I take one last look at Stella. I will her silently to wake up, to open her eyes, to see me.
She doesn’t.
I turn and walk away.
HER
— Stella —
Next time I open my eyes, I know.
I’m not dead.
This is not a dream.
This is happening to me. I don’t need a doctor to tell me. I already know.
I can’t hear anything.
Only silence.
I have no concept of time. It’s like I’ve gone into a bubble, like in Miss America when the contestants go into that plastic room so they can’t hear the questions. I’m in a bubble. Only I’m not sure I’ll ever get out.
My face is swollen and bruised all over. My legs are achy. And my skin is raw from the stiff sheets that bind me to this bed. I hate the hospital gown, which smells like chlorine. The sleeves ride up on my shoulders and bunch up, irritating me. The florescent lights burn my eyes, so it’s easier to keep them closed. I flex my feet back and forth. Counting from one to one million backward to one.
I go through a bunch of tests. They stick things on my forehead and watch me expectantly. They give me hearing test after hearing test. As though if they keep testing, the results will change.
When I do open my eyes, this is what I see. My mother is devastated, even though she tries to hide it from me. Her face is weepy every second. Emerson can’t make eye contact. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for a way to escape. And my dad just stares at me, expressionless, like a rag doll without features. Between the three of them, I’m getting a pretty clear picture of what’s going on. That what has happened to me is really serious. Maybe permanent.
A mixture of smells leaves me constantly nauseated. My dad’s sandalwood cologne. The antiseptic soap the nurses use. The chicken soup they left on the tray next to my bed. Flowers from the bouquets that keep arriving. One of the nurses smokes on her breaks. Another one takes garlic vitamins. A third wears cherry Chapstick. I wonder if I have turned bloodhound. Every once in a while, when my sister is close by, I breathe in her clean-scented lotion. It makes me feel normal.
My mom never leaves. She is either sitting next to my bed or just outside the glass door. I stare at her. Notice how many lines she has around her eyes. When she smiles, her face crinkles. The lines used to make her look friendly. Now they just make her look old, like her face is cracking into pieces in front of my eyes.
I play a game with myself. When my dad is here, I try to find a wrinkle in his shirt. Just one little crease. I can’t.
I try to read their lips. They move too fast. I can catch only bits and pieces.
They write me notes to explain things.
The injury to your head caused sensorineural hearing loss. That’s why you can’t hear anything.
When you’re better, you can have surgery. You can get cochlear implants to help you hear again. Bionic ears. You’ll be just like before.
Just like before.
I really have no idea what any of this means except that I don’t want to deal with it. Any of it. I just want to disappear.
I close my eyes. Go back to that place in the blackness. Where I don’t know anything.
The next time I open my eyes, Lily is here. Her gray eyes brim with tears, and she reaches for my hand. I test the feeling as her smooth, manicured hand touches my cold, clammy hand.
Everything around me instantly becomes clear. The fog lifts and reality comes into focus. This is my life. I can’t disappear. This is real.
I wonder, am I angry with her? Do I blame her?
But there is nothing inside me except the feeling that this is Lily. She is my best friend.
I can’t blame her; this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was an accident. A terrible accident. It could have been her instead of me. Or Connor. Or any of them.
I don’t want Lily to wish it were her instead of me. But I know she does. I can tell from the look on her face. I close my eyes to hold back the tears that threaten to melt my mask. I refuse to let her see how scared I am. I don’t want her to feel worse than she already feels. I know she would do the same for me.
So I force a smile. It feels fake, like it has been painted on my face.
That reminds me of something. Something my conscious mind has not allowed me to process, even if my unconscious mind has remembered. I think of Quinn. Her lipstick clown smile. Waiting for my failure so she could succeed. So she could play my part.
That’s the moment the clouds move from my mind. Because while I am lying in this bed in silence, the school musical is going on without me. My chance is over.
My throat closes, and I can’t breathe. I am gasping like I am underwater again. Pain and grief press in. Paralyzing me.
Lily touches the side of my face. I am numb. As though I am no longer myself. In these short moments, I have ceased to be me. Stella Layne is dead. Someone else is in her place.
Lily moves her mouth. I can’t hear what she is saying. I try to make sense of it. To imagine what she might be saying to me.
“I am so sorry, Stella. How can you ever forgive me? You wanted to go home, and I stayed. It’s all my fault.”
Her words only make it harder for me to pretend. Because I realize just how alone I am. Lily presses a white teddy bear with a red T-shirt reading “Get Well” into the bed next to me. I wish it were that simple.
Lily’s vanilla perfume and gardenia shampoo surround her in a pretty cloud. When she reaches out and hugs me, the cloud wraps around me. I want to feel comforted. I really do.
But I don’t. I feel nothing.
HIM
— Stella —
They leave me alone. All of them. Even the nurses. I stare up at the white ceiling. One thought drifts into another, like waves on the sand. Connecting and not connecting. Meaning something and meaning nothing all at the same time. I close my eyes.
And then I feel something. And I know. I don’t see him enter the room. And I certainly don’t hear him. But I know he is here. My skin tingles, and my body is warm all over. The aches and pains and tears are forgotten.
