Your Voice Is All I Hear

by Leah Scheier

  The Monday before Thanksgiving break, I came over as usual to spend the evening at Jonah’s. I waved hello to Mrs. Golden and then followed Jonah upstairs to his room. We curled up on his bed together, and I pulled out our notebooks and spread them across his blanket. He was falling behind in math, and I’d promised to help him with his homework. It was rough going for a while, but we plowed through half of the chapter before I realized that he’d stopped listening to me and was just copying down my work.

  “Jonah, you can’t do that,” I said, shoving my textbook aside. “You actually have to understand how to solve these questions yourself, or you’ll just fail the test next week.”

  He stared at me for a moment and then shut his book. “I know. I just can’t—it’s hard to concentrate today.”

  I sighed and leaned back against the wall. “You haven’t been able to concentrate for a while. Everyone’s been noticing that you’re distracted. Even your teachers have commented about it.”

  I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Jonah sat up straighter; I saw the muscles in his neck go taut. “Hold on, which teachers do you mean? Have they been talking to you about me?”

  “It was just one teacher, and seriously, you need to relax!” I exclaimed. “Ms. Lowry was concerned about you, and I—”

  “Ms. Lowry!” he shouted, pushing himself off the bed and swinging around to face me. “I should have known that she would rat me out!”

  “What are you talking about? Since when do history teachers rat their students out?”

  He looked confused for a moment. “Just stop, please,” he muttered finally, turning his face away from me. “I need you to stop. I just can’t—I can’t listen to you right now.”

  “What do you mean you can’t listen to me—”

  “Damn it, April!” he interrupted furiously. “I’m begging you! I need a break from the noise!”

  Before I could speak again, he bent down and clutched his head, covering his ears with white, clenched fists.

  “Jonah?” I whispered, drawing closer him. “Why are you doing that?”

  He didn’t answer me. His breathing was deep and ragged; a cold sweat spread over his forehead. “I need to be alone,” he whimpered. “Please, just go help my mom or something. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Jonah—”

  “Please, April!”

  I backed away and slipped out of his room without another word, then wavered for a few seconds outside his door, trying to decide which way to go. There was no way that I was going to leave him alone in pain. I couldn’t just run down to the dining room and fold napkins like nothing was wrong. But he didn’t want me anywhere near him either.

  I crouched down on the stairs outside his room and waited, silently listening for some sign that he was going to be okay. A few minutes passed like that; I didn’t move, just sat there on the top step, my chin resting on my knees. The clock on the landing ticked. Lady waddled by and sniffed me, then passed on to more interesting things.

  Mrs. Golden’s voice drifted up to us, calling us down for dinner. I heard Katie shout out, “April! Meatloaf!” and still I didn’t move. For the first time since this all began, I was really frightened for Jonah. Ms. Lowry’s words echoed in my mind: “Jonah stopped making sense.”

  It was true, I realized. He’d sounded really strange. But maybe if I waited, maybe if he would just explain himself…

  I was knocked out of my daydream by a muffled shout and a soft kick from behind. “God, April! I didn’t see you.”

  I scrambled to my feet and turned around to face him; Jonah was staring at me like I’d just lost my mind. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I almost tripped on you!”

  “I was waiting for you. I had to make sure you were okay.”

  He laughed and put his arms around me. “I’m fine. I was just a little stressed out. Thanks for waiting for me.” He looked down at me and smiled, and I felt my throat contract. Ms. Lowry is crazy, I told myself. There was nothing wrong with him. How had I doubted that?

  But even as I hugged him, something still felt off to me. He seemed different now. His smile didn’t reach his eyes; they were frightened and far away, like a child’s after a nightmare. His face had changed too. He was a lot paler, and there were dark hollows in his cheeks.

  “I’m having trouble sleeping,” he’d told me earlier in the week. If I hadn’t been so blind, if I hadn’t been so busy pretending everything was fine, I would have seen it sooner. It was time to pay attention.

  So when he sat down across from me at the dining room table, I began to watch him, really watch him, for the first time. I watched him nod pleasantly at his mother and scoop out a large helping of potatoes. I watched him joke with Katie and throw a green bean at her. I watched him duck when his mother smacked him playfully and laugh when she scolded him for throwing food.

  “Stop messing around and eat,” she chided. The pinched, worried look in her eyes had faded a little. “You’re getting thinner every day, Jonah.”

  “I’m eating,” he mumbled through mouthfuls of potato. “I just don’t like the school cafeteria food, that’s all.” He swallowed and poked at the beef at the edge of his plate. “Mom, what’s in this meatloaf?”

  “Oh, I was trying something new. I didn’t expect you’d notice. Your school newsletter has a recipe section on the back page. I got the idea from there. Do you like it?”

  I didn’t need to be watching him carefully to see the change that came over his face. We could all see it. He paled as if she’d punched him in the stomach. Then slowly, deliberately, he wiped off his fork and placed it on the table. “Why would you do that?” he asked her, his voice sinking into an accusatory whisper. “What are you trying to do?”

