The Color of Silence (13 page)

Chapter 25

“Excuse me!” I fall against the lockers as a couple of girls go leaping past me, laughing and spinning their way down the hallway, totally oblivious to the fact that I'm now half sitting on the floor feeling stupid.

“Rude, aren't they?” A voice and a hand reach for me at the same time. I look up into a pair of laughing brown eyes. “Here, I'll get you back up.”

“Thanks.” My books and timetable are still on the floor.
I bend over to pick them up before someone dances on them.

“First day?” She helps me pick up my things, looking at my timetable as she hands it back to me.

“Yes.”

“Me too. This place is wild, isn't it? There's practically a whole orchestra practicing on the front steps and some girl reciting Shakespeare in the bathroom. It feels like going to school inside of a movie! Don't you think?” She talks fast and loud.
She makes it sound exciting instead of scary.

“I…guess so.”

“Totally!” And then she bursts into the theme song from
Fame
. Right out loud. Right in the middle of the hallway.

I just stand there staring at her, and she stops singing and laughs.

“Just trying to fit in! Anyway, according to your timetable, we're in the same program and since I don't know anyone yet, we should stick together. Come on, I think the choir room is this way. What kind of music do you like? I like almost everything, except Broadway, which I only listen to if I have to, like if I'm auditioning for part or something. Which I am. Next week. They're doing
West Side Story
, and I've decided to be Maria, even though I heard that they almost never cast first-years in lead roles. I'm going to change their minds. Even though I actually hate Broadway. Do you?” She's talking and walking at the same time, and I hurry to keep up with her. She's walking like she knows where she's going, so I don't want to lose her.

“Do I what?” I can't keep up with her talking or her walking.

“Hate Broadway music.”

“No, I actually like it. A lot.”

“Seriously? I guess you'll have to try out with me then. Just don't try out for Maria. I don't want too much competition.” She laughs and takes off again, obviously expecting me to follow. Which I do. “All right. Oh. No. Not all right. This is not the choir room. All wrong. OK, let's try this way.”

An audition? I don't even know where my classes are yet, and she's already got us auditioning for a musical!

“Oh, I'm Cali by the way.” She stops for a second and looks at me.

“Alex. Alex Taylor.”

“OK, Alex Taylor. Let's go. I have a feeling this place is going to be a major adventure!”

“Alex? We have to go in about ten minutes. Are you ready?” Dad's voice slips into me, and I want to get up to stop him from coming into my space. Every time he interrupts me, I lose hold of Cali.
I try to ignore him and keep staring straight ahead.

“Alex? Come on. You can't keep doing this. You have to snap out of this.” He actually snaps his fingers as if he can magically move me. He doesn't understand.

“You have a probation meeting this morning. We can't be late. Alex!” He comes over and shakes me. I don't move. I'm not trying to bug him.

I'm just trying to hold on.

“Sorry, Dad. I was just…thinking.”

The moment is gone the minute I open my mouth.

Cali is gone.

Again.

But, this time, for just a fraction of a second, I think I held on to her. I can still feel an echo of her in my mind.

“Alex. Please. We really have to go.”

“OK. Just give me a minute and I'll come down. Sorry, Dad.”

Sorry is one of the most useless words in the dictionary. When you're little, adults tell you to “say you're sorry,” and you make the sounds without the meaning. When you're older, adults say things like, “I'm sorry but you don't have a choice in the matter.” They're not sorry at all.

When someone dies, everyone says, “I'm so sorry for your loss.” Even though they didn't do anything wrong and have nothing to be sorry about.

When you're older, you're sorry for your own loss because you did do everything wrong, but being sorry doesn't change it.

Being sorry doesn't make it go away.

Being sorry doesn't make it all right.

Being sorry doesn't make time go backward so you can fix it.

Being sorry doesn't make you a better person.

Being sorry doesn't bring people back to where they're supposed to be.

Sorry is a useless word. It should be thrown out of the dictionary.

