Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Shaw, Liane, 1959-
The color of silence [electronic resource] / Liane Shaw.
Electronic monograph in EPUB format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-926920-94-8
I. Title.
PS8637.H3838C65 2013 jC813’.6 C2012-908170-1
Copyright © 2013 by Liane Shaw
Edited by Alison Kooistra
Copyedited by Kathryn White
Cover illustration by Annick Gaudreault
Designed by Melissa Kaita
Printed and bound in Canada
Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council
and the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge
the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.
Published by
Second Story Press
20 Maud Street, Suite 401
Toronto, ON M5V 2M5
www.secondstorypress.ca
For my Jazzman,
ephemeral gentleness
a summer’s breeze
drifting, delicate
hovering slightly
just out of reach
no more than a breath
softest of whispers
we strain to hear
but you are silent
as you float safely away
to where beautiful souls
dream in peace
Preface
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others…. they too have their story.
(Excerpt from Desiderata, Max Ehrmann 1927)
“I don’t know what to do! I can’t control it! Tell me what to do!”
The words scream into my brain. I know I have to do something.
Say something.
I open my mouth so I can give her enough words to save us. Nothing comes out but a scream that joins hers until it’s the only sound I can hear.
Waves of screaming that drown out the rest of the world until there’s nothing left but the two of us.
I sit up, sweating and shaking. I rub my eyes with trembling fingers, shaking my head to try and clear out the sounds.
Just a dream.
For a fraction of a second, I’m far enough down the tunnel of sleep to feel relieved that the dream is over.
But then I wake up enough to remember.
This dream is real.
It’s me that’s over.
I can’t hear the screaming anymore.
I can’t hear anything.
There’s only silence.
Black,
empty,
endless
silence.
Chapter 1
“Come on, you can sing louder than that! You’ll never make it to Broadway with that sad little voice.”
“My voice isn’t sad. It’s just quiet from being sick for so long.”
“Bull. You’re just milking it so Ms. H will give you the last recital spot, and you can practice like a maniac.” Cali picks up a pillow and throws it at my head. I duck, which makes me drop my microphone. She grabs it up off the floor and jumps up on my bed.
“Ha! You forfeit your turn. Now the real singing can start. Put the next song up. I’m getting in the zone here.” She jumps up and down a few times, doing her version of ballet, which doesn’t look like any kind of dancing I’ve ever seen. I really hope my dad doesn’t come in while she’s doing that. He thinks that anyone who jumps on a bed is heading for life in a wheelchair.
Cali doesn’t much care what my father thinks, though.
Or what anyone else thinks either!
“I’m waiting. Pick something that will showcase my perfection. Not Broadway. I hate it. And not Country. I hate it more. Pop. Rock. Even Jazz. Something real people sing.” She jumps up and tries to twirl at the same time, which makes her fly off the end of the bed and smash down onto the floor. She lies there, still and silent.
Cali is never silent.
“Are you OK?” Panic makes me yell. She opens her eyes and starts to laugh.
“I knew your voice was OK!”
“Cali, seriously!”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. What are best friends for?” She sits up and looks at me, laughing and shaking her head.
“I’m not pretending. You know I had bronchitis last month, and my throat still feels weird. I’m worried I’m going to blow it and then I won’t get a solo in the final showcase in June.”
“You definitely won’t get in the showcase if you keep singing like a sad little mouse.” She climbs back up on the bed and starts “dancing” again.
“Cali, my father is going to have a total fit if he sees you jumping around on that bed! He’s going to be home any minute.”
“Your dad seriously loves me. He would never have a fit in front of me. And I sing better on a stage. I like to be seen. Music, please!” She twirls around and almost falls off again.
“Fine. If you fall off and end up in a wheelchair, don’t expect me to push you around!”
“I think you would love a chance to push me around for a change!” She grins at me and does a front somersault, smashing her feet against the headboard and banging it against the wall. I really hope my dad isn’t downstairs yet.
I try to imagine what it would be like to actually boss her around once in a while.
I can’t even picture it.