I smell meadows and sunshine. And then I open my eyes. I have to—I can’t help myself. Our eyes connect.
The world that has been spinning around me comes to an immediate stop. And it freezes.
I see the moment from that night again like a movie on fast-forward.
The edge of the water. My fall. Floating. And Hayden.
“St-st-el-la. Breathe.”
It was him.
Hayden saved my life.
I realize now that I have always known. He has been floating in and out of my dreams. Hayden.
He’s holding a bouquet of daisies. For me. I don’t know what to do. I feel the pressure of the bandage on my head. The ache of the bruises beneath my eyes. The grit on teeth I haven’t bothered to brush. I smell the bloody, sweaty scent of myself. I want to yank the covers over my head. To hide. Anything to escape feeling this disgusting.
I cover my face with my hands. Humiliation sears every pore in my body. I want to disappear, to fade away. I close my eyes, waiting for him to walk away. To leave.
I wait for what seems like forever. But I can still feel him in the room. Even with my eyes covered. I know. So I peek through my fingers. He is still here. Watching me. I let my hands fall. I dare to look at him. Escape into his eyes.
And at that moment, I find my voice. I know exactly what to do.
“Thank you,” I say. It isn’t enough. I should say more. Only I don’t know how my voice sounds. For the first time in my life, I can’t rely on my voice. The awareness of it feels like a punch to my bruised face. I flinch from the knowledge.
Surprisingly, he smiles back. He moves his lips slowly. So slowly that I can read them. “You’re welcome.”
I can understand him.
I don’t know how, but somehow I do. I understand.
I’m not alone. I’m not alone.
T
hat’s when tears fill my eyes and overflow onto my cheeks. The tears I have been holding back, bravely hiding from everyone. Everyone except for Hayden.
“Quinn?” I ask the question I haven’t been able to ask anyone else.
I know the answer. Of course I do. She got her wish. While I lie on this bed, she is singing my songs.
What I don’t expect is to see his eyes fill with tears. As if he understands just how much this means to me. And he isn’t afraid to show it.
When I have run out of tears and my sobbing slows, Hayden leans close. He runs his warm fingers across my skin. Wiping away my sorrow.
Rays of sunshine splash across my face.
I want to fall into him. To lose myself there.
I bask in the sunshine for a moment. It is wonderful. Wonderful to have a moment of pure happiness.
Behind Hayden, I see my mother come through the door. She greets him as though she already knows him.
And I realize he’s been here before. Maybe while I was drifting in the space between reality and memories of him. He was here. I just didn’t know it. The idea feels like a feather of hope, floating pure and white, untouched, through the darkness of my thoughts.
I watch as he hands my mother the flowers, glancing toward me. I can see her saying something to him. Gesturing toward me. I look back at him. Hayden dips his head, letting his curls shade his eyes. As he watches me with hesitation. He gives me a half-smile. My stomach does a flip-flop. I smile back gently, no longer embarrassed. Hayden nods at my mother.
He smiles at me again. And then he is gone.
Hayden.
Understanding without words
— Hayden —
I didn’t expect her to open her eyes. I didn’t expect her to know it was me. But she did. I have been willing her to wake up—to see me. And when she finally did, she was so beautiful, all I could do was stare.
She looked so small and fragile in that big hospital bed. So lost, alone, silent.
I know about her injury. I know she may never hear again, may never sing again. But she’s alive and that’s all that matters. Life is precious. I should know.
My life has always been like scattered puzzle pieces, never fitting together, so I can’t see the picture it’s supposed to be. But there, in that hospital room with Stella, I could see a picture for the first time. And Stella is in it.
I walk slowly through the parking lot, wondering when I will see her again. Her mother says she will go home in a few days, and maybe I can see her then. It doesn’t matter if she can’t talk to me, can’t hear me. She understands me. I saw that flash of realization in her eyes when she read my lips. Ironic that my speech problem would actually be good for something.
I wish I had brought her something better than daisies. My grandmother always said that daisies are happy flowers. I want to make Stella happy. To see her smile. But there are so many other flowers in the room already, fancy ones with teddy bears and balloons. Mine will be forgotten, overlooked.
She means something to me. It started before the accident, but I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to accept it. Now I know for sure. What I don’t know is what Stella thinks. She seemed so unhappy to see me at first—covering her eyes and hiding from me. But then she let all that go, and we connected. She seemed peaceful, happy even. She has friends, family. So many people who love her. She doesn’t know what it feels like to be alone, to have no one.
I pull my keychain out of my pocket. The sun glints off the silver knot, reminding me of my grandfather and of the day he made this for me. I was ten. He and my grandmother had taken me in. I wasn’t alone anymore, but it took me many years to understand that. I will never forget his words to me that day.
“This knot binds us as family. We are stronger when we are woven together. We are unbreakable.”
I think of his words as I drive home. Grandfather was wrong. Nothing is truly unbreakable.
DAYS
— Stella —
Days flow one into another. I have no idea when one ends and the next one begins. I’m a bystander in my own life. Things happen around me, but I am oblivious to all of it. The daisies are my only happiness. My only reminder of something outside the endless silence.
