The Color of Silence (5 page)

Chapter 8

I've been listening to loud shoes coming down the hallway, tapping away like sticks on a drum. I like the sound of them stepping out a beat across the floor, telling me that someone is on their way.

I really hope that whoever is wearing those shoes is on their way to see me!

I hope it's her!

The drumming stops, and I see the door open out of the corner of my eye.

“Joanie, I have someone for you to meet.”

I try to focus on the two figures over by the door, but my head keeps turning back on the pillow so I'm looking straight up. My stones shine down at me, but I tell them that I'm not looking for a doorway out right now. Something interesting seems to be happening right here and I want stay so I can experience it.

“Come on over here and I'll introduce you.”

It
is
her! I like her already because her shoes are so nice and loud. I hope the rest of her is loud too.

I'm glad that it's Patrick who is going to introduce us. Everything is nicer when Patrick is here.

“Joanie, this is Alexandra. She's going to be spending some time with you every week so you have a break from all of us boring old farts.”

I laugh at Patrick as he brings a girl over to my bed.
She doesn't laugh, at least not out loud.

I like people who laugh. I hope she has a sense of humor.

I wish that I was in my chair. I prefer meeting people for the first time when I'm sitting up and my head is controlled for me. It's easier to see into their eyes and figure out who they are.

She looks at me briefly and half smiles. I can't really tell for sure, but it seems like her eyes are not smiling, just her lips, which kind of stretch a little to the sides.

“Alexandra is a bit shy and doesn't talk much. So we'll try to keep the noise around here to a minimum while she's with you, so you two can hear each other.”

I smile at his joke, but I see Alexandra send him a surprised look. She doesn't understand Patrick's sense of humor yet.

Or maybe she just doesn't have one of her own.

“See you two later,” Patrick says as he leaves. He always says something when he leaves so that I know he's gone. Another reason he's my favorite. He just understands.

The room is silent. Alexandra is standing and looking around the room. There is a chair beside the bed and I wish
I could tell her to sit down and relax.

She's standing where I can see her, but she isn't really letting me see
her.
I need to see a person's eyes to get a feel for who they are and how they feel about being here with me. Her eyes are jumping all over the place, looking everywhere but directly at me.

I've seen people do this before on a first visit. Their eyes move around my room as if it is the most interesting place they've ever seen, carefully examining every detail before they decide to take a good look at me.

Usually that only takes a few moments, since there really isn't much to look at in here. Alexandra seems to be particularly interested in the details of my room, though. She's so interested that she's started moving around the room, just enough so that she's out of my line of vision. I guess that she is getting a better look at…whatever she's looking at.

Silently.

The other thing that new visitors usually do is talk—introduce themselves. Ask me how I am even though they know
I can't answer, and then laugh at themselves when they realize they asked me how I am even though I can't answer! Pretty much every visitor who comes to spend time with me brings a book to read.

But Alexandra is not talking. Even her breathing is quiet, and I have to strain a little to hear if she's even still in here somewhere.

This is strange. I've never had a visitor like this before. I'm not sure what happens next. Not that anything has happened yet!

My head is bopping around a lot, probably because I'm trying so hard to figure out what's going on. The bad news is that I'm probably going to scare her off if she ever decides to look at me. The good news is that every once in a while I can catch a brief glimpse of her.

She is very pretty from what I can see. Her hair is so dark and curly. I wonder what color her eyes are. I would like to see those loud shoes, but I doubt she's going to kick her feet up in the air so I can see them.

That would be pretty funny, though.

The thought makes me laugh. A small sound comes out just loud enough to grab Alexandra's attention. She looks toward me, but it's a fast glance, too quick for me to read her face.

Faces are important, especially the eyes. They tell me about the person hidden behind them. I heard an expression in a book someone read to me once that said something like “the eyes are the window to the soul.” I've never been totally sure what is meant by the word soul, but I think that it's the part inside of you that people don't always see unless they know how to look.

I can't tell what kind of person Alexandra is. I only got a quick look at her eyes, and it looks like she has her windows closed so that no one can see inside.

