Fighting Silence

by Aly Martinez

  Hand in hand, we were ushered to the back of the emergency room almost immediately. He sat on a stiff hospital bed with his head hung low. We had no idea what was going on, but I knew Till. I was positive he had entirely too many worst-case scenarios floating through his head. He needed a distraction. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a notepad and pen.

  Crawling into his lap, I kissed every inch of his face that my lips could reach. His chest heaved, but not in the sexual way I was accustomed to. Till was fighting back his own emotions. He didn’t need me to witness that.

  So I started drawing.

  It wasn’t much. Just a stick figure climbing through a window. But it seemed to help. I drew a woman on the other side and gave her huge boobs. Till looked up then, a small smile pulling at the side of his mouth. After snatching the pencil from my hand, he added a freckle under her right breast. I laughed, and his eyes snapped to mine. His gaze flashed to my mouth as he swallowed hard. But he eventually lost the battle.

  Burying his face in my neck, Till lost it completely. He clung to me as his shoulders shook. I couldn’t tell if any tears actually fell from his eyes, but his body was being ravaged. He would never admit it, but I thought he was more scared than upset. I felt helpless, but I held him as tight as possible and whispered encouraging words that would never be heard—those were for me.

  A few seconds later, Slate walked into the room, and I threw up a hand to halt him. Till would have been mortified if the only man he considered a father witnessed his breakdown, no matter how understandable it might have been. Glancing down at Till in my arms, Slate nodded understandingly and backed out of the door.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I decided the doomsday pity party needed to be over. It wasn’t helping anyone. The fact was that, while I hated this for Till, it wasn’t the end of the world. No one was dead or dying. Millions of people lived happy lives despite their inability to hear. Till was no different. We would be happy too.

  I slid off his lap, and his red-rimmed eyes bounced to mine in question.

  “No more,” I announced very slowly so he could read my lips. I took my finger and poked into his chest. “You are okay.” Then I moved it to my own chest. “I am okay.” Then I motioned it between us. “We are okay.” I grabbed the notebook and jotted down the words: Nothing else matters.

  He stared at the pad for a few seconds, but eventually, his shoulders relaxed. A second later, they squared, and a second after that, Till was done with the pity party too. He lifted his head and took a deep breath. He was still pale and nervous as hell, but “The Silencer” Till Page had officially shown up to the fight.

  His eyes fearlessly held mine, and I gave him a weak grin.

  Lifting his hand, I kissed his palm. “I love you.”

  He responded with his mouth, but it wasn’t in words.

  He snaked a hand out, grabbing the back of my neck, and pulled me in for a hard, closemouthed kiss. As soon as he was done, he settled me back onto his lap, but this time, Till’s strong arms were protectively holding me, not the other way around.

  Slate’s here, I wrote. Do you want me to let him in?

  He nodded and allowed me off his lap. When I opened the room door, Slate was standing in the hall, talking on the phone.

  “It’s okay, Q. He’s gonna be fine. I promise,” he said, holding the back of his neck and pacing the hallway. “Look, Johnson is gonna be there in a few minutes. Let him in. He’s gonna hang with you two until Till gets back. Nah, I know you don’t need a babysitter. Just humor me.” He shook his head and glanced up at me. “Hey, I gotta go, Eliza just came out. I’ll keep you updated.” He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. “How is he?”

  “Better now.”

  “Can he hear anything?”

  I had no answer besides to just shake my head.

  “Shiiit,” he breathed, raking a hand through his hair.

  “He wants you to come in, but we’re not grieving anymore, okay? It’s fight time.”

  Slate smiled and squeezed my shoulder before using it to pull me into a side hug. “You’re a good woman, Eliza.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, but I embraced the moment of comfort and reassurance his hug provided—feelings that were usually reserved for the man on the other side of the door.

  Slate walked into the room first and stopped in front of Till. Then he grabbed the notebook and pencil off the bed and began writing. Till motioned for me to rejoin him. As he kissed the top of my head, I resumed my position on his lap.

  For a moment, I thought Slate was writing a novel. Finally, he passed the notebook back and then crossed his thick arms over his chest.

  Just so we are on the same page about something, “The Silent Storm” is my nickname. I had it trademarked years ago. I have absolutely no problem suing you for everything you have if you try to steal that shit. No matter how fitting it may be for you now.

  Till barked out a laugh as he finished.

  Slate watched him warmly before saying, “You’ll be fine.”

  Till nodded, once again refusing to speak.

  It wasn’t long before the doctor made his way into the room. They swooped Till away for what seemed like a million tests—it at least took long enough to be a million. Slate stepped into the hall and spent most of the time on his phone while I sat awkwardly, alone, and in silence—just like Till. I cried even though I knew I was supposed to be fighting, but I was just so fucking numb.

  Finally, they ushered us into an audiologist’s office on the far side of the hospital. The fact that there was an audiologist in his office at three a.m. led me to believe that Slate had been busy calling more than just Quarry while he had been in the hall. Till settled in the chair next to me, taking hold of my hand to rest it on his thigh. I would have preferred to be back on his lap, but this was neither the time nor the place for comfort. This was the place for the truth about the future.

