Weight of Silence (14 page)

Calli, remember the time I slept in a tree? The huge climbing tree just past Willow Wallow? I was nine and so you must have been four, not talking anymore. I was just so sick of everyone trying to get you to talk. That’s all Mom cared about anymore, getting you to say something, anything.

She’d sit you at the kitchen table and say things like, “Do you want some ice cream, Calli?”

You’d nod your head. I mean, what kid wouldn’t want ice cream at nine-thirty on a Tuesday morning?

“Say please, Calli,” Mom would tell you, “and you can have some yummy ice cream!” She’d talk in this high, annoying voice, like she was talking to a baby, trying to feed it crappy mashed up sweet potatoes or something.

‘Course, you never said anything back to her. But Mom would try forever. The ice cream would get all soupy and warm, and she’d still be sitting at the table, trying to get you
to eat it, when all you really wanted to do was go watch
Sesame Street.

In the end, you wouldn’t say anything and Mom would give you a fresh bowl of ice cream to eat in front of the TV anyway. So it wasn’t much of an incentive, if you ask me. After one or two times of that, even a four-year-old is smart enough to figure out that if you wait long enough you’ll get the ice cream.

One day I just had enough. I was sick of sitting there watching Mom trying to bribe you into talking, when even I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. Mom pulled the ice cream out of the fridge and reached up into a cupboard for the sugar cones.

Oooh, I thought, she’s pulling out the sugar cones, big-time bribes today. Mom started as she usually did. “Do you want some ice cream, Calli? Hmm, what do we have here? Tin Roof Sundae! Your favorite, Calli!”

“How do you know?” I asked. I couldn’t help it.

“What?” Mom asked. She was digging into the ice cream container with the ice cream scoop.

“How do you know her favorite is still Tin Roof Sundae?” I asked, and Mom looked at me kind of confused-like.

“I just know,” she answered. “Look, Calli, sugar cones!”

“She doesn’t like the peanuts in it anymore. She always eats around them,” I said.

“Ben, go play,” Mom said, kind of snotty-like, I thought.

“No, this is stupid,” I said loudly, surprising myself.

“Ben, go play,” Mom said again, like she meant business.

“No. Calli can’t talk, she can’t do it! No matter how much ice cream you give her, or candy or pop, she isn’t gonna say anything. She can’t talk!” I shouted.

“You be quiet, Ben,” Mom said real soft.

“No!” I said, looking her in the eye, just daring her to make me. “You wanna know why she can’t talk, I’d go talk to Dad.” I remember looking around me to see if maybe he could hear, even though I knew he was traveling.

“Ben, stop it!” Mom shouted back, her chin trembling.

“No!” I grabbed the ice cream scoop out of her hand and walked to the back door, opened it and flung it out into the yard. I don’t know why, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

The whole time, Calli, you just sat there, with your big eyes, all scared. Then, when the yelling started, you put your hands over your ears and closed your eyes.

For a minute, I thought Mom was going to hit me. She had that same look in her eyes that Dad gets.

I yelled, “Go ahead, hit me! You’re turning into Dad anyway. A big bully, trying to make people do what you want them to do, no matter what!”

I ran and ran and ran. Kinda like what I did today. Not so brave, huh? I spent the night in that old tree down by Willow Wallow. You and Mom came looking for me and I sat on my branch all quiet, looking down at you two, thinking that you didn’t see me. But I caught you looking up at me, you gave me a little wave and I waved back. Mom must have figured out where I was because later on she came back with a paper sack full of sandwiches and some pop.

She set it at the bottom of the tree and said to you, “I’ll just set this here for Ben, Calli, so if he gets hungry he’ll have a little something to eat.”

I spent all day and night in that tree. I came down only to grab the bag of food and to go pee. You and Mom came back
to check on me a bunch of times that day, and I was just sure Mom was going to try and make me come down. But she didn’t, she just lay an old pillow and blanket down on the ground under the tree.

I slept in that old tree and climbed down the next morning all stiff and sore, but I did it. Mom didn’t get mad like I thought she would. She didn’t say a word about the whole thing. She stopped trying to bribe you into talking with ice cream, though. She never did that again. Oh, we had ice cream, but it was never Tin Roof Sundae and it never came with a “Say please, Calli.”

