Silence (10 page)

I finish my calculus homework, and then I write to her.

I have a challenge for you. You have 17 days to wait. Until then, I can show you all the things you can do without hearing. At the end of 17 days, 1 of 3 things will happen: 1. You will hear again. 2. You can give up. 3. You will be able to imagine yourself differently. Will you let me help you?

I don’t know how she will respond. Will she say yes?

She doesn’t say yes or no. She sends this:

Why would you want to do that for me?

My answer is simple.

Because I had to figure things out on my own, and I wish someone had helped me.

There’s more, of course. Like the way I felt when she touched me. How everything disappeared—the past, the memories. It was like the earth stood still for a split second, and we were the only two people in the world. No one has ever made me feel like that before. I want to feel it again. I want to be with her again.

I don’t wait long for her response. It shines with promise. Hope.

Yes.

17

— 
Stella
 —

My first thought when I read Hayden’s challenge is that I am depressing scenario number one—a charity case. But my second thought is that I don’t care. Not if it means more time with Hayden.

When I receive his response to my question—that he wishes someone had helped him—I answer him in the only way I ever would answer him. It seems that we are bound together by circumstance, by pain, and maybe by something more.

Yes.

It’s 3:20. Hayden will be here at 3:30. I pull on my favorite jeans and a blue tank top, wrap a sweatshirt around my waist, and head for the front door. I plan to wait outside again. I sit on the step, reach over to tie my shoes. This time I can do it. Baby steps, I tell myself.

When Hayden’s truck pulls up, I am suddenly nervous. I twist a strand of hair around my finger as I wonder why I agreed to this. But the second Hayden comes walking toward me, I am calm. And happy. Really happy.

He’s wearing a blue baseball cap and a navy T-shirt with tattered jeans. His smile is wide and welcoming. I stand before he reaches me.

“Hi,” he says. His eyes sparkle like the waves in the ocean.

“Hi,” I return shyly.

He is looking at me in that way again, like he can see into my soul. It’s unnerving and exciting at the same time. I have to look away.

“Tied my own shoes today,” I say, looking at my sneakers. The bows are lopsided, but I did manage to do it myself, which is an improvement. I sneak a look at him to see his response.

“I guess you don’t need me anymore,” he teases.

I grin. “Guess not.”

We stand there smiling at each other. But it isn’t awkward. I’m warm inside. Giddy, even.

Hayden offers me his arm. “Ready?”

“Just one thing.”

Hayden waits, studies me. My stomach flips over once. Twice. I take a breath.

“My mom wants to talk to you.”

I don’t know what I expect his reaction to be. Annoyed, frustrated, even maybe self-conscious? But Hayden is none of these things. He smiles and nods. “No problem.”

I turn and open the front door. I step into the foyer, and Hayden follows.

“Mom,” I call.

She comes out of the kitchen, smiling. I see her mouth move. Then she surprises me by hugging Hayden. She gestures toward me, touches me gently on the arm. Her mouth is moving too quickly for me to decipher anything. I look at Hayden instead. I watch his mouth.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her. She’ll be completely safe.”

I turn to look at my mother. She nods, giving me permission to go with a smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. I can tell she is happy that I am out of bed and actually wanting to do something outside the darkness of my bedroom.

I hug her and whisper in her ear, “Thank you.”

She kisses me on the forehead.

“I’ll have her back before dinner,” Hayden promises.

Hayden opens the front door, and I follow him outside. I breathe in the air. I suddenly feel like I could fly.

I float to the truck, where Hayden opens the door for me. I climb in and wait for him to get in and start the car. I am smiling in a way I can’t remember doing for so long. Hayden glances at me and then he smiles, too, like it’s catching.

“Where are you taking me today?” I ask.

Hayden laughs. I can’t hear it, but he throws his head back a little. “You’ll just have to wait.”

I sigh and settle into the seat. Again I notice the silver knot keychain dangling back and forth. I look out the window. Hayden pulls into the mall parking lot. Then he parks.

“Ready?” Again, it strikes me that he is the only person I can understand. I meet his eyes and nod.