  She looked confused. “I—I just like making new things, that’s all. The potatoes are also a new recipe. I got a few ideas from the newsletter…”

  She never finished her thought. Jonah froze in place and glared at his food as if he’d just seen something nasty crawling about inside his mashed potatoes. He swallowed, and his face convulsed; he seemed to be choking back the urge to gag.

  “Jonah,” she ventured, her voice cracking like a child’s. “I can make you something else. If you don’t like that, I have some frozen stuff that I can thaw…”

  He shook his head and pushed himself back from the table. “No, I’m fine.” He sounded like he was trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  Katie was watching her brother as closely as I was. While his mother and I stared helplessly at him, she slipped quietly off her chair and, before he could protest, climbed onto his lap and laid her curly head against his cheek. “I’m not hungry either, Jonah,” she whispered confidentially. “It tastes pretty weird to me too.”

  He looked down at her and smiled, but it was a vacant smile, like a ceramic doll’s grin. “Thank you, Katie,” he murmured and closed his eyes.

  A few minutes later, when Mrs. Golden and I began to scrape our plates, Jonah lifted his head suddenly, glanced around as if he’d just woken up, and gently nudged his sister off his lap. “I’m going to go upstairs for a little while,” he told us. “There’s a book that I need to finish for school, and I’m sort of…”

  No one interrupted him. We were all quiet, anticipating the end of his thought. But his sentence stopped there, as if he’d been shut off, like a tape recorder that someone suddenly disconnected.

  Chapter 18

  Why must all these people

  Make you believe what they believe

  The water’s closing over your head

  And it’s hard for you to breathe

  I decided not to follow Jonah upstairs; he obviously needed to be alone. So I went home and waited for the fog to lift. And sure enough, the next day, he seemed to be okay again. Not a hundred percent or anything. His fa
ce seemed even thinner than before, and his hands were bruised and bandaged, but his eyes had regained a little of their former glow. Maybe a night of pummeling his punching bag had cleared his head a little. Maybe we were all overreacting.

  But then, two days later, he didn’t show up to school. My phone calls went to voice mail. That evening when I came by, his mother informed me that he wouldn’t leave his room. He let me sit by him though; he listened to me patiently as I talked about my day. But he refused to speak a word. I pretended to ignore his silence at first; I even tried to trick him into talking by dropping innocent little questions. After the tenth failed attempt, he finally scribbled two words on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

  I’m sorry.

  So I went home again and waited. I was sure that this would pass, just like last week’s episode. He was still my Jonah. Despite the hollow eyes and terrifying silences, he hadn’t vanished completely; he was just hiding, temporarily out of sight.

  One afternoon in mid-December, we went shopping for Hanukkah presents with our families. The afternoon went well; we browsed for a little while, and then Jonah whispered something to my mom and bolted off into the crowd. In normal circumstances, I would have blown it off. But I couldn’t help it; I was scared now, always on my guard. My mother watched me quietly for a moment and then drew me aside.

  “What’s the matter, April? You’ve been craning your neck since Jonah walked off. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “What did he say to you?” I asked her miserably. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

  She shook her head. “He told me he wanted to buy you a present and that he’d join us in a little while.” Her voice sunk into a whisper. “What on earth did you think he was doing?”

  The truth was I didn’t know. I had no idea what was happening to him, and so I was imagining the worst—without having an idea of what the worst could be. And of course my mother thought that I was being paranoid and silly, because Jonah joined us a few minutes later, clutching a wrapped package in his hand and smiling happily to himself.

  Later that afternoon, we all went back to our house, and Jonah followed me to my room. We were talking normally again; it wasn’t perfect, but I felt him with me. His eyes had lost some of the blankness and were almost alive again. So I was happy; my mood was so entwined with his that every shift carried me along, both to darkness and to light. He settled on my bed and waved a hand in the direction of my keyboard. “Your mom keeps bragging about your playing. She says you’ve become a little star.”

  I laughed and sat down beside him. “My mom likes to exaggerate. I am practicing though. I think I’ve gotten better.”

  “Can I hear?” he asked me hesitantly. “It doesn’t have to be anything long. I’m just curious.”

  I protested at first. I wasn’t ready yet; my fingers were too cold—I brought out all the excuses. But he convinced me with one sentence: “April, I painted you.”

  There was no way to argue with that. So I sat down and played, a slow composition first, just to get myself warmed up. Then I moved on to something lighthearted and fun and much more difficult. When I was done, I turned around to look at him. He was lying on my bed, his head propped up on my pillow, his eyes closed. I climbed up beside him, and he wrapped his arm around me.

  “Thank you,” he whispered simply.

  “I’m glad I played for you,” I told him. “If I’m going to audition for your art school, I have to get used to performing.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean thank you for everything. I know that you’ve been working hard for me. And not just on the piano either.”

  He shifted over onto his side and rested his head against his wrist. I turned around to face him and reached my hand out to brush the curls from his forehead. It was painful to see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the paleness of his lips, the hollows in his cheeks. He was still beautiful—he would always be beautiful—but it was a starving beauty now.

