The Color of Silence (18 page)

Chapter 38

“Pneumonia? Again? Are you sure? She was fine on Tuesday. She was talking to me on that computer of hers. She only had one small coughing spell. She's been doing so well!”

Patrick's voice shoots the words at Kathleen. He is stroking my forehead, smoothing back my hair.

“You know how easily it can happen, Patrick. We had three cases in the ward last week.”

The answer is gentle, without ammunition.

“I know. But she's so young. It's hard enough for her. She was doing OK.”

Patrick's voice sounds odd, thick and full.

“Well, we don't know how it's going to go. She's pulled through worse bouts than this. Anything could happen.”

I can feel them staring at me together, trying to look inside and figure out where I am. It's hard for them to do when my eyes aren't letting them in.

I want to let them know I'm awake. I'll open my eyes in just a minute. I feel strange. Tired, even though I've been sleeping again. I think I've been spending most of my time sleeping for the past few days, but it's all I can manage to do. My chest feels a bit like someone is sitting on it.

I haven't seen Alexandra or Shawna. I haven't even gone into my rainbow because I can't see it.

I can feel it, though. I can still see the colors in my mind. Isn't color an incredible thing? Can you imagine the world without color—how boring it would be? Color is magic.

I wish someone would put on some music. Music is like color for your ears. I wish Alexandra would come and play me some more Broadway. I wonder where she is. I suppose they must have told her not to visit me because I'm so sick.

I know that I am very sick again. Pneumonia. I have had it before. Patrick sounded angry when he said the word, as if he is talking about an enemy that he wants to do battle with.

Being angry because I am sick doesn't make me better. Dark feelings seem to take so much more energy than light ones.

I think that Patrick is angry because he is afraid for me—afraid that my lungs are finally going be defeated.

In stories, when someone dies, the people who loved them are heartbroken. Heartbroken is a lovely word for a sad thought. A heart so caught up in loving someone that it actually breaks into pieces at the pain of losing them. When I die, will anyone be heartbroken?

I heard a book once about a little girl who was all alone in the world. She could walk and talk and breathe without coughing, but she didn't have anyone to love her. When I heard the book, I wondered a little about love. How do you know if someone loves you? Do they have to be related to you to love you? Do they automatically love you, just because you are related to them? Did my mother and father ever love me? Do they still? Do I love them? If I ever saw them again, how would I feel? Would I feel love?

Would I even know what love feels like?

Does anyone love me, I wonder? I know lots of people care for me and even care about me. But I don't know about love.

I have been thinking about dying recently and wondering about how sad it makes people feel. I don't know if dying is a sad thing or not. Dying seems to make people angry and afraid. Maybe because they don't understand it. People are afraid of things they don't understand.

The problem with dying is that no one who is alive knows what it is. All they can do is guess and imagine. That makes them afraid because they don't understand it and can't control it. It makes them angry for the same reasons, I guess.

I don't think that dying is going to make the deep inside part of me change. I will still be with the people who care about me, only they won't be able to see my body anymore.

So many thoughts and questions. My Wizard has been lifeless for days, as well. He isn't much good to me when
I can't open my eyes anyway. Once I feel stronger and get back up into my chair, I want to get working so I can get some of my questions out there into the air, so that they can catch an answer or two.

And I can tell Alexandra more about my rainbow! I can't believe that someone finally knows that I
have
a rainbow. That's the most amazing thing ever!

“Joanie? Are you in there?” Patrick's voice is quiet. I think that he is the only one here now, although I didn't actually hear Kathleen leave. I never do hear them leave. Just Alexandra with her clip-cloppy shoes and Patrick with his loud good-byes.

“You're making all kinds of faces today. I get the feeling you're trying to wake up. Or maybe you're already are awake, in which case I'm sorry I sounded upset. I'm just a big mouth sometimes.”

Actually, he is a big mouth all of the time! No one at the hospital talks more than Patrick does. With most people who talk a lot, I find myself wishing that they would figure out a way to do it with fewer words. But with Patrick, all of his words are welcome. He makes me smile on the inside and the outside with the things he says. Except the angry things. But today is the first time I have heard anything like that come from him.

