Silent Genius

Chapter 3

January 2008

I wake up to find soft, blonde hair clouding my vision. Claire’s face pops up in front of me and I see a flash go off in my peripheral vision.

‘Happy birthday,’ Mum, Dad and Tom cheer.

I sit up, pulling Claire onto my lap. Tom takes another picture.

‘Your birthday today, Claire’s next week,’ he laughs.

Mum and Dad both place a kiss on my forehead, dropping colourfully wrapped boxes on my bed. It’s six-o’clock Tuesday morning. Tom passes a little box wrapped in gold paper to Claire who then hands it to me.

‘Thank you, little Claire Bear,’ I say, kissing her in the cheek.

She kisses my cheek in return. The little piece of paper on the box says “Dear Tanna, Love Claire” printed in Tom’s messy scrawl. I carefully unwrap the paper, handing it to Claire when I’m done. I’m left holding a little, blue square box. I open the box. Inside is a sliver, heart-shaped locket. I open it. In one half, is a picture of me. In the other half is a photo of Claire, the day she was born. I smile down at my little sister, tears in my eyes. She smiles back, holding her arms out to me. I pull her into my arms and hug her.

‘Thank you, baby sister,’ I whisper.

She smiles in reply, showing tiny, pearl-white teeth. Mum picks her up off my lap and I continue to open my other presents; from Tom, a stuffed dog; from my Aunt Lucy, a bright-pink knitted jumper that will only be worn when she visits over Easter; from my Aunt Joan, a box of make-up that will never be used; and from Mum and Dad; fifty-dollars, a new pair of ballet slippers, the latest book by my favourite author (Enid Blyton), the newest So Fresh CD and a packet of rose seeds.

After opening all my presents, and giving a quick call to Aunts Lucy and Joan to say thanks, I’m served breakfast in bed (pancakes with ice-cream). Claire plays with a bit of ice-cream in her own bowl. With one hand, she waves the spoon around her head. With the other, she points at a photo frame hanging on my walls. It’s the picture that Tom took of us on the day she was born. Mum had had it blown up to A4 size and bought a frame for it. Claire points at the photo, at herself, at me and then back at the photo.

‘That’s you and me,’ I say.

She smiles and nods. Then she points at another photo (one of me and Tom when I was five and he was six), at me, at the door and at the photo again.

‘That’s Tom and I,’ I say.

She nods again. Then, passing me her spoon and bowl, she climbs carefully off my bad and walks over to my times-tables poster. Standing on the tips of her toes and using the wall to keep her balance, she reaches up and taps the number thirteen, then she points at me, and then walks over to the calendar and taps todays date.

‘That’s right,’ I say, frowning slightly, ‘today I’m thirteen.’

She goes back to the poster, taps the number one, points at herself, and goes back to the calendar again and points at next Tuesday.

‘You’re one next week,’ I say.

She smiles and nods, clapping her hands.

‘What’s she doing?’ I look up to see Tom pointing his camera at Claire.

‘Claire,’ she looks up at me, ‘when’s your birthday?’ I say.

She taps her birthday on the calendar.

‘And how old will you be?’

She toddles back to the poster and points at the number one. Tom snaps a picture.

‘No way,’ he gasps.

He leaves the room but returns quickly with his video camera.

‘Mum, Dad,’ he yells, ‘you gotta see this!’

Soon enough, Mum and Dad are standing in the doorway behind Tom, looking back and forth from me, to Tome, to Claire with confused looks on their faces.

‘Do it again,’ Tom says to me, his camera focused on Claire.

‘Claire,’ she looks at me, smiling, ‘when’s your birthday?’

She taps the calendar again.

‘How old will you be?’

She points to the number one. Mum gasps.

‘When’s my birthday?’

Back to the calendar.

‘And how old am I?’

Back to the poster.

Mum slowly walks over to Claire and kneels in front of her.

‘But, how?’ she whispers.

Claire frowns at her, not understanding our mother’s confusion. She points at the calendar and the poster. Mum just shakes her head in disbelief. Claire turns to look at me, holding her hands out in front of her in defeat.

‘How?’ Mum asks her again.

Claire steps forward, placing a tiny hand on either side of our mum’s face. She opens and closes her mouth. Mum just picks her up, hugging her close. I look to see Tom and Dad’s reactions but sigh in disdain. Nobody else saw it. They didn’t see what Claire was doing. She mouthed Mama, and they missed it.