  “I’ll practice as hard as I have to,” I vowed. “But you have to promise me that you’ll come with me. I can’t do this alone.”

  He smiled and reached out to me; his eyes were peaceful, his touch soft against my cheek. “I love you, April,” he said.

  It was all I’d waited for. I put my arms around him and kissed him. He pulled me close, ran his hands over my back, and brushed his lips over my neck and chin. We hadn’t been alone together for days, and I’d longed for him whenever we were apart. And yet, the harder I kissed him now, the stranger his touch felt. He seemed suddenly unsure; his confidence had vanished, his pent-up desire frozen. I tried to reassure him. I moved closer to him and kissed him harder. But he pulled back suddenly and drew his hands away.

  “I’m sorry,” he told me. “Can we stop for a minute?”

  “Okay.” I moved to the edge of the bed. “Did I do something?”

  “No! It isn’t you. Come on, please don’t look at me like that. There’s really nothing to worry about—”

  “I’m not the only one who’s worried, Jonah.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh. “You think I don’t know that? My mom watches me like a hawk all day. Even Katie keeps asking me if I’m all right.”

  “So couldn’t you try to talk to someone? It doesn’t have to be me. But if you’re in pain, you have to get help.”

  “I’m not in pain. It isn’t migraines, for the millionth time. And you can tell my mom to stop looking for drugs; she keeps searching my room while I’m at school.”

  “So then what—”

  “I just can’t talk about it,” he said, pausing before each word as if considering its meaning. “I’m really sorry. But I know what will happen to me if I do. I have to deal with this on my own. And April, I’ll understand if you want to take a break from this, if you want to take a break from me—”

  “Don’t you dare!” I protested, my voice rising. “Don’t you even think like that. I’ll wait, as long as it takes, and I won’t ask again, I promise. I won’t say anything until you’re ready. Just don’t ask me to leave you. I won’t, I won’t—”

  He looked alarmed and raised a finger to his lips.

  I exhaled and moved closer to him. “I’ll be more patient,” I whispered. “I love you. Please don’t ask me to leave you again.”

  He was silent for a few minutes. I watched him anxiously and listened to him breathe.

  “Jonah, are you being honest with me?” I pleaded finally. “Do you want me to leave you? Is that what this is about? Because if that’s it, just tell me now…”

  He gathered me close to him and stopped my question with a kiss. “Do you really think I want to break up with you? I know I haven’t been good to you, but I never meant for you to think that.”

  I rested my cheek against his. “Good. Then I’m not going anywhere.”

  He sighed and buried his lips in my hair. “Thank God,” he murmured. “I can’t do this alone.”

  In my room later that night, I realized that he’d echoed my words exactly. I can’t do this alone. But when he’d said them, he wasn’t talking about the art school audition. And though I’d asked him—twice—he’d never actually promised to come with me.

  Chapter 19

  The following Friday evening, I found my mom in the living room. She was staring vacantly out the window and cracking pistachio nuts into a bowl.

  “Jonah wasn’t in school today,” I told her. “And he’s not answering his phone. I’m going over there to drop off his homework, okay?”

  “Mmm—” she replied. Her eyes never left the window.

  I peered over her shoulder into the street. “Why are you staring at the neighbor’s house?”

  “The Greenwalds have such a big family,” she said, a touch of envy coloring her voice. “Eight kids, I think. When I walk past their home, it’s never quiet. Except on Friday evenings.”

  �
�Oh. That’s nice. Have you met them?”

  “No.” For some reason, she seemed sad when she answered me.

  “Is it okay if I head out now?” I asked after a pause. “I want to get there before dark.”

  She turned away from the window, and her distracted eyes focused on me. “That’s fine. But I thought you should know that I’ve been talking to Jonah’s mother,” she told me. “She’s trying to convince him to see Dr. Steiner this week.”

  I shook my head. “You realize he’ll say no, right?”

  “I know he will. But Rachel was hoping you can get him used to the idea. So far, he’s refused every time she’s brought it up. We thought that if you talked to him, maybe he would listen.”

  I began to back away. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that. I have to be on his side. I’m not going to nag him like his mom.”

  “But something’s obviously wrong. If we ignore Jonah’s symptoms, they’ll only get worse. Rachel’s worried because her brother suffered from bipolar disorder for years before he was finally diagnosed. And how would you feel if Jonah totally lost control, if he tried to hurt himself…”

  I couldn’t listen to her. I’d promised Jonah to give him room, to let him deal with it on his own. How could I begin pestering him without completely losing his trust?

  “No, Mom, I’m sorry. I’m not going to help his mom drag him to a bunch of doctors. I won’t betray him like that.”

  “It’s not a betrayal!” she said, her voice rising. “You have an obligation to your boyfriend. Don’t you understand that? If the positions were reversed and you were suffering, wouldn’t you want him to help you?”

  “Yes, I would. But not like that.” I turned my back to her. “Everyone just needs to leave us alone.”