Calli, if we get you home safe today, I’ll buy you the biggest ice cream sundae, without nuts, that I can buy with my paper route money.

Calli walked slowly down the trail. It opened up to a golden meadow on either side. Dainty Queen Anne’s lace waved at her. She had never been this far before, but the open sky made her feel safer. There were fewer shadows and hidden figures behind trees. Orange tiger lilies framed the trail, as did wilting purple coneflowers.

Petra always called them purple daisies and would pick one from a ditch in front of her home and tuck it behind her ear and then gather armfuls of flowers. She’d plan intricate weddings with dolls and stuffed animals. Once when one of her father’s students, a man named Lucky, stopped by the house this summer with his dog, Sergeant, Petra and Calli had hurriedly designed invitations for the wedding.

Please join us to celebrate wedded bliss between

Gee Wilikers Gregory

And

Sergeant Thompson

This afternoon in the backyard

Gee Wilikers was Calli’s stuffed Yorkshire terrier. Calli slipped black-eyed Susans into Sergeant’s red collar and had woven crisp white daisies into chains for Gee Wilikers, Calli, and Petra to wear as crowns. Petra presided over the ceremony and Calli was the flower girl. Lucky, Martin, Fielda and Antonia were all guests and sat in lawn chairs in the backyard. Ben wanted nothing to do with all that business.

Petra hummed the wedding march as Calli walked Sergeant and Gee Wilikers down the makeshift aisle, an old lace table runner. Lucky pretended to cry with happiness, wrapped his arm around Petra, drawing her close to him, declaring the wedding “Just beautiful!” Antonia took pictures and Petra’s mother served lemon sherbet ice cream and Kool-Aid.

She remembered playing tag with Lucky and Petra. Remembered trying to climb the oak in Petra’s backyard, Lucky boosting her up from below and then climbing up himself. They had tossed acorns down, watching Sergeant chase after them. With Lucky’s arm steadying her, she felt no fear of falling. It was such a happy day. Calli remembered throwing her arms around Sergeant, his bushy reddish-brown fur heated by the sun. It came out in shaggy tufts and stuck to Calli’s fingers and face, sticky with ice cream.

Now sitting among the wild grasses Calli wove a chain of purple coneflowers into a wreath and set it on her head. Then she began to make another crown for Petra. Petra, she missed Petra. After Petra and Calli had become friends, Petra became her official spokesperson at school. From that day forward, Petra was Calli’s voice, her verbal communication with the world around her. Mrs. Vega, their first-grade teacher, was very accepting of this and often regarded the girls
as one entity. Once, while on a field trip to Madison to visit the zoo, they stopped the school bus at a fast-food restaurant. Mrs. Vega, asking Calli what she would like to eat, looked at Petra to answer.

Petra answered with little thought. “She wants a hamburger with just mustard, French fries and a Sprite. Calli loves mustard.”

Most of the adults that Calli encountered at school were accommodating to her special needs. However, one day when Calli came to school, it was not Mrs. Vega greeting them at the classroom door, but a substitute teacher. She was a large woman, round and doughy, with a great mound of gray, curly hair and a stern, wizened face. Her name was Mrs. Hample and she had none of the good humor or patience that Mrs. Vega had. When Mrs. Hample asked each child his or her name and came to Calli, she did not respond, but just looked shyly down at her desktop.

“Her name is Calli,” Petra piped up.

Mrs. Hample looked sharply at Petra. The first hour of school passed uneventfully enough, but after the third time that Petra spoke for Calli, Mrs. Hample erupted.

“Petra, do not answer for Calli again, do you understand? I did not call on you,” she ordered in a firm voice.

“But Calli doesn’t…” Petra began, but Mrs. Hample interrupted her.

“You’re not listening to me. Now, do not speak for Calli again! If she has something that needs to be said, she can tell me herself.”

Just before recess Calli timidly approached Mrs. Hample and made the sign for bathroom. Her thumb was pushed up
between her first two fingers to form the letter
T
for toilet and then she rotated her wrist side to side.

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you deaf?” Calli shook her head no. “My goodness, if you need to say something to me say it, Calli!” Mrs. Hample said exasperatedly.

“She’s shy. She doesn’t talk. She has to go…” Petra tried to explain, but Mrs. Hample held her hand up to stop her from speaking further.