  “Okay, Till is currently hearing at less than five percent.” He looked at Till and pointed to the screen above his desk, where the words were forming as he spoke them.

  “Will it come back?” I inquired hopefully.

  “No. I’m fairly certain that it won’t be coming back.”

  Till cleared his throat and cracked his neck as the doctor’s prognosis appeared on screen.

  “Given your history, we didn’t anticipate your hearing to disappear this suddenly. I’ve been told that you are a professional boxer, and while trauma can cause hearing loss, it’s more likely your genetic condition that’s the culprit here. However, like I told you, a cochlear implant is a great solution for your type of hearing loss.”

  “Wait. What?” I jumped from my chair.

  The doctor glanced at Till before looking back at me.

  “He’s eligible for an implant? He could hear again?”

  “Well, that part is up to Till. But yes, he is eligible.”

  Till shook his head and stood up, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I wiggled out of his grasp as tears of joy sprang to my eyes.

  “Oh my God, you’ll be able to hear again!” I laughed, but he watched me blankly. “What?” I asked as my smile faded.

  He grabbed a pen and paper off the doctor’s desk. No implant. It costs too much money.

  I snatched the paper from his hand. “You have insurance now,” I spoke out loud as I wrote. Then I turned to the doctor and asked, “Insurance will cover the implant, right?”

  “Well, yes. Most of it. However, it could still be quite costly. There are programs that can help patients who can’t afford the procedure.”

  “It’s not the money,” Slate chimed in from behind me. “He knows I’d pay for it.”

  Till lifted the pen to write again, but I stole the paper before he had the chance.

  “Talk,” I demanded, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Why won’t you get the implant?”

  He just shook his head, so I turned to the doctor.

  “What’s the catch here?”

 
; “I’ll step out for a minute so you all can discuss this alone.” He walked from the room, leaving me even more confused and irritated than ever.

  I took a deep breath and picked the paper up.

  What is going on? What am I missing? You could hear again! This doesn’t have to be permanent!!!!!!! I nearly broke the pen as I forcefully added each exclamation point.

  Till’s eyes flashed to Slate, who was looming behind me. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I honestly didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered.

  You’re getting the implant, I scrawled definitively.

  Till finally found his voice in the tone of an angry snarl. “No!”

  “Why. Not?” I growled right back at him.

  “Because he can’t box anymore with the implant,” Slate said, unleashing the venomous snake of truth into the room, before stalking out and slamming the door.

  Oh. My. God.

  You would rather fight than hear? I tilted my head, incredulous.

  His answer was a shrug that apparently said it all.

  The tension was thick as Eliza drove us home from the hospital. I could feel the anger radiating off her, but she didn’t once leave my side. She did, however, put the pen and paper back in her purse, effectively ending any further conversation. She might not have communicated, but she’d held my hand when the doctor had come back in and scheduled a follow-up appointment for the next day. He’d filled a bag with books and pamphlets, including a schedule for sign language courses at the local community center.

  It was so fucking surreal.

  When we walked through the door to our apartment, the boys both jumped off the couch. Quarry’s mouth was moving a million miles a minute, and just the sight wrenched my chest. Flint quickly elbowed him to make him shut up. They both stared at me, just as unsure of how to react as I was. So I tossed them a forced smile and headed to my room. I could see the concern in Flint’s eyes as I passed him, so I reached out and punched him in the shoulder. It was playful and hard, but judging by his face, it wasn’t comforting in the least.

  Normal. I just needed things to feel normal even if they didn’t sound it.

  I flipped off the light and fell into bed. My mind was all over the place while trying to figure out how the hell I was going to function with my new existence. I was pissed at myself for not having prepared better for this day. I knew it was coming; I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

  After a half hour, I got bored of being alone and went to find Eliza. She was probably still mad at me, but I could live with that as long as she was at my side.

  I found her sitting on the couch, surrounded on both sides. Flint sat on one side with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands as Eliza scratched his back. Quarry was on the other side tucked under her arm. His body was stiff as if he didn’t want the physical sympathy, but his head was resting on her shoulder as if he’d never needed anything more. Tears were running from his eyes.

  Jesus. Quarry. He had gotten so big recently that, sometimes, I forgot that he was still just a twelve-year-old kid who faced my same fate.

  When I cleared my throat, they all looked up. Q immediately began drying his eyes and looking away. I casually strolled over to the couch and ruffled his hair. He hated it when I did that, but this time, he didn’t squirm. Using both hands, I signaled for them to part the sea and make room for me. Squeezing between Flint and Eliza, I tossed my arms over the back of the couch and roughly dragged them all in for a group hug. Their heads clinked together, and I was sure they all groaned, but I wanted to keep it light. However, those three seconds when my entire life was secure in my arms would be etched into my memory for all of eternity. Tomorrow didn’t seem so scary when I was on that couch with them.

  We sat uncomfortably squished together for several hours. As far as I knew, no one said anything. We were all lost in our own imagination of what the future would hold. The sun was starting to peek through the window when Eliza nudged me and pointed down to Q, who was asleep on her shoulder. I glanced over to Flint, who was also racked out, his head flopped back and his mouth hanging open. It was time to put the entire day to rest. I scooped Q off her lap then carried him to bed. Flint sleepily stumbled into the room after me, and Eliza leaned against the doorjamb, watching me toss the blankets over them both.