I give up trying to get her to listen to me and try to search for a song. I grin to myself as I find the perfect choice—my favorite track from Wicked. Cali makes a face at me as the opening bars to “Defying Gravity” fill the room.
“Very funny, Alex!” she yells over the music.
The sound fills the room as Cali stands up and closes her eyes, bringing the microphone up to her lips as she starts belting it out. Even though she says she hates Broadway, she does it better than anyone I know. She has pretty amazing lungs—in both senses. She’s the best singer and the loudest person I’ve ever met.
“Alex! What is going on in here?” My dad’s voice almost completely disappears under Cali’s as he walks into the room. She keeps on singing and jumping as he stands there looking at her. He looks annoyed for about three seconds until Cali notices him and gives him one of her mega-watt smiles.
“Hey, Mr. T! How’re you doing? Do you like my song?” She sings the words to him, fitting them perfectly into the music.
“I’d rather you sang it on the floor with the volume turned a little lower.” My dad isn’t much of a yeller, so the only one who hears him is me. Cali keeps on being loud and stays on the bed.
“Thanks! I’m glad you like it!” She twirls around a couple of times and launches into the chorus. My dad looks at me, and I wait for the safety lecture.
“Ask Cali if she’d like to stay for supper,” he half yells in my ear. He walks to the door and looks back at her, shaking his head and smiling at me. We both look at Cali, grinning like a couple of proud parents at a school recital.
Cali has that effect on people. Even when she pisses you off, you can’t help but smile.
“Alex, I fail to see any humor in this situation.”
The words slap into me, harsh and flat—totally without music. I look up, startled by the anger. My hand creeps up to my mouth, and I look up into my father’s eyes. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as if he’s the one who’s done something wrong instead of me. But he’s not apologizing to me. He’s looking at the other two people in the room. “Please, go ahead with what you were saying.”
I look around the room that isn’t mine, panic bubbles rising up my throat. How did I do that? How could I have drifted away like that in front of these people?
This is a room in a courthouse where I am finally being sentenced.
Eleven months, sixteen days, and thirteen hours later they’ve finally got around to judging me.
Eleven months, sixteen days, and thirteen hours after I already judged myself.
“Two hundred hours of community service. One full year probation.”
“I don’t understand why she is being punished at all. I think she’s suffered enough.” My father’s voice is sandpaper scraping over my ears. It stings, and I want to make them all stop talking but I can’t.
“Mr. Taylor. Alexandra participated in the removal of a vehicle without the owner’s express permission. Joyriding is a criminal offence. There are legal consequences to your daughter’s actions.”
Joyriding? Did she actually say that?
Does she think it was fun?
“Alexandra? Do you understand the terms?” The judge looks away from my father and taps her pencil on the paper sitting in front of me.
Written proof that I’m a criminal.
I look at the paper for a moment. I glance at her quickly and nod my head.
“Please speak aloud for the record.”
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I try to take a deep breath, but it doesn’t work. Gravity is working against me, pressing my head down into my body so that I can’t feel my neck. I close my eyes and try to concentrate, pushing back against it, trying to keep myself in the room. I have to do this for my dad. I have to listen to these people and do what they tell me to do.
“Alex!” My father’s voice slaps again, harder this time, and I open my eyes, trying to focus on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says, apologizing for me again. “She has trouble speaking since the…accident. It seems to hurt her to talk. I think we told you this before.” He’s looking at the lawyer, who’s looking at the judge, who’s nodding.
No one is looking at me.
“I do understand that. But since she is able to speak, we do need a verbal response. A yes or no will do.”
“Alex?” My father’s voice is soft, without edges, a pleading whisper that slips inside me, making my eyes sting and filling the bubbles inside of my throat until I can feel my oxygen supply cutting off. I try to swallow, but it gets stuck. My throat aches, and the pounding has reached my head, smashing into my brain like a bat trying for a home run.
I close my eyes for a second, willing myself to stay here and to force back the migraine that’s threatening to take me over.
I have to do this or, unbelievably, I could make things worse.
I take a deep breath, hoping it doesn’t choke me.