She finally comes back over toward the bed, but she still isn't looking at me. Instead, she looks up. I do my best to follow her gaze. I think she's looking at my rainbow. Good. I'll look at it too. I'm getting tired, and my neck is starting to hurt from all of the bopping about. I need to relax and focus so I can get things slowed down.

I wonder if it looks like a rainbow to her. Probably not. She's probably just wondering why someone would hang a necklace from the ceiling like that. I imagine she thinks it's just weird.

I imagine that she thinks everything about this place
is weird.

I imagine, but I actually have no idea. She isn't giving me any information at all.

So here we are, both contemplating my rainbow. Maybe if we both stare at it long enough, we'll disappear into the same stone, and she'll talk to me.

“So, is everything going OK?” The voice startles both of us. Kathleen must be over at the door. As usual, I didn't hear her come in.

Neither of us answers her. At least not out loud. But I think Alexandra nods her head.

“All right. I'll check in on you later, Joanie. Nice to have you here, Alexandra.”

She leaves as silently as she came in.

The silence stretches out, wrapping itself around us.
If I could make my hands obey me, I would point to the chair so she would sit. But my hands are fluttering around on their own like they always do, and so she stands, and I wait.

We both rest inside the silence for a few more minutes. The silence finally stretches to its breaking point, and she looks directly at me for the first time.

“Hi.” Her voice is very soft, pretty much a whisper. I wonder if she thinks she has to be quiet because we are in a hospital.

I don't say anything back, of course, but I try to say hi with my eyes. She isn't really looking at me all that closely, though, so I imagine she misses it. She doesn't look very comfortable standing there. Her hands are grabbing each other so tightly that her knuckles look white. Her eyes dart around the room again, looking for something that isn't there.

She looks directly at me again and I wait for her to speak.

She stares at me for a couple of seconds and then shakes her head and turns away, her awesome shoes clicking out of the room as if she's in a hurry to get somewhere else.

I'm alone again.

I think that I might have been alone when she was here.

Chapter 9

“So, do you want me to help you or not? I know the song.” Cali is standing in front of my bookcase looking through my CDs. She's making piles all over my desk.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm putting them in categories. Good music. Bad music.
Really
bad and totally pathetic music.”

“Which one is the good music pile?”

“This one.” She points to a tiny pile of about three CDs.

“Good to know you admire my taste in music. Not that you've kept your deep dark love for Broadway any secret.” I throw a pillow at her back, which she ignores. She looks back at me over her shoulder and grins.

“Yeah, right. Anyway, you know I'm just kidding. I know there's more to you than show tunes. You have some decent jazz singers in there, and I don't totally hate your instrumental stuff. So, these are the ones I want to borrow now, these are the ones I want to borrow later, and these are the ones you can keep to yourself. I can't believe how many you have! I have about three old CDs that still have cases. I keep the rest of my music on my computer. Like normal people.”

“A lot of those used to be my mom's. Dad says she was a real music lover. He used to put CDs in her stocking every Christmas, and now he does it for me. I don't always like what he picks, but I don't tell him that.”

“Your dad is so nice and old-fashioned.”

She flops down on my bed and rolls over on her stomach to look at me. She shifts around a bit, looking for a comfortable spot.

“Your bed is really uncomfortable! How do you sleep here?”

“I know you're used to the extra padding of every piece of clothing you own, but you see, I keep mine in the closet over there.” I point to the closet, but she doesn't look. She rolls over on her back instead and looks at me.

“We should really look inside your closet and figure out what you're going to wear on Friday.”

“You know what I have in there. You're the only person
I shop with.” My dad is not a fan of what he calls “ladies' stores.”

“Right. Well, why don't we go over to my place after we finish, and you can borrow something of mine.”

“Finish what?”

“Practicing your song. I told you I would help you and
I meant it. I did the same one last year, and I know what they're looking for. You'll totally ace it with my help.” I look at her for a minute, considering. I have this stupid hang-up about singing. Stupid, because it gets in the way of my performing. Even more stupid, because I know it gets in the way, but I do it anyway.