Every once in a while, I think I can hear different people in my room, talking together about me, but leaving me out of the conversation. I'm not always sure who it is. I try to listen, but it's harder than usual to distinguish the sounds. My mind feels overcome by clouds, like I'm about to storm down on everyone around me. Little pieces of Joanie raining down on all of the doctors and nurses. Wouldn't that be something to see?

That was a strange thought. Why did I think it? What was I trying to think about?

I have to concentrate so I can catch my thoughts before they disappear again.

Oh, right. Words. I was thinking about people's words when they come into my room. I can't always figure out who's talking or what they're saying. When I do manage to figure out the words, it sounds like the people talking are worried about this pneumonia that the doctor says I have. An elegant word for a bad cough and a sore chest. Only it doesn't feel elegant. It hurts and takes me away from everything. Even my rainbow.

The clouds have shaded my mind pictures so I don't have anything to look at anymore, and I always feel like I want to be asleep. I'm sure that I didn't feel this way before. I seem to remember that I liked closing my eyes, but it was not to this darkness that I find now. I used to close my eyes and…I can't remember, but I know it was different. It was lighter. More colorful, I think. I'm not sure. Maybe I'm imagining things.

I'm not sure of anything right now in this cloudy, dark place where I seem to be living.

I don't like it here.

I feel alone here.

Maybe Alexandra is staying away because I'm sick and she wants to give me time to get well. That's nice of her, but I miss her. Does she know that I miss her, I wonder?

I wish I could get my eyes open so people would know I'm awake. Maybe they'll go and get Alexandra for me if they know I'm awake.

I am lying here wishing for company, but at the same time, I am rather glad that I am alone after all. The images are fading right out of focus, and my mind is going dark again. Time to sleep. Maybe if I'm lucky, some color will sneak in this time, and I'll manage a dream or two.

My dreams used to be full of colors.

I think.

Chapter 39

I haven't seen Joanie in over a week now. They keep calling and telling me she's too sick for me to come and see her. I tried to reschedule for today, but they just called again and told me she was sleeping and wouldn't likely wake up if I came in.

I wonder what she's sick with. I don't suppose anyone would tell me, even if I figured out a way to ask.

So here I sit wondering what to do with myself. All I've been doing recently is sitting around trying not to think about anything, which of course is making me think about everything.

I'm supposed to be doing school work. I don't want to do school work.

Maybe if I stop working completely, I'll fall so far behind the rest of the class that they'll stop their insane plan to make me go back to school.

As if it would be that easy.

I've been trying to imagine going back to school, but
I just can't. My mind goes blank when I try. Then other thoughts
I don't want keep coming and filling it in, until my whole head is a scribbled-up mess.

I seriously need to get away from myself for a while.

No one actually told me that I can't go and see Joanie today. They didn't even use the words “too sick.” All they said is “she's sleeping.”

Maybe she would still appreciate some company.

I head out the door and try to walk quickly down to the hospital. I usually walk quickly. That way I'm like the Flash, all blurry and hard to see, so people won't notice me. Today, though, my feet don't seem to have any wings on them, and I'm slugging along like I'm moving through mounds of mud. No one notices me.

The hospital seems quieter than usual today. I'm alone waiting for the elevator, staring at myself in a mirror that they put there for some reason that makes no sense to me. Why would people want to look at themselves in a hospital. I don't, but
I can't seem to help it.

My eyes are all puffy. Probably from lack of sleep. I do go to bed every night and close my eyes, and sometimes I even dream. But mostly, I don't think I do much sleeping. I just drift around inside my mind trying to figure myself out.

My eyes look dull. I can't even see the color. They just look kind of gray. If Cali were here, she'd have her makeup bag out in a flash, trying to brighten me up.

Maybe it would be better if Joanie doesn't wake up and see me like this. I might scare her.

