The Color of Silence (9 page)

Chapter 16

Alexandra was supposed to be coming to see me this morning, and Patrick was going to teach her how to help with transfers so we could maybe go for a walk. It's hard for one person, even Patrick, to get all of my parts into my chair without a little help from someone else, and it's even harder to find two staff who can come and get me ready at the exact time I have someone here who wants to take me out. But my lungs decided to assert their independence again today and take a break from doing their job for me, and now I am using a machine to breathe. Which means I can't go into the outside world, and the outside world isn't supposed to come in to see me.

I could try to get out through one of my stones, but the staff keep on coming in and out of here to check on me and play around with my machines, and I can't get focused on my rainbow. So I'm still here.

Again.

I have to admit that I truly hate this tube. It scratches, and I want to pull it out. Even if I could tell my hands to do that,
I wouldn't, though. I know it's breathing for me and that I need it at the moment. I can feel how full my lungs are, and I know that they aren't going to do a very good job for me today.

I haven't seen anything but the white of this room for days now. I really want to get out and do something else besides lie here and argue with my lungs.

I need some color.

I like the air outside. It feels different than the air in the hospital. The air inside feels heavy and stale, like it's being used by too many people at the same time. I know everyone thinks
I need to stay in bed when my lungs are uncooperative, but the air outside is so much lighter and fresher that I think I might be able to breathe better there.

“Hey kid.” It's Patrick. Again.

“Just checking in. You're doing OK. I know you hate that tube. Those eyes of yours give you away. We'll get it out of there as soon as we possibly can.”

I'm glad he knows I hate the tube.

I'm trying not to be upset about being so sick again. It doesn't really hurt all that much, and I am getting used to the machine doing my breathing for me. It used to be my enemy, that machine, taking away my right to breathe on my own. But we've become reluctant friends over the time I've had to live here. I know that my lungs are siding against me, along with the rest of my body, only breathing when they want to breathe instead of when I tell them to. I know that I need the outside help to keep my lungs going.

I just really wish I didn't.

I wish it more now than I did when I first came. Now I have more important things to do than lie here and wait for my lungs to behave themselves.

I want everyone to stop coming in and checking on me so that my rainbow can take me back in time to school or to the group home…or any place where I can get out of this bed and do something interesting.

Even better, I want to be well enough for Alexandra to come and take me forward in time so I can get out of this bed and do something interesting right now!

“I'll be back in a few minutes. You hang in there. You'll be fine. You're the strongest person I know, Joanie. Remember that.”

The strongest person he knows. I like the sound of that. I'm trying to remember if anyone has ever said that to me before. No, I am fairly certain that no one has ever called me strong before. And I am completely certain that no one has called me the strongest. Mostly I hear words like “frail,” “weak,” and “fragile” when I hear other people talking about me.

So, am I weak or am I strong? More words that don't have clear meaning. Do all words have more than one meaning?
If so, how do people communicate at all? How do they know the meaning of each word they're using when they speak? Two people can speak to each other in the same language and still not understand each other at all.

Must cause a lot of arguments.

I've never had an argument. Except inside my head with my own body.

I wonder if Alexandra has arguments with people. She's so quiet, I can't imagine her taking enough words to disagree with anyone.

I wonder if she thinks I am strong or if she sees me as weak.

Or if she even thinks about me at all when she isn't here.

I don't think too many people looking at me would vote for strong. I see it in the eyes of some people when they look at me.

They feel sorry for me. Not in the apologizing kind of way but in the way that says they think my life is somehow less because it is different.

When I was younger, I sometimes overheard people saying things like “it's a shame” and “too bad she's so damaged.” Damaged! A strange word to use for a person. As if I'm broken or something. I tried not to listen, but it's hard to do when they're standing right in my room and speaking in perfectly loud voices, seemingly believing that my ears are unable to hear their words. At least I'm guessing that's what they believed.

If my fingers could be persuaded to go where I want them to go, I would place them inside my ears to block the outside world at times. I try not to think about thoughtless things people sometimes say, but my mind doesn't always manage to shut them out any more than my ears.

Words.

I sometimes imagine a world without them. Everyone quiet and thinking instead of spurting out syllables all the time.
I wonder if we would all figure out how to communicate with one another better than we do now.

Alexandra doesn't use many words. I'm sure she has lots of them somewhere, but she doesn't seem to like sharing them very much.

I wonder what kind of relationship Alexandra has with her mother. Does she talk to her about her day? Tell her about everything she does the way Debbie used to with me? Or is she as quiet at home as she is here with me, keeping her words inside where no one can find them but her?

I'm not sure why, but I really think the reason Alexandra doesn't talk to me might have more to do with her than it does with me.

Maybe if we figure out a way to understand each other,
I can help her to find her words.

Finding the words in silence is one of the things I do best.

Chapter 17

I don't know who came to help us out of the car. I don't remember how we got to the hospital.

And I don't remember who told me that Cali was dead.

I didn't go to Cali's funeral. I've never seen Cali's mother or father again. I imagine they wonder every night why Cali died instead of me. I imagine they wish it had been me.

I wish it had been me.

Right after it happened, I replayed new versions of that night in my mind every day, trying to replace the truth. An endless movie reel with different takes of different scenes that all ended in a way that didn't destroy people's lives.

Take one. I change my mind about the party and instead spend my Friday night rehearsing for the recital. Cali's mother decides that she doesn't want Cali going to the party without me. Cali comes to my house and tells me I'm an idiot for ruining her love life. I'm minus one best friend, but she's still alive.

