Silence (17 page)

As I got older, I learned to wait and observe. And sometimes, if I was very lucky, a butterfly moved closer. Once, an orange and black monarch landed on my shoulder. I stayed very still and watched it closely. It watched me back. My patience showed the butterfly that I was safe. It stayed for a very long time. Long enough for my mother to run and get her camera and then shoot a photo of me and my butterfly friend. I still have it in a frame on my desk. I look at it now. Remember the rewards of patience.

I don’t have to wait long for his response. By the time I have finished braiding my hair, Hayden has answered me.

Ok.

That gives no clue to how he feels. But it’s the answer I want. Now I have to ask part two. I take a deep breath. Prepare myself for rejection. Even though I know it will hurt whether I am prepared or not.

Would you stay for a little while after school today? I wanted to ask for your help with something.

It’s vague, but I am not ready to tell him yet about the possibility of another play. That I want to know if I can still sing. If he agrees, I will tell him today. If not, I will keep it to myself.

Sounds mysterious. And yes. I will always help you. All you have to do is ask.

I expect lunch to be awkward—that things will seem different between us after yesterday. But it’s not. Hayden and I sit under our tree. We face one another. Hayden wears a knit cap today, stormy gray. It makes his eyes look like my favorite faded jeans. His hair curls around the edges of the cap, trying to break free. When he catches me staring, I look down at my carrots. After a few moments, I dare to peek again. His eyes rest gently on me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I should be the one apologizing.”

Hayden shakes his head. “It wasn’t fair of me to act like that.”

I shake my head now, unwilling to let Hayden bear responsibility for yesterday.

“It was all my fault.” I don’t shift my eyes from his. If I do, I’ll lose my nerve. “I was afraid again,” I say, referencing my very first text to him.

He remembers, because he answers with an echo of what he texted back that day. “We’re all afraid, Stella. Some more than others.” Now I think he’s talking about himself. His cheeks color. But he doesn’t look away.

“My dad left my mom,” I begin. “For someone else.”

Hayden’s expression caresses my face. I am comforted as though he were touching me.

“And you never want to be left like she was,” he finishes for me.

I nod. Unable to speak or breathe now that my greatest fear is revealed. I wait to see how I will react. I gingerly test my emotions. Surprisingly, I am calm.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” I tell him. “Not with you.”

Hayden’s expression softens, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

He doesn’t. Instead he reaches out and smooths a piece of hair off my face. His touch is light yet weighted with emotion. “I didn’t expect this,” Hayden says.

“What?” I say, not understanding.

This time, his eyes drop to my lips. Linger there. His eyes slowly move back to meet mine before he speaks. “You.”

After lunch, I stop at my locker. Lily is waiting there. Note in hand.
I made the squad!

“Of course you did,” I say. “You were the best one there.”

Having a boyfriend on the football team probably didn’t hurt either. But I don’t say that. It’s catty, and I don’t want to be like that. I just want to be happy for her.

Lily beams at me, beautiful and perfect. From the curls bouncing below her shoulders to the brand-new pink cowboy boots on her feet. I return the smile. She takes out a pink pencil and writes one more thing on the note.

Thank you for being there. YMMD!

I translate the Lilyspeak: You Made My Day. Even if it isn’t true, it’s a nice thing to say. I grin again. “What are friends for?” We turn and go our separate ways. We are only going to our fifth period classes, but it seems like a metaphor for our friendship. Because though she will always hold a special place in my heart, Lily and I have gone our separate ways. And we will never be the same again.

After school, Hayden meets me in front of the rehearsal rooms—small, soundproof rooms where students can run lines, sing, or play instruments. Two of them have pianos. I have already reserved one of those.

Hayden grins when he sees me like it’s the first time he has seen me all day, even though it’s been only two hours. He has taken off his gray sweater and now wears a white shirt with his dark jeans. The gray cap still hides most of his curls, but a few more have escaped.

“So you going to tell me what this is all about?” he asks.

I don’t say a word as I push open the door and move inside. I take a seat on the worn piano bench.