She's got beautiful eyes. Sometimes when they look at me, I feel like she's actually looking right inside of me, like a gentle X-ray. I get the feeling that she sees the real me, not just the version of me that I take to the hospital.

The elevator arrives, and I escape my face as it jerks its way up toward Joanie. It stops with a jolt, and I get off and head toward Joanie's room, hoping to get there without running into anyone I might have to talk to. Talking to people doesn't seem to be working out all that well for me—makes me remember too much and cry too much.

“Alexandra? I'm sorry, didn't you get my message?” Patrick materializes out of one of the doors lining the hallway.

“Yeah, but you didn't say I
couldn't
come.” He looks a little startled. I'm just as surprised as he is that a whole sentence came out of my mouth. He isn't even the one I came here to talk to. He looks at me for a few seconds, and nods a little.

“Fair enough. I guess it will be all right. I'll have to ask you to wear a mask. She seems to be doing a little better today, I think, but she's still out.”

“Out?”

“She's been essentially unconscious now for several days. She's been extremely ill and heavily medicated. I don't know if she's aware of anyone or anything in her room, but I've been talking away to her anyway. If you have a book or a CD or something with you, it would probably be worth sharing. Just in case.”

“OK, thanks.”

I head to her room, tying on the mask he gave me and mentally kicking myself at the same time. I'm so caught up in my own drama that I didn't think of bringing something. I don't have anything with me at all.

Just me—lucky Joanie.

I slip into her room, quietly for a change, keeping on my toes so my heels don't click. I really should wear running shoes when
I come. It's so quiet in here, but incredibly noisy at the same time. That doesn't make sense, but it's true. I can hear dripping and hissing and whirring and, if I really listen, soft whispery breathing. But that's all. No other signs of life. No robot voices either. I walk over to the bed and look at her lying there. Her face is remarkably still today, no grimacing at all. Her arms and legs seem to be medicated into peacefulness.

Her chair is sitting empty over by the window. Her computer has been disconnected from its stand and is just lying on a little table over in the corner. Just a black square. Lifeless and useless without a pair of eyes to tell it what to say.

My throat is aching, and my eyes start to sting. I tell them to stop. She's just sick. She's been sick before and got better.

I don't know why I'm so upset. I mean, I barely know anything about her.

So why do I feel scared that I'm losing a friend?

Can we be friends if we don't really share anything?
We really have nothing much in common except silence, and even that's been broken.

Or maybe we have all kinds of things in common, and I just don't know about them. Most of what I “know” about Joanie, the real Joanie inside, comes from my own imagination. Like I'm making her up as I go along.

I've never had a lot of friends. I was always kind of a loner when I was a kid. Too busy singing and trying not to flunk out of school. And then Cali showed up. And suddenly I had a best friend. Which must mean we had a lot in common.

Music, I guess, although our taste was pretty different. Singing, although I took it seriously, and she didn't.

We never liked the same movies.

She loved to shop, and I don't.

We both liked boys, but she actually talked to them, and I don't.

She hated books, and I love to read.

Doesn't sound like we shared much at all.

But we
were
friends.

Maybe everyone just imagines their friends as they go along.

Maybe all friends have to share is each other.

I'm glad Cali didn't hear me think that last one. She'd tell me that I sound like a Hallmark card.

Joanie shared her first robot words with me. That was real.

And her rainbow.

Her beautiful stone rainbow.

Once she told me what it was, I could see it right away.

It took so much effort for her to figure out a way to share that with me. I wonder how many people in her life even know she has a rainbow. Judging from her eyes when I finally figured it out, I'm guessing I might be the only one who knows her secret.

Joanie has tried so hard to tell me who she is.

But I've given her nothing of myself at all.

I've been coming here week after week, wondering who Joanie is and what she's thinking about. It never really occurred to me that Joanie might be doing the exact same thing.

I think I want to try to be Joanie's friend. A real one—the kind that shares.

Even if it scares me a little, because I'm still afraid she won't like me if she knows more about the real me.

Whoever that is.