My head feels clouded in spite of the sunlight still streaming in at me through the window. I shake it a bit, which makes it hurt. Another headache is coming. Too much thinking.

The pain is pulsing steadily, blurring my brain and making me feel nauseous by the time I manage to get off the chair and into some clothes that are halfway respectable. The last thing
I want to do right now is meet with Nelle.

I'm supposed to go to the hospital today right after my appointment. I won't be any use to Joanie with a stupid migraine. She needs me to have my head working.

Maybe I should take one of those pills my dad is always pushing on me. At least try one so that I feel well enough to visit Joanie.

What I really should do is tell Dad and Nelle that I have more important things to do than go to the probation office. Maybe skipping the appointment would be enough to make my head stop splitting apart. But I know what they'd say.

I'm
sorry
, but you don't have a choice in the matter.

“Good morning, Alex. How are things?”

I look at Nelle and shrug.

“I see from the report that the hospital is happy with your attendance and the quality of your work so far. Well done.” She smiles at me and pauses with an expectant look on her face.

I don't know what she's expecting, so I don't do anything.

“So, the only real issue we need to discuss is school.” I look up at her. A few black spots are dancing across her face, warning me that my head is going to get worse before it gets better.

“Your home-school teacher reports that you are doing well for the most part and keeping up with your grades in all the subjects that she is able to teach in the home environment. There are a number of credits that you'll need to catch up on when you're back at school next month. That's coming up pretty quickly, so we'll need to start your re-entry planning with school staff no later than next week.” Her words smash into my brain like stones through a window. My eyes are open as wide as they can be, but I can barely see her. She's disappearing behind an army of black spots. They're not dancing anymore. Just multiplying and attacking.

I need to focus and try to find some words so I can tell her that I can't go back to school. Not now. Not ever.

The words won't come, but my shock is obvious enough that she reads it on my face.

“Surely you knew that the home schooling was a temporary measure, Alex. The school board only approved six months. Your teacher started in mid October, which brings us to the middle of next month. I'm sorry if this is a surprise to you. I thought you understood. You're to go back to school next month. There's no choice.” She does the expectant pause routine again. This time she gets her reaction.

My battle with the black spots ends in defeat as my head explodes with pain, knocking me off my chair and onto the floor.

Just before I hit, I have two thoughts.

One, Nelle isn't sorry at all.

Two, I
am
sorry that I'm going to miss my visit with Joanie.

Chapter 26

I am going to see Shawna again today, but Kathleen told me Alexandra isn't going to take me.

Kathleen explained that Alexandra isn't feeling well and that she has to stay in bed for a few days. That's all Kathleen said, which isn't very much. I needed her to say more.

I needed her to answer the questions that I can't ask her.

Yet.

Why can't Alexandra come?

Which part of her body decided to stop working properly so that she has to rest up to get herself together again?

Will she be OK soon?

Should I be worried?

Is someone else going to take me to see Shawna?

Or do I have to wait until Alexandra comes back?

When will that be?

Too many questions that I can't ever ask unless someone will take me to see Shawna so I can practice!

I wonder what could be wrong with Alexandra. When I'm sick, I can't see anyone or go anywhere, but I don't think Alexandra has trouble with badly behaved lungs.

I probably don't need to worry. I bet she's at home right now, with her mother taking care of her and making sure she's going to be OK.

But I'm still disappointed that she isn't here.

I wonder if Alexandra's a little disappointed too.

“Hi! Are we all set?”

I feel my eyes open wide as Shawna comes in, with Patrick right behind her carrying a black bag.

“They're a little short-staffed on your ward today, so nobody was able to bring you down to see me. I figured it would probably be simplest if I just brought the Eye Gaze machine up to you. Patrick saw me struggling with it at the elevator, so he decided to be a gentleman and carry it for me,” Shawna says, laughing a little at Patrick. He smiles at me and takes the Wizard out of the bag.

Surprise completely wipes out the disappointment I was feeling about Alexandra. I didn't know the Wizard was coming to me. Now I'm just excited!

