Mute (Muted Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

***

At home that evening, Jemma shut and locked her door behind her, shoving her keys back in her purse and setting the bag down on the table just inside the entryway. She paused at the mirror, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her dark brown hair came to just below her chin, pulling in around her oval face. Hazel eyes peered back at her until she blinked and walked into the kitchen, checking the refrigerator for leftovers. Finding nothing that looked appealing, she instead grabbed a boxed meal from the freezer, popping it into the microwave. She finished loading the dishwasher as her dinner cooked, cleaning up the breakfast mess she’d left in the sink. The microwave beeped, and she pulled out her food, grabbed a fork, and moved to her computer.

She clicked over to an article she’d marked for later on her phone, eating as she read.

The Event

One week has passed since the world lost its voice.

Just one week.

In this time, the world has changed. In seven days, we’ve found new challenges, new solutions, new versions of ourselves.

In times of tribulation, we find out who we really are. Are we workers? Learners? Do we collapse under the pressure of something new? Do we find solace in friends, in family, in silent companionship with those we know? Or do we seek out the new, running from the off-putting sensation that comes from being surrounded by familiar things when nothing is quite the same?

Some of the things that used to be comforting aren’t anymore. Playgrounds were places for laughter, shouting, and happy squeals, but no longer. However, as I sat on the playground yesterday, watching my three-year-old play as if nothing had changed, as if it were completely normal to open her mouth and laugh without making a sound, I wondered.

How many of our struggles are coming from our own views of this event, our own attachment to the idea of physical speech?

Communication is needed, vital to our society. Technology, ever ready to rush in to fill the gaps, is already developing workarounds to the lack of voice. Text-to-voice apps have rocketed to the tops of download lists across all platforms. So how necessary is actual speech anymore? Even before The Event, we did much of our speaking in text, whether via phone, email, or social networking site. Many people already preferred to access their news via the internet, which is now the easiest way to provide it.

For the technologically-challenged or those who prefer to wait, to see whether voices return or technology improves, wearable dry erase boards have become the new fashion statement. In only a week, these message boards have carved out front-and-center locations in stores across the country, color choices allowing coordination with outfits or mood.

One week.

Individual lives have changed, individual places differ. But has society really changed?

We still interact. People are still the same as they always were, only showing it more clearly thanks to the event. Fashion, choices, being on the cutting edge; none of this has changed. Even within the journalistic community there’s still competition over the best ways to report the news, the best way to catch attention, to keep viewership up on videos.

For now, we still don’t have any real answers. We don’t know whether this will end in a day, a month, a lifetime.

What we do know, though, is that people will be people. Once we finish adjusting to this change, once people return to work because they need the paycheck, school to avoid being truant, will anything really be different at all?

—Katie Brink, Staff Writer

She finished the article and shared it to Facebook and was immediately rewarded by a message from her mother.

How was your day?

It was fine
, she answered.
A few people actually came in.

Any of your coworkers?

Not yet. Some people looking for books on sign language.

There’s talk of making it a mandatory class at work
, typed her mother.
Might not be the worst idea.

Are they still trying to keep students from using their cell phones?
Jemma asked.

Ha! That lasted for about an hour before administration realized the students were just using the rule as an excuse to ignore their teachers, pretending they couldn’t hear anything. A new favorite activity in class is text quizzes
, Carolyn sent.

?

Her mother typed for a minute before sending her response.
The students and faculty exchanged phone numbers, and I bought a few cheap, prepaid cell phones for the few students who didn’t have them, just for school use. When I’ve finished my lesson, I send a mass text to my class. The first to send back a correct answer wins that round and gets to choose the next question. When we have five minutes left of class, we tally up who won the most rounds, and then that student gets an extra ten points on his/her next written test.

Oh. That sounds like fun. Dad doing anything like that? s
he asked.

Can you hear me rolling my eyes at you?
Carolyn countered.
He’s just writing his lectures out on the board and then giving regular quizzes. Says we need tradition now more than ever.

That sounds like Dad
, Jemma agreed.
I’m gonna go read for a while before bed.

Working again tomorrow?

Of course, Mom. Good night!

Good night Jemma. Text me at lunch?

Sure.

Jemma shut down her computer and stretched. She got ready for bed and grabbed her e-reader, getting comfortable under the covers before turning the book on. She read until she was tired, then turned it off and set it aside, a normal night, a normal bedtime routine, preparing for a day at work in silence that was quickly beginning to feel just as normal.

CHAPTER FOUR:

Compensation

When Jemma arrived at work the next day, a woman was waiting outside, gripping the hands of two small children. Jemma pulled her phone from her pocket, pulling up a blank text.

Open in thirty minutes. Okay?
She held her phone where the woman could read it easily. The woman nodded, glancing down at her children. One, a boy, was hiding behind his mother. The girl, on the other hand, was bouncing up and down. Jemma got the distinct impression that the child might have been squealing if she’d been able to make noise.

Jemma looked around. The parking lot was almost as big as the library itself. Across the street was a gas station that sold mediocre Chinese food six days of the week. Diagonally across the intersection was another gas station, deserted. She sighed, typing on her phone again.