“Yes.” Someone else’s voice comes out of my throat, weak and raw.
“Probation means you have to check in regularly with an officer of the court to be sure you’re keeping on track and following the conditions.”
“Conditions? What do you mean?” My father rubs his hand over his face, roughly until his cheeks turn red. I wonder if he’s trying to erase this day from his mind.
Or maybe just me.
“She has to continue regular participation in her schooling. No behavior that would require the involvement of the police. She must observe a nightly curfew, meaning she’s to be under your supervision by no later than ten each night.”
“And if she messes up?” He doesn’t say it, but the word again hangs in the air, suspended above us, shaped in an arrow pointing at my stupid, messed-up head.
“We come back and start the process over again. But that isn’t going to happen, is it, Alexandra?” The judge looks at me, eyebrows arched up in double question marks. I stare at them, wondering about people who pluck all of their hairs out and then take the time to draw their eyebrows back on. The way Cali does.
Correction. The way Cali did. Past tense.
I miss her so much that when I think about her, I put her in the present because that’s where I want her to be.
Which is ironic, I guess, because I’m the one who put her permanently into the past.
My father clears his throat, a painful sound that pulls my eyes away from the judge’s face and onto his. His cheeks are still red. They match his eyes. He looks tired.
“Alex, please!” He tries to sound mad, but mostly he sounds like he’s going to cry. That’s so much worse. My father never cries.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I slide my eyes back to the judge, avoiding her eyebrows so I don’t get distracted again.
“No.” The word whispers out just loud enough for her to hear me. She nods to tell me that I have the right answer.
“What’s this two hundred hours business?”
“Community service, Mr. Taylor. She has to spend time giving back to the community. Find something positive to do with her time.” The lawyer speaks for the first time. My advocate. I don’t even remember his name.
“Where would she do that?”
I don’t really care, but obviously my father does. He looks worried by the idea of my going out and trying to do something good.
“Alexandra will be assigned a Youth Probation Officer who will take care of arranging her hours and supervising her probation period. I’ve already set an appointment up for you to meet with her.”
I shrug my shoulders. I don’t care what I have to do or where I have to go. I just want it all to go away. I want to walk backward out the door and just keep on moving until I find my way to last year.
“All right. Alexandra, do you fully understand the terms of your probation? Please answer audibly.” The judge is looking down at me, her eyes grabbing mine and forcing me to look back. Her expression tells me that she thinks I belong in a plastic bag, waiting on the curb for a truck to take me away with the other garbage.
She’s right.
“Alexandra, I need an answer now.”
“Yes!” A word bullet shooting out and hitting her right between the eyes. My father gets an embarrassed look on his face. He doesn’t like it when I’m rude to people. He thinks it reflects badly on him, splashing him with bad manners and staining his reputation as a father.
He always told me it was important for him to be seen as a good father because when my mother died, everyone told him how hard it would be for him to bring me up on his own. He wanted to prove them wrong. The only way to do that was to make me into someone who let him look in the mirror and see World’s Greatest Dad written across his forehead.
But instead, I broke the glass and shattered his reflection.
Chapter 2
Is anyone there? I think I can feel you walking around my room, but I can’t find you.
I think I catch a glimpse of you, white shirt and pants whispering past me. Your shoes are the silent kind that hide you from me.
I need you to speak to me! I can’t find you in the room without your voice to give me something to aim for. What are you looking at? Machines that beep and hiss out a breath for me when my lungs can’t do it on their own? Are the machines more interesting than me? Is their noise easier to hear than mine? My thoughts don’t beep or hiss.
I’m not a machine. I’m alive and much more interesting than the machine that is only pretending to be my lungs.
Now you come to my side and look into my eyes. Your head moves slightly in time with mine like we’re doing a strange dance. What do you see? Do you see me?
Do you know who I am?
“There’s my Joanie! It’s time to get some food into you.”
Nurse Kathleen is standing there, smiling at me, a bag of pretend food in her hand. I try to look happy to see her.