“On her tray?” Patrick asks. Shawna looks around the room a bit.

“Actually, no. It was too low. I wonder if we can use this instead. Here, take her tray off the chair and let's try this.”

Patrick takes my tray off while Shawna goes over to the bed and gets my other tray. It's more like a table on wheels that swings out over my bed so that things can be put on it when I'm lying down. The nurses use it when they're feeding me or changing me or doing my meds.

Shawna sets the bed tray up in front of my chair.

“The height is adjustable on these things, isn't it?” she asks Patrick.

“Yes, just twist here, move it, and then tighten it back up.”

“Perfect!” Shawna uses that word a lot. She seems like a happy person to me.

She puts the machine on the tray so that it's at the same height as the other day.

“Do you have a few minutes to watch her? Once we're set up, hopefully it'll be here full-time so she can communicate with all of you. Just as soon as we get it all figured out, right, Joanie?” She looks at me. This is where I could use a Yes square. Shawna smiles and surprises me by seemingly reading my thought.

“I just asked you a question that you don't have a way to answer, didn't I? Well, the cool thing is that today we're going to work on that. First, let's show Patrick what we worked on the other day as a warm-up for you.”

She touches the screen and gets it going with my colored squares again.

My eyes are not completely cooperative at first, and I feel a little bubble of panic starting.

“Blue.” I wasn't looking at Blue at all. I was trying to look at Yellow but my eyes blinked without permission, and I moved them the wrong way. Shawna doesn't seem to notice and just smiles at me as if I did it right.

“Yellow.”

Now I'm looking at Green! What's going on! If I can't get the colors right, how am I going to move on to real words that will let me talk! Why don't they see that I'm getting it wrong! Why are they smiling like I'm doing something wonderful when I'm messing it up?

The bubbles are starting to get bigger, and I can feel myself tensing up. Even though I'm in my chair and my head is being held for me, I still feel like I'm losing control. My eyes aren't listening to me!

If Alexandra was here, she would notice, and she would find a way to let Shawna know that I need help to relax a little.

“So, once she's mastered the basics, we'll move on to more useful words.” Shawna is talking to Patrick about me as if I'm not even in the room. It distracts me even more, and I make another mistake. No one notices again. Shawna is too busy showing things to Patrick, and he is too busy listening to her to see me.

I need Alexandra to be here. When she's here, she only notices me.

“Blue.” I did it again. This time I wasn't even trying to look at anything. My eyes are just jumping all over the place, saying whatever they want. The Wizard is totally confused.

Maybe I could never do this at all. It was just an accident or something, and we were all fooled into thinking that I could actually make this work. Maybe I just imagined that I could control my eyes, even just a little bit. Maybe they're just like the rest of me, independent and uncontrollable.

The bubbles are taking over completely. I feel all tight and stiff, just like I do when my lungs start to fill up on me and stop me from breathing.

How can my eyes be making me feel like I can't breathe?

Why are Shawna and Patrick still looking at the Wizard instead of me?

Why can't they see?

If Alexandra was here, she would see.

I know she would!

Chapter 27

“Hello. You're back. You gave us all a bit of a scare.”

I sit up in bed. My head protests loudly at the sudden movement, sharp pains stabbing through my brain trying to rip me into pieces. I close my eyes quickly against the assault.

“Just take it easy. Don't try to get up. Take a few deep breaths and try opening your eyes again when you feel up to it.” I listen to the voice and follow its directions even though I have no idea who it belongs to. I keep my eyes closed until the stabbing slows down and the pain dulls. I don't want to open them again, but I want to know who is talking to me.

This time I stay lying down, curled up on my side trying to hold myself together. I open my eyes one at a time. At first all I can
see is the blanket pulled up to my face and the edge of the bed.

Not my bed. Someone else's bed. Whose bed? Where am I?

“Alex. Honey. You're in the hospital.” Dad's voice.