Hayden follows me. He closes the door and stands in the middle of the small room, facing me. The space between us suddenly seems really small. And very intimate.

In silence, there are many things unsaid, things I am not ready to say. Responses I dream of hearing with my own ears, not reading with my eyes. So I hurry to fill the space with words.

“Rumor has it Mr. Preston is going to do one last show before the end of the year. He’s never done one then, so there is a lot of speculation about what it will be, a play or a musical, and I want to audition for it. Whether I can hear—or not.”

I watch him closely for his reaction. He looks at me sideways, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He is proud of me. I can tell. But he still doesn’t speak.

“Will you help me?”

“Always.” His eyes say more. They say words that make me glow. I am a precious gem that has been hidden in a dark cave for centuries, and he has discovered me. Revealed me. Now I can shine the way I am meant to shine. I sparkle under his gaze.

Something is different about him today. I sense it. He’s more open, somehow. More present. I have no idea what caused the change, but I like it. Then it occurs to me that maybe the one who is different is me.

Before I get lost in the moment, I bring myself back to the reason we are here. “I want to see if I can sense the rhythm of the music, even when I can’t hear it.”

Hayden nods his understanding then sits beside me on the piano bench. I slide over to give him space. I smell citrus and sunset, wind and sea. When his bare arm brushes against mine, I tingle. Skin against skin.

His fingers press the piano keys, giving them life. I watch his hands move. Marvel at their grace. His fingers are confident; they know exactly what to do without hesitation.

He speaks to me while he plays. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on the air in the room. See if your body can absorb the rhythm.”

I close my eyes. At first, all I can feel is the pounding of my heart, the rush of my adrenaline. The brush of his leg against mine. His nearness. But then I notice something else. Something churning the air. A change. A pulsing.

And I realize.

It’s rhythm.

I can feel the music.

I focus on it. Block out everything else. Even Hayden. I reach for the energy with every part of me—embrace it. Let it in.

The sound rolls through me, feeding me a beat. I begin to move my head in time. Then my foot. When I am certain it isn’t my imagination, I open my eyes.

I look at Hayden. He knows without my speaking. He can tell from the expression of wonder on my face. Because as much as I wanted it to be possible, I didn’t truly believe it could be until this moment. I didn’t truly have faith.

A smile breaks out on my face. I am filled with joy and happiness, hope and dreams.

Music is not lost to me. Music is part of me. Even more than when I could hear it. Because now it is inside of me.

“Thank you,” I manage as tears fill my eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of gratitude.

Hayden doesn’t answer. He rests his forehead against mine. Sharing in my moment. My triumph.

I have a long road ahead of me. There is a big difference between sensing rhythm and being able to sing notes. But just knowing it’s possible is all I need right now.

I stand and move to the side of the piano. Place my hands on the instrument itself. “Play something I know,” I say.

I close my eyes again and wait for the melody to course through me. Each note Hayden plays breathes life into my soul. Each note pushes through my bubble of silence and leaves a small hole to the world outside, the world I used to know. I am no longer isolated. I am connected.

Hayden plays and plays until his hands must ache. But I am not tired. I am full of song.

Hayden gestures to the keys of the piano. “Do you want to play?”

I shake my head. “Don’t know how.”

“Want to learn?”

I have always wanted to learn, but the black and white keys are a mystery to me. They hold the power to rhythm and melody.

“Will you teach me?” I say as I sit next to Hayden on the bench.

“What do you think?” His mouth twists into a sideways grin that is both teasing and hypnotic.

Hayden takes my hand in his. Lifts it to the piano keys and sets it down with one finger on each white key.

“Play one at a time,” he says.

I press a key. And another. The keys are smooth, responsive. I can’t sense the music they make like I could when listening to Hayden play. This is something else. Even though I am playing just one key at a time, I control it. I create the melody. Like when I sing. It’s empowering. I am playing the piano. It doesn’t matter that I can’t hear it. I am making music.

“Can you read notes?” Hayden asks.

“Yes,” I say. “I learned in sixth-grade choir.”