Kathleen is gentle as she tries to straighten out my body, shifting me up slightly on the pillows so that she can attach the feeding tube to the hole in my stomach. My arms and legs fling themselves at her as she tries to work. I have a talk with my brain, telling it to get my parts under control so we can get the business over with, but as usual, it doesn’t get the message. I keep trying, and so does Kathleen. Eventually she gets everything attached and the pump starts whirring and thumping as it announces that my food is coming through the tube into my stomach.
“There’s my girl. I know, honey. You’re tired, aren’t you? It will be done soon.”
Kathleen is kind, but she isn’t someone who can see deeper than my outsides.
She touches my hair, gently pushing it out of my eyes. She’s trying to be understanding, but it’s hard. After all, her food comes with colors and smells that make it interesting. She chews and swallows her food on her own.
I wonder what that would be like. I try to imagine it sometimes. I have heard descriptions of eating in books—characters who talk about freshly baked cookies or velvety chocolates that melt in your mouth.
I think I would love to feel chocolate melt in my mouth!
Kathleen thinks I’m tired, but I’m not. I don’t think I’m hungry, either, but I’m not actually sure what hungry feels like. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that. I wish this body of mine could understand what my brain wants it to do. Then I could find my voice, and Kathleen and I could talk about things that are more interesting than stomach tubes.
I try to turn my head toward her, but my brain and neck can’t get their act together, and I’m left staring straight up at my ceiling. This is not a bad thing, though, because my stone necklace is hanging there. It might seem like a strange place for a necklace, but I’m not allowed to wear it because people are afraid that it could choke me.
Dangerous beauty.
So it hangs above me, where someone was kind enough to put it so that I can see the lights gently shining through the soft polished colors.
Kathleen touches my forehead for a second, checking to see if I am warm. She nods as if we have had a conversation and I have said something wise.
Then she just disappears from my view, and I don’t know if she’s here anymore or not. I think I hear the door shut, but I can’t be sure. The doors around here are as silent as the shoes. I wish they would install a door that could slam a loud exclamation point!
I look back up at my stones. My eyes are the only thing on me that I have any kind of control over, and recently I have found that if I try to focus on my necklace for a moment or two, sometimes I can will myself to relax so my head will stop dancing on the pillow for a tiny piece of time.
I concentrate with all of my power until the moments start to stretch out longer and longer, as if time has actually decided to slow down just for me. Even my lungs seem to be joining in, slowing down my breathing and making me feel like I could lie here like this for as long as I wish. My head has almost stopped moving, and for the first time I can actually see my stones clearly enough to focus on the individual colors. Each one smiles down at me, making me feel calm and peaceful. I imagine they’re saying hello to me, inviting me into their light.
I keep staring and staring until I start to feel as if the colors are actually reaching down for me, trying to draw me in. My eyelids start to feel a bit heavy, and I fight with them as they threaten to take the colors away, like blinds on a window shutting out the light.
“Hey you—keep those eyes open! We have to get you up and going.”
I’m almost asleep when Kathleen whispers back into my room.
My eyes pop back open as strong arms lift me off the bed and onto a slanted chair that reminds me of the one I had at the group home where I used to live. The workers there used it to help me get dressed.
This is odd. I’ve never used it here before. I didn’t even know there was one in my room. I thought I had managed to see everything here by now. Every time someone moves me, I do my best to look around so I know where I am.
Not that there’s all that much to see. White walls, white beds—two of them, even though I live here alone—a silver table beside the white bed, machines that pretend to be parts of me, a gray-and-silver chair at the end of my bed for someone else to sit in. And my wheelchair, which waits for me over by the window.
But no slanted dressing chairs.
What else have I missed?
I do my best to look straight ahead, trying to focus my vision and my mind at the same time.
My thoughts fly out and scatter around the room as my eyes are assaulted by a bright pink wall, with a picture of huge, brilliant yellow sunflowers hanging proudly in the middle of it.
Only one thought has managed to stay in my head.
I’m definitely not in the hospital anymore!
I close my eyes again, trying to collect myself so that I can think.
“Come on, my lady. You can’t be that tired. We have places to go and things to do. We’re going to the fair today!”