I feel the softness of the white petals. They remind me of my feather of hope. Of him. And of the peace I felt when I was drifting through the water, held tight in his arms. I smell the scent of sunshine and meadows. And life. And it keeps me breathing.
As each day passes by.
In silence.
On the day the daisies begin to wither and turn brown, Connor Williams walks into my hospital room. He stands there looking like a character from a teen werewolf movie. All movie-star gorgeous—and completely out of place here. Here, with the antiseptic scent that floats through the room like a pungent cloud. The blinking machines that will hypnotize you if you look at them too long. And the broken girl in the bed clutching withered daisies.
His dark brown eyes widen at the sight of me. He glances behind him, looking for his mother or father, no doubt. Whoever forced him to come today. He takes a step toward me. I can smell his spicy cologne. It reminds me of my dad’s. Connor wears a Richmond High Football shirt. I wonder if he has any clothing that doesn’t advertise his status at school. His mouth moves, but I can’t understand him. This is nothing new. I don’t understand anyone. Anyone except Hayden.
Connor offers me a box of designer cupcakes and a single red rose. He is trying to make amends. To ask for my forgiveness. But there is nothing to forgive. It was an accident. It could have been any one of us who fell that night.
Only it wasn’t. It was me.
And I didn’t get to sing because of it.
I may never sing again.
I don’t tell Connor any of this. I just force a smile to crease my face. I lift my arms and take the cupcakes from his hands. The scent of sugary frosting leaks through the cardboard box. It reminds me of my last birthday when I turned fifteen. The first birthday my parents celebrated separately.
My dad took me to his new house with his new family. And his new wife served me fancy cupcakes. I remember watching as she licked frosting off of my dad’s fingers. Right in front of us. It made me want to vomit. Happy birthday to me.
I realize that Connor is staring at me. And that I am staring at the cupcakes. He is still holding out the rose. I take it from him. I hold it awkwardly.
“Thanks,” I try to say. My throat is dry, and my tongue feels really thick.
Connor stands there shifting his weight from foot to foot. A muscle in his cheek tenses. And he keeps clenching his hands into fists and then stretching them out. I can almost hear the awkward silence in the room. I would have struggled to fill it before. When I could hear. It doesn’t matter anymore.
After a few moments, the door opens, and thankfully, my mother enters with another woman. She has the same coloring as Connor and looks like she is my mom’s age. So I guess this is his mom.
As she sees me in the bed, she tears up. Her eyes shift to her son and narrow. She is disappointed in him. Maybe disappointment will go away as soon as he throws the next winning touchdown.
“I’ll be okay.” I move my mouth to say the words. I want Connor and his mother to go away, to stop staring at me as if their feeling bad about me being here will make me better. It won’t. I force my mouth into a smile again. I look at my mother. Beg her with my eyes.
End my misery. Make them go away.
Mercifully, she understands. She lifts the cupcake box from my arms. Takes the rose and sets it next to the bed. Then ushers them out of the room.
Connor doesn’t even look back. I am sure I am forgotten the moment he steps across the threshold. Maybe even before.
The daisies are dead now. I can’t keep them anymore. My mother brings me wax paper and shows me how to press one of the flowers. I choose my favorite daisy. We fold the wax paper around it. I press it between the pages of one of the books people have sent to me—a book of
poetry. I think it is symbolic. My mother hands the rest of the flowers to the nurse. I watch as she carries them out the door. Away from me.
The sunlight is gone now. Darkness sets in.
I am in the shadows when the cast comes to visit. Mr. Preston leads them in. Like a final bow, they stand shoulder to shoulder around the bed. Kace and Quinn and all the rest of them. They have brought me a poster of the show, signed by everyone. The poster is a photo of me dressed as Maria, standing with Kace dressed as Tony. We hold hands and look at the camera. A sharp pain pierces my stomach. I use one hand and hold it there to keep the pain from spreading, from infecting the rest of me with its poison.
Mr. Preston takes one look at me and his eyes fill with tears. He reaches for my hand. Holds it gently and says something very moving to me—I am sure of it. If I could hear him, I would be touched.
I smile back, say my standard line. “I’ll be okay.”
Kace steps closer and gives me a half-hearted smile. His eyes look at me but there’s no sparkling today. Ribbons of gray run through the green. Like snow melting in the mountains. I think he feels bad for me. I manage a small smile for him. He touches the top of my head softly, like a blessing. “You can do it,” he seems to be telling me. Then he steps back to join the others.
Quinn looks in my direction but not actually at me. She wrings the sides of her dress in her hands, twisting the fabric tightly. Her shoulders are hunched. A sheen of sweat covers her forehead. She is the one who feels my loss most profoundly. Of course she would. My tragedy was her triumph.
They hand me gifts: candy and stuffed animals, books and magazines. I wish I could be happy to get them, wish I could feel grateful for their caring. But seeing these people around me is like ripping a fresh scab off a wound. I am bleeding again. And the pain is searing. Blinding. Tears burn my eyes, making the room swim in front of me. The faces blur and blend together.
Silence Page 4