Why am I in a hospital? I start to panic and try to push myself up, but Dad's voice stops me.

“Alex, lie still. It's OK. This is Dr. Stewart. You fainted at the Probation Office and we had some trouble bringing you around, so they brought you here.”

He comes into my line of vision, and I gesture him over to the bed and pull on his arm until he leans over. I know I probably look stupid, but I'm not talking to some strange doctor unless some equally strange judge forces me to.

“It's just a migraine. It got bad. That's all.” I whisper it in his ear, but the nosy doctor hears me.

“Do you have a lot of migraines, Alex?” I start to shrug, but my dad interrupts.

“She used to have them once in a while when she was younger, but recently they've gotten worse. She can be in pain for days. She's told me that sometimes she sees spots or gets blurry vision. I don't think she's ever fainted before, though.”

“How long has this been happening?” She directs the question to me, but my dad answers again.

“Since the accident last year.”

“Oh, I see. Were there any concerns about a head injury at the time?” The doctor is standing in front of me now, shining a little light in my eyes, which is attracting the black spots so they can jump-start the pain again. I turn my head away and close my eyes.

“No. They said the air bag opened on her side and kept her OK. The driver's side got all of the damage.”

“I remember the case. I'm so sorry about your friend, Alex.”

If I was talking, I would tell her to take her “sorry” and stuff it somewhere painful.

“I do think we need to run a couple of tests. Just to see why she actually lost consciousness this time, and perhaps to figure out a way to help with the ongoing migraines. Has she been followed by a physician?”

“Just our family doctor—Dr. Chan.”

“And what did he prescribe for pain?”

“Well, we have some pills at home. I can't remember exactly what they're called. She doesn't take them anyway.”

“No? Why not, may I ask?”

“She doesn't like medication. She says she deserves the pain.” Dad shrugs his shoulders as he says it, his hands palms up at his sides, as if he's trying to catch some understanding.

“OK. I'll dim the lights, then, and get you a cool cloth.”

Dr. Stewart leaves the room and I glare at my dad.

“Take me home. I'm fine. It's just a headache.” I try to get up, but my head is spinning around on me, twisting me back down onto the bed like a corkscrew.

“Just stop it! Enough, Alex. I can't do this anymore! It's not just a headache. It's not
just
anything. We need help.
You
need help. These people want to help you, and you have to let them.”

Dad sounds angry. I haven't heard angry in a long time from him. Mostly I hear tired and sad. Angry is better. Angry fits me.

“Help me with what? Can they bring Cali back to life?
I killed my best friend. I should be in pain.” I'm hurting my head with my own words, but I don't care. Maybe I'll get lucky and pass out again so I don't have to think.

“Don't say that. You didn't kill Cali. It was an accident! You weren't even driving!” He shouts the last words until they're so big they fill the air above our heads. They hang there, staring down at me, forcing me to look up at them until I finally tear my eyes away to stare at my dad.

“That's the point!
I
wasn't driving. And do you know why? I let her drive because I was afraid. And stupid. I let her drive because I was too big a coward to stop her and too big a coward to take the wheel. And then I couldn't even tell her what to do when everything started to happen. I just froze. It's all my fault. Don't you get it? It's my fault that she got into that car in the first place. It's my fault that she was driving. It was my job to take care of her at that party. I was supposed to stay with her and I didn't.
I was supposed to be there for her, and instead of going to find her, I went off and hung out with someone else so I could feel cool. If I was driving like I should have been, it would be me who's dead, and she would still be here. That's the way it should be!”

A flood of words poured out of me, threatening to drown us both.

My dad looks at me, and all of the anger drains out of his face. His eyes fill with tears that spill over onto his cheeks. I watch them, fascinated as they make little streams down his prickly looking unshaven skin. Water drips off his chin onto his shirt, but he doesn't seem to notice.

As I sit there staring at my father's tears, I think about all
of the tears that have been cried since Cali died.

And I realize that Dad isn't crying because of Cali.

He's crying because of me.

Because of my
words.