Before I can open my door, Hayden is helping me out of the truck. We walk side by side into the shopping center. Once, his hand brushes against mine. I resist the urge to look at him. I’m always doing that—resisting the pull toward him.

The mall is different without sound. I feel like an alien from another planet, like I have never been here before. I am almost dizzy from the blending of colors and smells. The scents of vanilla and gardenia assault me from the Candle Shop, and my eyes can barely take in all of the colors in the windows of the clothing stores.

A warm breeze blows across my cheek before Hayden pulls me out of the way of a whirling helicopter toy from a kiosk. My mouth waters with the smell of buttery popcorn from the movie theaters. People bump and jostle me as they hurry by. I never realized how much people rush. They don’t take in the moment.

Then Hayden stops in front of Paint It, one of those paint-your-own-pottery places. I’ve never been inside; I’m not much of an artist. My talents are all musical. Correction, I remind myself.
Were
all musical. But before even a drop of sadness can flow through me, Hayden is pulling me inside the store.

Small round tables covered with white paper are scattered around the space. Shelves are filled with white pottery pieces—vases and bowls, plates and different shapes and sizes of piggy banks. The place is almost empty, except for a mother and two young girls painting princesses at the back table. Hayden leads me to the wall of pottery.

“Which one do you want to paint?”

“Really?” I say. Then, “I’m not much of an artist.”

He grins. “We’ll see about that.”

Together we look at all of the choices. I like the vases. One is shaped like a treble clef, with the top part opening to hold flowers. I pick it up to look at it. I am too shy to tell Hayden that this is the one I like. But I don’t need to tell him, because he already knows. He gently removes the vase from my hands and carries it to a table. He sets the vase in the center then waves at me to follow him. At the back of the studio is a shelf with containers of paint, a rainbow of colors. Next to it are bowls of brushes in all shapes and sizes. Hayden picks up a large, flat, white tile and looks at me.

“Choose your colors,” he says.

I pick up a pale blue that reminds me of the sky over the ocean. I hold up the bottle for Hayden to see. He takes it and pours some on the tile. Then I choose another like ivory sand. I pour this one onto the same tile next to the blue, but not touching. Last I choose sapphire, which reminds me of Hayden’s eyes and the sea. I don’t tell him this, of course. And for a second, I am too shy to look up at him. I set the bottle back on the shelf.

When I do finally look at Hayden, he seems to be studying me rather than the paint color. I feel my cheeks burn hot with his gaze. Then he tilts his head to the side as though considering something. I want to ask what it is, but before I can figure out how to ask the question, the moment has passed.

“Any more?” he asks, holding up the tile for me to look.

I shake my head no. “That’s good,” I answer.

“Choose some brushes,” he tells me.

I select one small thin brush, one wedge-shaped wide brush, and another in the middle with a long point at the end.

I follow Hayden back to the table. He sets the tile next to my vase. Then he leaves to select a piece for himself. I sit down, suddenly excited to paint. I choose the widest brush and dip it into the light blue paint. I like the way the brush bends and swirls as the color saturates the bristles. I carefully smooth the brush down the side of the vase. Watch as the white clay turns the color of the sky. Up and down I run the brush. Revel in the power of creating something the way I see it. In the possibility of mistakes.

I am so absorbed that I don’t even notice when Hayden returns. So I am surprised when I look up and see him painting across from me. He is working on an oval-shaped box. He feels my gaze and looks up.

There is the connection again. For a split second, he understands everything. How peaceful and happy I am in this moment. I don’t have to tell him. I can see it reflected in his eyes.

Once again, Hayden has taken me to a place I have never been before. A place inside myself that needs no words, no outward communication. I can express myself with a paintbrush. Through my emotions painted across a vase. In blue.

“Thank you,” I say simply.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

From time to time, as I paint, I glance over to see what Hayden is doing. He is a very talented artist, I realize. On top of the box, he is painting a detailed ocean scene. The bottom is the same blue I am using for the vase—the color of his eyes.

