge that I’m a person. She’s also developed a knack for reading my expressions and using them as cues when she talks to me.
“Ready to go, Charlotte? I have your bags and everything,” she says, waiting for me to nod before finishing her thought. “I really think you’ll like this change. Your foster family is just one woman, this time. She’s a busy lawyer who works from home most days. She only has to go in on court dates, so she will be more available for you. Your new town is quite a bit bigger than Starbrooke, so more things to discover and do. Arcadia Hills will be a great change for you, I can feel it.” She gives me the news in her usual cheerful voice as she ushers me into the car.
The drive is hardly silent, Danielle is loud enough for both of us. She continues talking to me the entire way. The beauty of not speaking and her not expecting me to, is that I can listen or not and she’d be none the wiser, at least while she has a distraction. I just give the occasional nod and that’s good enough for her.
Two hours later, we pull up to a large two-story home and my anxiety spikes. There’s always this weird moment when meeting people, especially those who’ve heard my backstory, where they give me those awful pitying looks that remind me just how fucked up my life has been up to this point. I’d honestly rather live on the streets than deal with it over and over again. But unfortunately my survival skills are minimal. Guess I should have taken Dad up on those camping trips.
Despite my internal freakout, I take a moment to appreciate my new, temporary home. It’s beautiful, with a perfectly manicured lawn, meticulously aligned flowers, and a cheery wreath on the front door. I guess lawyers make p
retty decent money. At least she’ll be a busy woman so she won’t feel the need to be in my face all the time. My last foster parents were constantly talking to me and even gave pauses like I’d answer back. Maybe they thought I was just seeking attention and that would suddenly fix me. Instead I just felt insanely claustrophobic and actually looked forward to school where I could be invisible for a few hours.
The front door opens before Danielle can give me a pep talk, and a middle-aged woman in business attire steps out. She has long blonde hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. The lady has to be almost six feet tall and has a gracefulness to her walk that most women would kill for. She’s beautiful, but it’s easy to tell it’s a natural beauty. The part that stands out the most to me though, is her eyes. They’re kind, with gold flecks and a slight crinkle around them that tells me she’s not afraid to laugh.
“You must be Charlotte. I’m glad you’re here,” she says, her soft voice catching me off guard. I expected a loud or severe voice from a lawyer, but maybe I’ve been watching too much TV. “I’ll show you to your room. We can order you some clothes or anything else you need online so that you have everything you need for school. Come on in. I’m happy you are here.” She rambles a bit, but for once I find I don’t mind it. It doesn’t hurt that her words are accompanied with an excited smile, like she’s genuinely pleased I’m around. I appreciate that she isn’t trying to be overly upbeat for me, it’s just who she is.
“I’m Danielle, her caseworker,” Danielle says quickly, as she hands off my suitcases. “And she prefers to go by Charlie. Charlie this is Sophia, your new foster mom.”
“Charlie it is, then.” Sophia inclines her head before turning and leading us inside.
The house is amazing. The interior has a bright and open feel that made it airy and comforting. The blinds are all open and the walls are a soft gray. The furniture varies in whites and grays. There’s the occasional pop of color, but it’s subtle and bright. I actually really like the aesthetic, especially since it’s so different from the house that now haunts my dreams.
Pushing that thought aside before it can turn into more, I focus my attention back to the two women talking quietly. Danielle is giving Sophia the usual rundown of information and how to contact her, even though I’m sure she sent her more than one email. The other families complained about her, calling her nosy and overly involved, but I got the vibe that she liked to make sure none of her clients felt lost in the system. She genuinely cares about me and never hesitated to check in on me, especially at first.
“Ready to see your room?” Sophia asks, realizing that I was waiting for them to stop talking. I give her a nod and take one of my suitcases where she’d dropped them on the way in, but she beats me to the other before heading up the staircase. “Your room is at the very end of the hall. You have your own bathroom two doors down. My bedroom is downstairs if you ever need me at night. The other two rooms are spare rooms. I don’t use them very often since my bedroom and office are both downstairs, but if you have any ideas on what to do with them, we can figure that out down the road. I know you don’t speak, so I have a cell phone for you here and you can text me anytime you need or want, and I also put some notebooks around. I’m the only contact in there besides Danielle, since I wanted you to be able to get a hold of her if you needed. I also do most of my grocery shopping and clothes shopping online since work gets crazy, so if you ever want anything, don’t be afraid to add it straight to the list. I put a notepad in the kitchen and just jot things down when they pop up,” she explains as she opens the door to my room and ushers me inside.
“What a beautiful room, Charlie!” Danielle exclaims, giving me an elbow nudge like she expects me to give a reaction. I give my usual combo of a small smile and nod to appease her. She isn’t wrong, though. It’s bigger than any room I have ever called my own. The white walls are bare, which I’m not usually a fan of, but if I stay long enough I have a feeling Sophia wouldn’t mind if I hang up some art or something. The full size bed looks inviting, with a fluffy teal comforter and more pillows than one girl needs.