Take two. I stick with Cali like I promised her I would, and I'm there when she gets the stupid idea to borrow Matt's car.
I talk her out of it the way she expected me to. I do my job as her friend. She's still alive.

Take three. I grab the keys and run back into the house and throw them at Matt, telling him what an idiot he is. Cali doesn't speak to me for years and years. Maybe not even for the rest of her life—her long, healthy life.

Take four. The one that haunts me the most. The one where I don't panic at the thought of driving and I take the wheel when Cali asks me to. I drive slowly and carefully, with the radio off like my dad always taught me, and I stay on the road. We go to the coffee shop and drink two cappuccinos and buy a third one for Matt and drive slowly and carefully back to the party. We all live happily ever after. The end.

Sometimes I dream the different versions, snuggled down in my blankets feeling safe and warm and good. Then, for just a second when I wake up, I think that it's a true memory. Sometimes
I actually smile at the sunshine pouring itself through my window and wonder what time Cali is coming to walk with me to school.

For a second, life is in color again.

Then the past tense crashes onto my head, pushing me back to reality.

Cali isn't coming to walk me to school.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Because of me.

And the sunshine keeps pouring into my window, mocking me, reminding me that the world will just keep on turning no matter who dies and who lives. The sun will keep on coming up, and the stars will keep on shining down, and everyone will just keep on breathing and eating and sleeping like nothing happened.

I'm still here, breathing and eating and sleeping. Taking up space.

Cali filled all of her spaces with noise and laughter, positive energy electrifying the air, invigorating anyone who came into contact with her. Now that she's gone, everything is just too quiet. The silence is dark and heavy, and I carry it around with me like a huge rock that pushes me down until I start to feel like I'm the one they buried. I
should
be the one they buried.

At the very least, I deserved to be somewhere locked away.

I really thought I was going to be sent to prison.

But I wasn't.

Probation, no driving, community service.

Not much of a punishment for taking someone's life.

Maybe there isn't enough punishment for taking someone's life. Nothing can change it. Nothing can bring her back.

Now I just have to live with it. Whatever that means.

I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my life. Except spend two hundred hours at a hospital with someone who can't even tell me what she would like to do, whether or not she even likes music, or if I'm punishing her by forcing her to listen.

Punishment without a crime.

Joanie can't tell anyone if she even wants me there or not.
I can't imagine what it must be like to be her—locked away inside a body that won't do anything you want it to, dependent on everyone else to take care of even the most private parts of your life. Not able to tell anyone what you want or need, trapped in there, at the mercy of everyone around you. At the mercy of your own body.

What kind of a crap world decides that someone has to live her life that way? Why is she the one trapped while someone like me is allowed to go free?

“Why are you watching television? I thought you had to go to the hospital. You can't back out on this, Alex.”

I look up at my father in surprise. I didn't even realize that the TV was on.

“They called yesterday and told me not to come today. She's too sick to have visitors.” I wonder what that actually means.
I mean, she's already in a hospital. How much sicker can she get?

I actually think that the real reason they told me not to come is that they've figured out I'm useless. Patrick saw me. He knows. But I'm not going to tell Dad that.

He looks at me for a second as if he's trying to decide whether to believe me or not. He's trying to get a good look at my eyes, but I turn away. I don't want to get a good look at his eyes—his tired, sad, disappointed eyes.

“OK. Well, I guess I'll let you get back to your show.”

My father deserves someone better. Someone who doesn't make him sad all of the time. But he's stuck with me.

And now Joanie's stuck with me too. She definitely deserves someone better. She lies there with nothing to do all day, and
I show up, and she still has nothing to do.

It's strange, though. The thought of not going back isn't a good one. In a weird way, it's nice to be with someone who doesn't talk and doesn't seem to expect me to. I mean, it should be ridiculous, the two of us sitting there all quiet and staring at each other. But it isn't.

I wonder why.

“Alex?” My father's voice breaks into my thoughts again. “Someone from the hospital is on the phone for you.”

I look up at him as he hands me the phone. I stare at him until he gets the message and leaves the room.

This is it. I knew it! They don't want me to come and see her anymore. I messed it up.

They're calling to tell me I'm done.

What's going to happen now? My father is going to be so upset when he finds out I blew it. Again. Will Nelle have to find somewhere different for me to go and pretend I'm a decent person? Or will they finally come to their senses and lock me away?

“Hi.” I'm so nervous that I almost can't get the sound out loudly enough to be heard. Maybe they'll think I'm not here and hang up. That would be good. I don't want to hear what's coming next.

“Hi, Alexandra. Glad I caught you. Listen, I know we told you not to come in, but Joanie had a good night and is having a much better day than we expected, and we thought it might be nice for her to see you. She's had a pretty boring few days. Could you come in today? I know it's short notice, but I'd like to get the transfer lesson done so you could maybe try taking Joanie for a walk if you're up for it. I think she could use some fresh air.”

“Yes. Sure. OK.” Three different syllables all saying the same thing. I'm so cool.

“Great! See you soon. I'll let her know you're coming so she has something to look forward to.”

He hangs up, and I just sit there staring at the phone.

“Alex? Everything OK?” My dad comes back into the room again. I look up at him and smile before I can stop myself.

“Yeah.” I ignore the surprised look on his face and hand him the phone. I'm surprised too. I have no idea if I'm up for a walk. I avoid going outside as much as possible.

I shake my head a little and head upstairs to get ready. Five minutes later I'm out the door. My face feels a little strange, and I realize that I'm still smiling.

It's been a really long time since anyone has looked forward to seeing me.