“This is C.” He points to the key under my thumb. Next to it is D. Then E, F, G. Then it goes to A and B before returning to C.”

He’s teaching me the notes so I can read the sheet music and then play the right key on the piano. That’s when I realize that there is no sheet music sitting on the piano. Hayden has been playing all of these songs from memory.

“How did you do it?” I ask. Impressed.

“What?”

“Play all of those songs without sheet music?”

Hayden shrugs, downplaying it. “I have a good memory.”

“I think it’s called talent. You’re really talented.”

He seems embarrassed by my compliment. He glances at the floor for a moment before responding to me.

“You’re the one with all the talent,” he tells me. “I’ve never heard anyone sing like you. You were like a siren on stage, hypnotizing me with your voice.”

His compliment releases fluttering butterflies into my veins, heightening my mood from joy to euphoria.

“As I recall,” I say, “sirens led men to ruin with their song. I hope you don’t think I’m a danger to you.” I hope he can tell I am teasing.

For once, Hayden is all seriousness. And I realize that even if I am teasing, Hayden understands the depth of meaning behind my words. “I do think you’re a danger. A very serious danger.”

The butterflies circle in a frenzy. Make me short of breath.

I want to touch him. To show him that he is safe with me. Just as I know I am safe with him.

I gingerly lean toward him. Closer. Shortening the distance between us.

Our lips are almost touching.

He leans closer.

Just when he is about to kiss me, he pulls back. Turns away.

My first reaction is confusion. He doesn’t want to kiss me.

My second reaction is to follow his eye line. What is Hayden looking at?

That’s when I notice that someone has come into the room. A guy who plays in the band. He is saying something to Hayden. And Hayden is responding.

He must be scheduled to use the rehearsal room next.

The moment has passed. I look at my watch: 4:30. It’s time to go.

Hayden walks me out. Waves good-bye as I head for my mom’s car. I turn to look at him one last time before we drive away. He is still watching me. Just as I am watching him, with a myriad of emotions churning inside me.

Like a cake mixture of ingredients, some delicious and some tart. Combined, they make something sublime. Right now, I am sublime.

The language of art

— 
Hayden
 —

I would go anywhere, do anything. Just to be with Stella.

From the moment I received her text this morning, I knew something would be different today. Just like I have known other things about her before, I knew this. It’s the first time she has ever reached out to me, wanting me.

I knew today would be different—and it was.

For the first time, she seemed truly present. Like she wasn’t holding back, thinking about something else, hiding.

She was radiant. Her eyes glowed like amber jewels lit by fire. Her lips danced between smiles as though she has never smiled at anyone but me. She smells like honey and wildflowers.

And today, when I touched her hair, it felt like satin. Touching her like that, doing something I have seen her do herself many times—brushing a strand of hair from her face—I was one with her. Moving for her. It was intimate. So small, yet it sent shock waves through me as if I had touched high-watt voltage.

And then, watching her connect with the music, my music. It was one of the most perfect moments of my life.

I wanted to kiss her at lunch, then later in the rehearsal room. I wanted to taste her lips, but I held back.

My first kiss with Stella will be my first kiss with anyone.

The rehearsal room isn’t the right place, just like a mall parking lot wasn’t the right place. There will be a moment—the right moment—and I will know when it arrives. That’s when I will kiss Stella. Until then, it’s enough to be near her, to see her. And to know that what I feel for her, I have never felt for anyone before.

I drive home slowly, the melody from her final song in
West Side Story
still throbbing in my fingertips.

Gramps is working in his art studio. I stand in the doorway for a few moments, watching him work. The room is really a converted garage, but you would never know it. Gramps and I worked for two years to turn the garage into his work space. We laid wood floors and installed more windows in the walls to let the light in. Animal sculptures are scattered around on tables and columns, some miniature, others life-sized. The smell of clay permeates the room, bringing with it a sense of comfort. This is my favorite place in the house. Because this is the only room that is entirely Gramps. Sometimes I like to work on homework at one of the benches while he creates. He plays country music on his stereo and sings along—even though he is always completely off pitch.