I use the sand-color paint to line the inside lip of the vase. The sand touching the edge of the sky. My work is almost complete. I have left the best part for last. I choose the smallest, finest brush and dip it into the sapphire paint. Then I line the treble clef. And the whole time, I feel as though I am painting the memory of this day, of Hayden, into this vase.

When I am finished, I sit back and look at my work. It isn’t perfect, to be sure. But that’s what makes me feel so good about it. I am not an artist. But it doesn’t matter. I still created something beautiful. And I didn’t need to hear a single sound to do it.

Hayden has also finished. I stand and walk around the table to look over his shoulder. He has painted a miniature version of the beach we visited together—the sand dunes, the waves, and the birds in perfect detail.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

“It’s a beautiful world,” he responds. When he looks at me, I feel for a moment that I am lost in time. Suspended, as if nothing else exists. The burning in his gaze is so intense, I don’t even breathe.

“It’s for you,” he says. “So you will always remember.”

I feel the smile reach my eyes before it touches my lips. “I could never forget. Any of this.”

“Neither could I,” he says.

Hayden stands and looks at me for another long moment. Then he turns to the counter to pay.

I take the next few breaths to calm myself. What is happening to me? I have been through so much. I am not myself anymore. I know this. I like to think the old me would have known exactly what to do. What to say. But I know that is a lie.

I wish I could ask Lily for advice. She would know what to do. She knows everything about talking to boys. Thinking about Lily pinches my heart as if to remind me of what I’ve lost.

Hayden returns, holding a little green receipt. “They will be ready next week,” he tells me. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” I tell him.

Outside the store, Hayden turns in the direction of the food court. I walk beside him, happy to feel normal for a few minutes. I glance into windows, smile when he points something out.

His hand lightly brushes mine. An almost imperceptible touch, except it’s not because I feel a hundred electrical impulses run up my arm. When he brushes me again, his hand gently reaches out. An offering that I can accept or refuse. If I weren’t so completely aware of every breath he takes, I might not even notice. But I do notice. And I accept.

I fit my palm into his. Hayden’s fingers interweave with mine. The jolts go all the way through my body. I expect to feel nervous. Shy. Even afraid. But I don’t. I feel only one thing—

Safe.

Hayden’s hand is slender but strong. His fingers press tightly against mine, but he doesn’t grip my hand. I am connected and free at the same time.

Hayden’s holding my hand gives me a message. It is as loud as if he were singing a song I could hear. That’s all I need to know.

I don’t know what we see after that. I don’t know what we smile and laugh about. Because I am gliding on a tide of euphoria.

Hayden buys us junk food. Pretzels, frozen lemonade, pizza slices. The smells make my mouth water. We’re laughing, trying to juggle all of it when it happens.

We run right into them—Lily and Connor. Arms wrapped around each other. Some other kids from school with them I don’t know. Seniors, I think. I feel like an anchor has dragged me to the bottom of the sea. My lungs collapse, and I can’t breathe.

I just freeze. Lily doesn’t. She smiles at me and says something I can’t understand. It’s too fast, too jumbled. Connor looks me up and down. There is something in his expression. Narrowed eyes. Pretended indifference. Something else too. It sends shivers up my arms. Then he says something to me, but I can’t understand him either. My skin burns with the heat of their stares. I want to claw at my face, make it go away, but my hands are full of pretzel bites. The heat of the bag seeps into my skin. I do nothing. Say nothing. I am like a statue.

I watch Lily’s expression turn from happiness to pity to frustration. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand. Can never understand.

And that’s when I unfreeze. I force a timid wave at Lily. A half-smile that feels like it is cracking my face in two. Lily half-smiles back. But behind it, I can see the truth. The green monster is still there even now. A fleeting thought touches down, stings me before it flies away. She is embarrassed by me. And it is that thought that makes my throat grow thick. I look at Hayden. He’s watching them. Only I can’t read his expression. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or annoyed. Or maybe something else. But he feels my gaze and turns to meet my eyes. A silent moment of understanding passes between us. I watch as he turns back to them.