The strong arms give me a gentle shake, and I risk opening my eyes again. It’s not Kathleen at all. It’s Brenda! Brenda, who doesn’t work at the hospital. Brenda, who’s my absolute favorite group-home worker.
I haven’t seen her in quite a while.
Why am I seeing her now?
Am I dreaming?
Am I awake and dreaming at the same time?
Does it even matter?
I’m home and Brenda’s here and we’re going to the fair!
I love it when Brenda’s on shift. She’s fast and she talks the whole time, so I don’t even really notice her cleaning me up and changing my diaper. I don’t really like to call it that because that’s what babies wear, but I don’t know of another word. Mostly I just don’t call it anything at all.
“So, as soon as you’re all dressed and breakfast is done, we’re heading off. It’s going to be awesome! We’re going to check out the animal tent, and there’s a magic show we’re going to try to catch. There’re rides—I’m not sure about that part for you—but there’re lots of other things to do. Oh, and there’s a lake, as well, which we’re going to try out if it’s warm enough for everyone. Man, I love fairs!”
I’m pretty sure I’m going to love the fair too. I’ve never been to one before, and it sounds super exciting. Even the word fair is interesting. I love words that have different personalities. Sometimes fair means that the weather is nice, and at other times it means that everyone is getting what they deserve. And sometimes it means rides and animals and magic. And today it means all three!
And there’s going to be a lake! I’ve never been in a lake before, but I do love going in the water. My arms and legs still move around a lot, but the water holds them gently, slowing them down and making me feel relaxed.
Brenda is gentle and quick, and I don’t worry if my legs are misbehaving as she tries to get them into my track pants. Pink ones today. My best ones, because we’re going out. I mostly wear track pants because they’re soft and stretchy, easy to get on and off. Relatively easy anyway.
“Pretty in pink, my dear. Pam will get your breakfast up to you in a minute and then we’ll get ready to go. It’s beautiful outside. The rain has stopped and the sun’s just beating down. Perfect day to go to the fair.”
“Hey, what about me? I’m awake too! I need to get going too!” The voice comes from my roommate, Debbie. I can just make my eyes move enough to see a head peeking out of the top of a purple bedspread covered in butterflies.
“Good morning to you too. And yes, I’ll help you get organized in a minute. I have to finish with Joanie first.”
“How come she’s always first?”
“First of all, you were asleep until about three seconds ago. And second of all, you know her breakfast takes a lot longer than yours does. So chill out and be patient, young lady. We’ll all get to the fair.”
“Chill out! How can I chill out when we’re going to the fair? I love fairs! Have you ever been to one, Joanie? I have. My parents took me. It was completely awesomely wonderful. I even went on rides with my dad. Nothing too fast, which kind of sucked but still it was cool. You’re going to love it!”
Debbie likes to talk. It doesn’t seem to matter to her that I can’t answer. Debbie’s body is paralyzed, so she can’t move it at all, not even by accident the way I do. But as Brenda always says, she doesn’t have any trouble exercising her mouth muscles!
“Hey, sweetheart, I hear there’s lots going on around here today, so I’ll try to get this done as quickly as I can. Good morning, Debbie.” Pam smiles at us both as she comes into the room. Pam is the nurse who visits our group home every day. She mostly comes for me. She feeds me and checks my breathing and things.
She gets me all hooked up and starts the pump. “There we go. I’ll have you out of here in no time!”
No time. That’s a funny expression. Everything takes some time, doesn’t it?
Especially breakfast. Even though Pam is trying to be quick, it seems to take forever, as usual. Brenda has Debbie completely up, dressed, and downstairs before the bag even empties into me.
Finally we get outside and head over to the bus. Debbie and the others are already loaded on by the time we get there.
“Joanie, look!” Brenda tips my chair back so far that I’m almost lying on the ground. It feels strange, and I don’t understand what she’s doing—at first.
“Straight up. Look—a rainbow!”
My eyes are so amazed by it that I have trouble focusing at first. My first real-live and in-person rainbow. It’s so beautiful that it makes me want to cry. How can such perfection exist? So bright, so alive, as if someone took a giant paintbrush and just went flying across the sky, back and forth, changing directions and changing colors at the same time.
