The Mute Reporter

3- Six Years Earlier

Samuel Winters

"Your risotto sir." The waiter comes by and sets down my food in front of me. I give him a smile and the thank you sign, which thankfully almost everyone understands.

He nods at me, and gives Celia her food as well before tucking the black circular tray underneath his arm and walking away.

I dig in to my food, eating like I'm starving. It's not often we can afford this place, going on maybe one or two occasions every year. Mainly for my birthday though. But that was in late April.

'How's your story with Becks moving along.' I set down my fork to sign to my sister, and she shrugs.

"It's going alright. Becks is going to choose a reporter to do an exclusive on her, and even though I'm in the running, I doubt I'll get it."

'She'd be stupid to not give it to you.' I pick up my fork again and take another bite.

"Her manager also gets a say. She needs to approve pretty much anything career and publicity wise with him."

In other words, because we work for a small tabloid agency, she doesn't have a chance like the big shots do.

Celia looks down at her food and continues eating silently. I see her beginning to frown.

Tapping the table for her attention, I sign back.

'Don't let them get in your head. Those reporters are sleazy old men who ask the same old boring questions. You're new, fresh, and different. Don't let them get in your head. What do you tell me all the time about men?'

Celia smiles, and laughs before saying "men ain't shit."

'That's right! Men ain't shit. Be confident and do something that old men reporters wouldn't do.'

Celia just snorts in amusement, digging back into her food silently, as do I.

We sit in silence. Not an awkward silence, but one caused by eating something so good that you don't want to waste time not eating it.

I notice a light commotion in the corner of the restaurant, but I don't pry.

Mind your business, not your curiosity.

Minding my curiosity is what made me who I am currently.

No sound.

Don't make a sound.

I eat my food quicker now.

"Excited about tomorrow?" Celia looks at me, expectantly waiting for an answer.

'More like nervous.'

"Do you need any questions to ask? Basic ones that give the interviewee a little trouble answering without deflecting?" She takes a sip of her drink.

'A list would be nice, but I can't promise I will ask any of them.'

Celia shrugs. "What you ask is up to you. That's one of the only good things about working under Dani. We come up with our own questions."

I look down at my food, now moving it around with my fork.

"What's wrong?"

I set down my fork and hesitate before signing again.

'Why did she even hire me in the first place? It's clear she doesn't believe I can be a reporter because I don't speak.'

"You're still around the agency, aren't you? She believes in you, it's just taking longer which sucks."

I snort, but it barely makes a sound. Like when I laugh. It's barely more than a breath.

'Dani believes in me making her cream with 18 sugars and a splash of coffee correctly. Not to report.'

Celia let's a smile slip past her lips at the coffee comment.

"I can't tell you how many times I've tried to talk sense into Dani to letting you report something. It just finally worked this time."

'Yeah, and now I have to do the best I can. Or else I'll never get another shot at this.'

Celia reaches out and takes my hands in hers, her grip loose enough to let me pull away at any time if I need to.

"Sam, you are already a great writer. Even better than me. You don't need a voice to be heard. You just need someone to listen."

She has always been telling me that. I know she listens to me. She doesn't just hear me.

But I need someone else to listen to me. Someone who isn't my sister, even though I love her with all my heart.

I pull my hands away, already having enough physical contact for the day.

Picking up my fork, Celia does the same and we both dine in silence for the rest of the time, the only noise surrounding us was the background chatter of the restaurant.

After Celia pays for the food and we exit the restaurant, someone rams into me and knocks me down on the pavement outside.

Pain flashes across the plans of my hands, and I lift them up to see some minor scraps.

I feel the same thing on my knees as well. Fantastic, more bruises!

"Watch where you're walking asshole!" Celia shouts, and quickly reaches down to help me up.

When I look at her to take her hand, I see the cause of this problem.

He's in a dark shirt and jeans, a Denver baseball hat on his head. I saw a flash of a silver chain disappearing under his shirt

I almost make a noise at the cheesiness of the way he's dressed.

Garrett. Or Jensen? What do I call him? Jensen? I think Jensen.

"Next time, move out of the way." He mutters at me, and I furrow my brows.

Celia helps me up, checking me obsessively for any injuries.

I sign the word asshole at him, and his dark eyes just narrow.

"He's calling you an asshole." Celia turns around to Jensen, and she stops short.

I step on her foot, and she looks back at me.

'Don't tell him I'm going to report on him tomorrow. He's drunk and won't remember.'

"What is he saying?" Jensen catches both of our attention away from each other.

"He's saying you're a pretentious dickwad who can't control simple actions like walking down a street."

'Celia what the fuck!'

She ignores me.

Jensen looks at me, clearly more angry.

But I don't cower behind Celia. I'm doing better at not doing that. I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.

Or Celia's foot, which I feel her take away because I forgot I was still stepping on it from getting her attention earlier.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are. Just don't be an ass next time you run into someone." Celia snaps back, and grabs my arm, forcing me and her to walk to our car, away from the rising baseball player.

Maybe that's what the commotion in the restaurant was about. He was probably in there with us.

Tomorrow is going to be fun.

Not.