“You know what will happen. I'll decide you sing it better than me and then when I go to perform it, I'll try to sound like you instead of me.”

“That's just dumb. Your voice is totally different from mine, especially now that you have the husky sexy thing going on. The song will fit you differently. It'll be great. Probably better than me.”

The nice thing about Cali is that she's not just saying that to shut me up. She really means it. She's always complimenting people and building up their confidence. She's like this crazy positive force field that influences everyone she touches.

Everyone she
touched
.

Sometimes my memories get such a tight hold of me that
I actually forget that I'm not living inside of them. For a second, I can believe that I don't know what happens next. For that one moment in time, I actually think that life isn't horrible. I feel real and safe, like I can breathe the air and drink the water and eat the food without choking.

Then reality checks me, and my throat starts to close and nothing is normal and nothing is real and nothing is safe.

Nothing will ever be normal or real or safe again.

And then I have to just close my eyes and try to disappear into a black hole of nothingness too far away for memories to catch me.

“Alex, are you in there?”

“Yes.”

My dad takes my answer for the invitation it isn't and comes into my room. He looks at me from the doorway for a second, as if trying to remember who I am. Then he comes and stands beside my bed, staring down at me. He still has his work clothes on, grease-stained and smelling like the garage he owns downtown.

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to look interested instead of worried. It doesn't work.

“What?” I ask back.

“The hospital!” he says, sounding kind of pissed, like he thinks I'm trying to be a pain. I'm really not. I really didn't know what he meant, but I don't bother explaining.

“Oh. Not great.”

Not great is an understatement of extreme proportions.
I totally sucked.

“Why?” My father doesn't talk much more than I do sometimes.

“She—Joanie—can't even talk. They expect
me
to do the talking.” I shake my head and then instantly regret moving it at all. I put my hands up to hold it still. I have a headache—a skull full of marbles crashing against each other, competing to see much how pain they can cause. My dad looks at me, and I quickly drop my hands so he won't notice. If he sees the migraine coming, he'll start bothering me about taking pain medication again.

I deserve this pain. All of it.

And even if I wanted to get rid of it, there aren't enough pills in the world to do the job.

“Then that's what you'll have to do.” He makes it sound easy.

“You know I can't. “

“I know you
won't
. That's different. You can't keep this up forever, Alex. You have to get out there and talk to
people sometime.”

“I have nothing to say.” I close my eyes and turn away from him. I feel the bed shift as he sits down.

“Alex. It's been almost a year. You have to start living your life. No one blames you.”

“You're wrong.”

“Alex. It was an acci—”

“Don't! Just…don't.” I can feel my throat closing up on me as I try to raise my voice. My hands move to cover my mouth, protecting both of us from any more words.

There's a long pause.

I think I feel his hand on my shoulder, but the touch is only a whisper of a movement so I'm not sure. Then the bed shifts again as he gets up and walks over to the door.

“Alex?” His voice is hesitant. I look at him.

“About Joanie. Maybe you could try music. You have so much of it. You could try playing some for her, at least for now.”

I shake my head slightly. Playing music would be the worst thing I could possibly do. Music used to be a part of me, as essential as breathing or eating. It was my safe place, somewhere I could always disappear into and feel like me.

But not anymore.

Dad looks at me for another moment, as if he wants to say more. He thinks better of it and just touches my shoulder for a second, then walks out of the room in silence.

This is a good thing.

Silence is where I belong.

I wander over to my CD shelf and stare at them without really seeing anything.

I wonder if Cali ever returned those CDs.

Not that it matters.

I haven't listened to my CDs in almost a year now.

Music has just become something I left back in the past where it belongs.

Buried in the silence.

Where Joanie lives too.

How am I supposed to work with her?

We can't just sit there and stare at each other for two
hundred hours.

I have to do s
omething
.

I don't want to talk to her.

Or read to her.

And I definitely don't want to listen to music with her.

But what else can I do?