I close my eyes and paint it into my memory as quickly as I can so I can hold onto it forever.
“Joanie, are you sleeping?” Kathleen’s voice sneaks into my mind. She’s talking quietly, but it still startles me, and I open my eyes, hoping against hope that there’s still a rainbow up there, painted across a brilliant blue sky.
But I see nothing except my necklace hanging from the white ceiling.
Brenda and Debbie and the rainbow and the fair are gone.
I want them back! That was such a wonderful day. I had almost forgotten all about it, lying here in this place that seems so very far away from yesterday. I close my eyes again quickly, hoping that I’ll find a way back, but nothing happens.
“Of course you’re sleeping. Why would I ask such a thing? What else could you be doing?”
She doesn’t wait around for my answer. She wouldn’t hear me anyway. She doesn’t really know how to listen.
I do lots of things. I think. I dream. I hope.
I wait a bit until I’m pretty sure she’s gone and then open my eyes.
The light is illuminating my necklace until the colors are so bright that they don’t even look like stones anymore. It’s as if brilliant streaks of light are burning through each stone, shooting right out across the ceiling.
I think I am looking at a rainbow after all.
Chapter 3
“What do you mean, you’re not sure you’re going to go to the party this weekend? You have to come!” Cali looks at me in complete shock.
“I can’t come. I have to get ready for the recital. My voice is still a bit off, and I need to get it back.”
“That’s just silly. The recital is a full two days after the party, and you already sound great. You can take one night off.” She smiles sweetly at me, fluttering her eyelashes.
“That doesn’t work on me, Miss Perfect Voice. You can sing anything without even practicing. Some of us have to work at it, you know.”
Cali looks at me and shakes her head. “I agree. My voice is perfect. And I do understand the need you lesser mortals have to try to measure up to me. But you can still take one night off.” She pats me on the head, and I swat her away like the bug she’s trying to be.
“You’re so full of it. You know that?”
“I am full of all kinds of wonderful things. I do know that. Come on, Lexi. Live a little.”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it. My dad probably wouldn’t let me go anyway.”
“We’ll just tell him you’re spending the night with me practicing.”
“You want me to lie to my dad?”
“It won’t really be a lie. We can sing in the car. It’ll just be a little white lie.”
She laughs and puts her arm around me, walking me down the hallway toward the choir room. A couple of guys from math class walk by and laugh at us. Cali sticks her tongue out at them.
“You’d better take a picture because you’ll never get a piece of this!” she yells at their backs. I push her arm off my shoulder and take off running toward the choir room.
“Wait up, gorgeous!” she says loudly, as she catches up to me easily and puts both hands on my shoulders, propelling me into the music room and giving me a big kiss on the cheek when we get there. No one in the music room even blinks because everyone in our program is used to Cali. She’s like the class clown and prom queen all rolled up together into one totally strange and awesome person.
I never did figure out how I ended up as her best friend.
Cali winks at me from over in the alto section. She doesn’t even look winded. I’m trying to catch my breath so that I can sing.
I love choir. It makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than my own voice, like I’m one piece in a puzzle of beautiful sounds.
Cali hates choir. She says it feels like being in grade school and she would rather sing solo. Most of the time she doesn’t even memorize the words. She just does what she calls “the watermelon.” When she doesn’t know the words to a song, she just sings “watermelon” over and over, and apparently Ms. Hann doesn’t know the difference. I guess she would notice if we all did that, but I don’t think anyone else would have the nerve.
The music of my favorite song from Les Mis swells around me, filling the air with the drama and heartache of broken dreams.
I look over to the alto section. Cali is singing away, and I have to look really carefully before I realize that she’s not singing about anyone’s dreams.
She’s just singing about watermelons.
“Alex? Did you hear me?”
The voice interrupts the music, and Cali’s face fades away. I’m staring at a worksheet with three math exercises. There should be some answers written down by now. But the page is blank.
Like me.
Ms. Smithson walks over and stands behind me.