You can come on in. Just give me some time before trying to check out.

Relief washed over the woman’s face as she read the message.
Thank you
, she mouthed. They walked in behind her and then moved straight to the children’s section, the little girl taking blocks from the Lego table while the boy quietly chose a book and sat in the middle of the small, colorful mat that covered much of the children’s corner. The mother sat in one of the few chairs that lined the section, sending Jemma a grateful smile.

Jemma inclined her head and then went about her normal opening duties, which were lighter than usual since traffic at the library had been so slow. When she finished and positioned herself at the main desk, the little girl had climbed onto her mother’s lap with a book, and the mother was struggling to find a way to explain what was going on in the book, using hand gestures and faces that the girl found wildly entertaining.

The library had been officially open for just a few minutes when another patron arrived, then another. Today, the patrons went about their tasks without first checking in with Jemma, treating the library as they would have a few weeks earlier. She smiled to herself, watching people browse the books. People seemed more relaxed here than they had elsewhere when Jemma’d had to run errands in town.

She checked two books out to the small family, returning the children’s waves. For about thirty minutes, no other patrons approached her. Finally, a woman came up to the counter with a thin book, her cell phone perched on top. She set down the book and pressed a button on the phone.

“I’d like to check this out,” it announced in a robotic voice.

Jemma managed not to flinch at the harsh noise. She reached for a dry erase marker.

Library card?

The woman picked up her phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen, displaying the phone again with a barcode stretched across the screen. Jemma scanned it, and it brought up a patron’s account.

Confirm last name?

The woman scowled, typing the name into her phone and showing it to Jemma.

Jemma quickly finished checking the book out to the woman, who left without attempting to say goodbye.

She hadn’t really noticed someone else standing further along the counter until he moved toward her, smiling as he picked up the other dry erase marker.

Amazing how rude some people can be without even speaking, hmm?
Jack scribbled.

Jemma smiled.
Comes with the territory
, she wrote back.
Can I help you with something?

He shook his head.
She looked angry. Figured you should have backup within typing distance.
He capped the marker and set it down, giving her a jaunty wave before heading upstairs.

Jemma returned to her reports and other work that needed to be done. She stayed occupied with patrons all morning, not quite busy by earlier standards, but there was a definite steady stream of people coming and going, most staying for longer than they might have a few weeks ago. Her stomach grumbled silently, and she chewed her lip, trying to decide whether to try taking a break or to try eating her lunch at the circulation desk.

After finishing another spreadsheet, she felt her stomach rumble again and looked around. It seemed as if many of the patrons may have left for their own lunches. Just a couple people were on each level of the library. If someone needed help while she was eating, well, it wasn’t as if she’d be less able to speak just because her mouth was full. Professionalism would have to be put on hold in favor of the sole librarian’s need to eat.

She quickly retrieved her ham and cheese sandwich from the staff room and returned to her desk, glancing around once more before unwrapping her meal. She managed to finish eating before anyone needed help, swallowing the last bite just as a young man approached.

He was somewhere around her sister’s age, with dark hair and skin, and eyes that sparkled. He smiled, put down his books, then pointed to a spot beside his mouth. Jemma wiped at the spot on herself, her hand coming away moist.

Mustard. Ugh.

She hadn’t brought any napkins to the desk, so she sucked the condiment from her hand, making a face at the aftertaste of hand sanitizer. She then wiped her damp hand on her jeans and used another squirt of the sanitizer they kept on the counter. She smiled apologetically before taking his library card from the top of his stack of books and scanning first the card, then the books, two graphic novels and a book about Friedrich Nietzsche. She raised an eyebrow at the third, and the young man, Donald according to his library card, shrugged and grabbed his phone, scribbling a note and turning it toward her.

Seems like a good time to understand people better.

Makes sense
, she wrote back on her own board.

Not really, but isn’t that the point?
He took the small stack of books, nodded at her, and left.

Another patron left, then another, neither taking any books with them, until only Jack remained, despite the fact that it was still fairly early in the afternoon. Without needing to worry about anybody approaching the desk, Jemma made a circuit around the library, taking books from the re-shelve cart and putting them where they belonged, straightening books that had been pulled partially from the shelf or pushed too far in by a patron who thought to help. She disinfected the children’s corner before making her way upstairs. There was more to straighten on the balcony than usual. People had been gravitating toward extremes, she’d noticed, either seeking out extreme fiction and fantasy or non-fiction, with far fewer of the everyday dramas leaving their shelves.

Jack winked at Jemma when she moved past the table where he was working at his laptop, and she gave him a small wave before continuing her organization. She considered asking him what he did at his computer all day, but she’d left her phone at the circulation desk and didn’t have anything on her to write on or with. He pushed the hair out of his face again, continuing to type away at his keyboard, and she moved downstairs, positioning herself back at the computer.

Her phone was blinking the color that meant she’d received a text. She unlocked the phone and saw three messages from her mom.

How did your morning go?

Everything okay?

Jemma, answer me.

Jemma sighed, typing a quick response.

My morning was fine. I’ve been busy. No problems. How’s your day?