“Petra, you may stand against the wall at recess time for not listening to me!” she barked. “And Calli, if you won’t tell me what you need, then you can just sit at your desk until you decide to do so. The rest of you, let’s line up to go out to recess.”

So while Calli sat in her desk, squeezing her legs together, Petra stood last in line while the first graders filed one at a time out the door to recess. Instead of going outdoors with the others, however, Petra snuck up the steps and down the corridor to Mr. Wilson’s office. The counselor was sitting at his desk, speaking on the phone, but when he saw the desperate look on Petra’s face he quickly hung up.

“Petra, good morning, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“It’s the substitute teacher,” Petra whispered as if afraid that Mrs. Hample would be able to hear her. “She’s real mean. I mean
really
mean.”

Mr. Wilson chuckled. “I know substitute teachers aren’t like your regular teachers, Petra, but you still have to listen to them.”

“I am, but it’s Calli. She’s being really mean to Calli. She won’t let her go to the bathroom.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Wilson asked.

“I’ve been trying to help Calli, like I always do, by sayin’ stuff for her, but Mrs. Hample won’t let me. Calli tried to tell
her she had to go to the bathroom, but Mrs. Hample said, ‘If you can’t tell me yourself, you can’t go!’” Petra said in a remarkable likeness of Mrs. Hample.

“Come on with me, Petra. We’ll go figure this out.”

“Nuh-uh!” Petra exclaimed. “I’m supposed to be outside, standing by the wall for recess. If she knows I told, I’m gonna be in
big
trouble!”

“You go on outside then and stand by the wall. I’ll go check on Calli and visit with Mrs. Hample. And Petra, you’re a good friend. Calli is lucky to have you,” Mr. Wilson told her and Petra smiled her big, toothless grin at him.

Mr. Wilson went to the classroom, looked through the window in the door and saw Calli, sitting at her desk, her head bent forward and her long hair shielding her face. He entered the room, stood beside Calli’s desk, and watched as big, fat tears plopped down, causing a wet stain to slowly spread across the brown-gray handwriting paper that lay in front of her. “Hey, Calli, ready for our appointment?” Mr. Wilson asked her in a cheerful voice. Calli looked up at him in surprise; they never met on Friday, only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and in the late afternoons, near to the time that school ended.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Mr. Wilson looked concernedly down at his watch. “I was stuck in a meeting. Let’s go on up to my office.” Calli stood and looked fearfully at Mrs. Hample. “I’ll bring her back in about twenty minutes, right before lunch.” He addressed his last comments to Mrs. Hample.

“She should be in a special classroom. She doesn’t talk, you know,” she said as if Calli could not hear her. “Or maybe in a behavior disorder class. She’s being obstinate, not talking like that.”

“All our students are special here, and Calli is right where she belongs. You won’t be needed for the rest of the day, Mrs. Hample. You may sign out at the office. Thank you.”

When Calli finished using the restroom, he sent her outside to play with her classmates for recess. She and Petra played hopscotch with some other children. Mrs. Hample left and never returned and Mr. Wilson was their substitute teacher for the rest of the afternoon. When she arrived home from school that day, her backpack held a note for her mother from Mr. Wilson. Calli watched carefully as her mother read the note, her face drooping more and more at each line she read. Finally, she set the letter aside and beckoned Calli to her.

“Petra’s a nice girl,” her mother whispered to her as she gathered her on her lap. Calli nodded and played with the collar on her mother’s shirt. “We have to do something nice for her, don’t you think?” Again Calli nodded. “Cookies, you think?” Antonia asked her. Calli slipped off her lap, opened the refrigerator and began pulling eggs and butter from inside.

“You remember what a good friend she’s been to you, Calli. Don’t ever forget it. Petra will need you to be just as good a friend someday, okay?”

Calli and Antonia delivered the cookies, still warm and soft, later that evening to the Gregory house. Petra’s mother and father had smiled proudly at their daughter’s kind actions on Calli’s behalf. Calli and Petra had run off into the porch to sit and eat the chocolaty cookies.

Now, in the meadow, her stomach growled in remem
brance of those chocolate chip cookies as she wove a crown of flowers for her best friend. Calli felt her nose begin to burn from the harsh sun, and she headed back into the woods and its dim calm.