The furniture is all black and white and clearly brand new from the smell of fresh wood. The desk has a sleek, black computer and printer on it that has my heart clenching. Dad had promised to take me laptop shopping for my birthday, we just never made it that far.
She had even gone as far as getting some basic school supplies and a brand new backpack. I’m definitely thankful for that one, my backpack had ripped a few months ago and was barely holding on with the safety pins anymore.
“I’ll let you get settled in and unpack while I see Danielle out. Can you come down for dinner at seven and we can figure out what you need and order you a few things then? And again, text if you need anything.” She gives me a sweet smile and leaves me standing in my room.
“You call me if you need anything, you know the drill,” Danielle says, her eyes glassy as she takes me in. “I really think you two will be great together. Just give her a chance, Charlie.” With that she turns and walks off ,and I almost wish I could be excited too. But I honestly can't remember the last time I was genuinely happy about even the small things.
As silence envelops me, I sit on the bed for a few minutes, processing everything. First days are always the hardest and it leaves me feeling raw and uncomfortable. It feels wrong not to be at home with my family, even after all this time. Like I’ll wake up from this nightmare any minute and run down to tell Mom about it. She’ll make me hot chocolate and tell me I’m being dramatic, then kiss me on the forehead so I know she’s only teasing.
Tears are running down my face before I even realize it, that familiar wave of grief wrapping around me like an old friend. In a sick way, it’s comforting. These heavy feelings of sadness and despair are so ingrained into me at this point I don’t know how to feel anything else.
Eventually the tears dry, though, and this time is no different. Needing a distraction, I pull out my new cell phone and unlock it. I notice Danielle’s and Sophia’s numbers, but I don’t have anyone else to add, so I leave it at that. Clicking on the app store, I download a few of my favorites to pass the time before setting it aside with a sigh. It’s still an hour and a half until I have to go down for dinner, but I don’t feel comfortable enough to do much. At least when I have homework I have something to focus on.
Rolling off of the bed, I pick up my suitcases and toss them on the comforter. They look dirty and dingy against the immaculate room. It’s kind of weird being in such a nice place. The last home I was in had holes in the walls and smelled like wet dog. And my house growing up was nice enough, but it was well loved. Faded furniture, old appliances, and I’m fairly sure those floorboards were designed to give you away when you snuck down at night.
Flipping the top of the suitcase open, I survey the contents. The only belongings I keep with me other than clothes is a family photo and a bracelet Mom gave me on the last birthday I had with my family. I’ve never taken it off and even throat punched a foster sibling when they tried to take it. There isn’t much I have to call my own at this point and I wasn’t about to let a mouth breather with a complex take it.
Dusting off the frame, I set my photo on the nightstand and open the closet doors to put my clothes away. The closet’s nearly half of the size of my room, which is saying something since both are enormous. I wouldn’t be able to fill it even if I had four times as many clothes as I do now.
After running out of things to check out, I download an ebook app and sign in so I can download a few of the books I bought on my old tablet. Losing myself in the book worlds I know well will help ease my mind a bit before I have to go join Sophia for what I’m sure will be another awkward dinner.
Within minutes I’m lost in my own little world and don’t even notice that time had slipped by. Glancing at the clock I realize it’s now only a few minutes until seven so I get up, slide my phone into my pocket, and make my way slowly through the house. She didn’t give me a tour earlier, s
o I just assume the kitchen is farther down the main hall and keep walking past the living room.
When I walk into the kitchen I don’t see Sophia or a table. An archway leads out of the kitchen on one side, so I go through there to find a huge dining room. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen and dining room are modern and airy. The table is huge, and it seems so wasteful for a single woman, but who am I to judge? Maybe she has guests over a lot or holds meetings here sometimes.
Footsteps start down the hall behind me, and I take a seat at the table, turning to face her as she enters. When she turns the corner her arms are full of takeout boxes… way more than two people can eat. Chinese food is one of my favorites, and I haven’t had it in forever, so I’m not complaining. I give her a big smile to show my thanks before peeking inside the nearest box as she starts sliding them all my way.
“I hope everything was okay upstairs?” she asks in that soft voice of hers. It almost has a calming quality to it. I nod distractedly before my stomach gives an intense growl and she laughs, the tension breaking enough that she drops into her own seat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of doing a few things. So let's fill our plates and go over the rules and get you some clothes.” She hops up and grabs the plates from the other room, returning quickly with glasses and a pitcher of water. Seeing a disaster waiting to happen, I try to help her set the dishes down safely before they fall.
“Danielle didn’t tell me what you liked to eat or if you had any allergies. So I kind of ordered a lot to make sure you had something,” she explains sheepishly as she takes it all in. “I didn’t want to bother you while you settled in and processed everything, I’m sure it’s overwhelming. Do you have any allergies?” .
I shake my head no at first, then pause, realizing I have other allergies. She mentioned earlier she had a notebook in the kitchen, so I get up and go grab it, writing down my allergy to bees and penicillin and slide it her way. She reads it over and gives a sigh of relief.