  It wasn’t picture perfect. Half of Flint’s body hung off the twin-sized bed, and Quarry’s head was twisted in a way that would cause him to be sore for a week. I was deaf, yet Eliza was still smiling.

  It was all wrong.

  But right then, it felt exactly right.

  After quietly closing the door, I led her down the hall to our bedroom. We collapsed against the cool sheets, exhausted by the evening but miles away from being able to find any rest. I held her close as she doodled my eyes. Then I gave up watching the fluid movement of her hand across the paper and started watching her face.

  Her eyes squinted with every curve, and her mouth twitched the moment she started the elongated strokes I knew to be my lashes. She never once glanced up to study my eyes; she knew them from memory.

  My attention was drawn away when she lifted the pad into my line of sight.

  Talk to me, she had drawn in big bubble letters across the paper.

  I shook my head and then slid down to rest on the pillow, facing her.

  He’s afraid.

  I grabbed the pencil from her hand. Who?

  I started to hand it back, but she grabbed another off the nightstand.

  Quarry, she wrote.

  He’ll be okay.

  Not if you shut down, he won’t. She gave me an impatient look.

  I couldn’t say that she was wrong. Hell, I knew she was right, even though I wanted to pretend she wasn’t.

  I’ll try.

  Then talk to me.

  “Please,” she mouthed. Her chin quivered, and her nostrils flared.

  Jesus, she was fighting hard, which was everything I absolutely wasn’t doing.

  I opened my mouth, but not a single sound came out—at least not to my ears.

  “Do I sound weird? Like a deaf person?”

  She gave me a huge smile that made sounding ridiculous completely worth it. Tears pooled in her eyes as she quickly shook her head and said, “No.” In big letters, she wrote, You still sound like MY Till. But you were always weird, so maybe the answer should be yes.

  I watched as her mouth opened and her chest shook with laughter. It damn near killed me to know that I was missing the sound that should have accompanied it.

  You need to talk to them tomorrow. Show them that it’s still you.

  “Okay.”

  But maybe quieter. You’re yelling.

  “Shit. Sorry,” I replied, trying to speak softly even though I had no idea how to gauge my volume.

  Better. She smiled. Now talk to me about why you won’t get the implant.

  I guess there was no beating around the bush.

  “Doodle, I don’t know. I have to fight. I don’t have anything outside of that ring.”

  That’s not true at all and you know it. You have me and the boys.

  “That’s exactly it! I have you and the boys. And I finally found something I can make enough money at to provide for all of you. I’m not giving that up. I can’t! I just can’t!” I was sure I was yelling, but I couldn’t stop.

  Two days ago, I’d made fifty grand in fifteen minutes That was more than I’d made in two years working my ass off. I couldn’t go back to the struggle just to keep food on the table—not even to hear again.

  I’m not asking you to give it up, Till. I just want to understand your reasons. I didn’t even know the implant was a possibility until today. You never talk to me about this stuff.

  “I only found out a few years ago—back when I’d never have been able to come up with the money for it. But honestly, I don’t want to think about it, Eliza. Not with you.”

  Fantasy?

  “It’s kinda my t
hing.” I smiled sheepishly.

  Her mouth began to move, and I just blinked at her. I watched her bite out the word, “Shit,” before going back to the paper.

  How about you just make us your thing?

  “I can do that. But I can’t get that implant,” I announced again.

  She bit her lip and rolled away.

  “Look at me.” I flipped her back over, and the expected tears were already present.

  “Did you know that Slate thinks he can get me a fight in a few months for double what I made the other night? That’s a hundred thousand dollars, Doodle. Think about it. If I win that one, who knows! We could be millionaires by the end of the year.”

  She wasn’t impressed and rolled her eyes

  “I’m serious. It could happen.”

  She forcefully scribbled on the paper, It’s just money!

  “No, it’s not!” I roared, jumping off the bed. “It’s a life. It’s security. It’s being able to provide for you. It’s being able to send Flint to college and pay to get Quarry to the best doctors so he never has to experience this shit. It’s buying you a home and a car, maybe a whole fucking studio where you can sit and draw for the rest of your life. Fuck accounting! You hate it.” The more I spoke, the angrier I became. I wasn’t mad at her. I just fucking hated reality. “It’s more than money! It’s being able to make babies with you and not having to bust my ass at a job I hate when all I truly want to be doing is sitting on that fucking couch”—I pointed to the living room—“with our family.

  “Do you have any idea how it feels for a man to not be able to provide for his family? It’s crippling! Don’t make me feel guilty for making this choice. Damn it, I’m doing it for all of us. If it means you guys are taken care of, I will sit in silence for the rest of my fucking life.”

  By the time I finished, tears were streaming from her eyes. She didn’t want me to suffer—I understood that. This was my life though. Suffering was a guarantee. Security was not.

  “Okay.”

  I read her lips as she rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around my waist. Then I held her, smoothing her hair until I was able to calm down.