“You’re not getting much done, I see. You’re obviously distracted today. Is everything all right?”
I nod my head without looking around.
“Do you have any questions about the assignment?”
I shake my head.
“OK, then…Well, my time is up for today. The worksheet shouldn’t take you too long—I’ll expect to see it completed when I come tomorrow. I’ll email your science assignment just in case you get done early and want something to do.” She laughs a little so I know she’s joking. I don’t join in, and her laugh ends in a sigh.
“Bye, Alex. Try to stay focused. It’s important for you to keep up with the class. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I keep staring at the blank page as I listen to her packing up her things and heading out the door.
My door.
I’m not at school.
Obviously.
I don’t go to school anymore. School comes to me.
My dad says I have to go back to school one day, but there is no way I will walk through those doors again. I heard that the kids at school made Cali’s locker into a shrine in the first days after she died. There were pictures and flowers all over it. I remember having the stupid thought that they shouldn’t be doing that because they would be making it a bigger mess than it was already. As if that mattered. As if anything mattered.
Some of the kids at school even wanted her locker to be permanently locked as a reminder of her. I don’t think the principal went for it though.
Cali was the kind of person that pretty much everyone liked. I’m the kind of person that most people didn’t think about much, except when I was with Cali.
But I know they think about me now.
They hate me for taking Cali away.
I asked my father if we could move somewhere far away where no one would know me and we could at least try to start over. He said something like “this is our home” and “you have nothing to be ashamed of” and “you could start over right here.” Something like that. Some version of that.
Some kind of lie like that.
Not a white lie.
Just a plain old ugly colorless lie.
Chapter 4
It’s quiet in here again today. Nobody came into my room except for the night nurse who checked on me before she went off shift. She’s a new one and didn’t even say hi when she came in. I guess she thought I was asleep. No one here seems to know when I’m awake.
Except Patrick. Patrick is my favorite nurse. His eyes sparkle when he smiles, which he does most of the time. He tells me jokes and crazy stories that make me laugh and bring color into this place. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and I’m hoping he’s on shift again today.
I’m not asleep. I’ve been awake for a while, waiting for the light to come so I can see my rainbow. The sun is finally peeking in through the window enough to light up my stones, bringing them to life for me.
I can’t stop thinking about what I did yesterday. It was like a memory, but stronger and more clear—a dream, only more real and alive.
Can I make it happen whenever I want? Can I go where I want to go and see whoever I want to see?
My eyes keep on moving toward one stone, a beautiful blue one that reminds me of the eyes of someone I used to know. I focus on the blue of the stone, letting the color drift inside of me. I try to make the pictures of the place I want to go strong enough in my mind to get back there. My body starts to relax, and I feel light, as if someone has pumped my whole body full of air instead of just my lungs. I feel a bubble of excitement building in my chest as the room around me disappears.
“All right, everyone. Pay attention. We have visitors today.” Ms. Blaine smiles at us as we sit eagerly awaiting the coming class. “Visitors” means integration time and that means Mike! Every Wednesday and alternate Fridays, kids from the “regular class” come into our room and spend time with us, one on one. We read together or watch something on the computer or work on a craft. It’s so much fun! I especially like it when Mike is my buddy. Mike’s cool and funny and treats me like I’m the same age as him, which I am. Some of the kids who come treat me like a baby, talking to me slowly in a voice that’s too loud and high pitched. I don’t let it upset me because I don’t think they even know they’re doing it. I actually think they’re trying to be nice. But it’s still so much nicer when someone really talks to me in a normal, everyday kind of voice.
“I’ll work with Joanie.” If I could swivel my head to see the owner of the voice, I would. But I don’t need to. It’s him.
“Hey. How’re you doing? What’s Blaine want you to do today?” He bends down so we’re eye to eye. His eyes always make me think of the sky, bright blue and going on forever. I smile at him, and he smiles back. Ms. Blaine puts a pretend stern look on her face.
“That would be Ms. Blaine, young Michael. And in answer to your question, Joanie’s finished all of her regular work so you can choose an alternate activity for this period.”