The Language Inside (12 page)

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Authors: Holly Thompson

BOOK: The Language Inside
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and then we’re outside

room 448

I take a deep breath

and in we go

 

she is just a head propped up on a pillow

the rest of her hidden beneath

covers, her graying hair

brushed back and clipped

with purple barrettes on either side

her eyes follow me

and seem to smile

Lin says

Zena Hickox

this is Emma Karas

who will help you write

your masterpieces

and Zena’s eyes look up

 

Lin shows me the letter board, says

there’s more sophisticated equipment

computers that track eye movement

but until an angel comes along

to help us fund such a system

this is what we have

she holds up a piece of laminated paper

with the alphabet in five rows

each row colored different

               red, yellow, blue, green, purple

               and in the last row—orange—

               small words, question words

               numbers, symbols

Lin shows me how to hold it up

and say the colors

then the letters of that row

watching for when Zena’s eyes go up

to find which letter or small word

or symbol she means

and then I realize

I will be helping her write poems

letter by letter

and I start to panic

 

okay, honey?
Lin says

and I want to say
no way!

I want to say
I have to go

this was a mistake

and I’m wishing YiaYia

had found me volunteer work

in a soup kitchen

or tutoring kids

or river cleanup

anything else . . . 

but I nod

okay, Zena?
Lin says

and Zena’s eyes

go up

 

Lin walks out the door

and then it’s just me and Zena

and the sounds of whatever she’s

hooked up to

which I try not to look at

or think about

and I don’t know what to say

 

I sit down on the chair by her bed

arrange my jacket over the chairback

set my pack on the floor

pull out a notebook and pen

open to a page of blank paper

take a deep breath

then glance at her

she looks up

I like your barrettes
I say

her eyes roll up

and I’m relieved

but I don’t know what else to say

to someone who can’t talk

so I unzip my sweatshirt

and waste some time

arranging my sleeves

 

shall we start?
I finally say

but she looks straight at me

I mean with a poem
I add

still she doesn’t look up

and I’m thinking I might need

to go get one of the aides

but then I try

you want to do something else?

and she looks up

I don’t know what it is

so I pick up the letter board

and say the colors—
red, yellow
 . . . 

and run my fingers over the letters

of the row she selects

as I say them

i-n-t-r-o
she spells

introduction?
I ask

and Zena looks up

like self-introductions?
I ask

and Zena looks up again

 

ah!
I say, so relieved

to have figured out what she means

that I jump right in blabbing

that I grew up in Japan

and went to Japanese schools

then switched to international school last year

but had to move here to my grandmother’s house

because of my mother’s . . . 

                                        breast

Zena’s mouth goes wide

and she makes a throaty sound

and at first I think she’s choking

or I’ve made an embarrassing mistake

but her eyes seem to smile

and I realize this growl is her laugh

 

I go on to explain the first surgery

and the second surgery coming up

and how we’ll live here till Mom recovers

and maybe longer

we just don’t know

and I say

but I miss Japan

like I’m missing a person

and I don’t know why this is all coming

out of me because I never talk like this

to anyone

 

I say to Zena
now your turn

but her eyes don’t go up

I stare back at her

and she seems to gaze at the letter board

so I say the colors and letters

and she spells

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