Who Am I Now?

Speak Into the Silence

Silence was deafening. But it was a new kind of deafening. It pressed on her from all sides, and Dolores hated it. It scared her. Used to hearing everything that went on for a mile around her, the need to be close to people to hear them was a distant memory. Sixteen years had passed since she'd received her gift, which was so long ago. After the ceremony, Dolores had quickly gotten used to her enhanced hearing. That day had marked the beginning of never having another truly silent moment. True silence was something she'd forgotten existed. Now it seemed to be all she could hear. And she couldn't escape it, or the thoughts that came with it.

She used to love sitting alone in the quiet to think, contemplating life or just considering the events that unfolded around her. But then she'd gotten her gift, and her thoughts were crowded out by the sheer, overwhelming noise of everyday life around her. From the Lopez family on the far side of the Encanto talking about their family to a drop of sweat falling to the ground in the next room, she heard it all. And as her life changed after receiving her gift, so her perception of silence rapidly transformed with her.

Late at night, after all the people were in bed, that time became her silent time. She loved staying up late just for a taste of beautiful, luxurious silence. Even so, there were always noises. A sleepy mutter as somebody turned over in bed, the pad of a jaguar's feet as it stalked its next meal, there was always something to hear. She had considered that silence, and she'd loved it. But what she was experiencing now was far deeper than her late nights. It was no longer beautiful to her. Now it was terrifying.

Complete and total silence was paralyzing to Dolores, and it was so much worse for her than her enhanced hearing ever was. Instead of little noises all around her, her hearing picked up next to nothing unless it was especially loud or right next to her. She realized that one of her senses had been completely changed by her gift, and only in the absence of the gift did she understand the profound impact that it had in her day-to-day life.

On her fifth birthday, Dolores's world had changed forever. It was true that the candle had been merciful to her at her ceremony. It had not given her the full force of her gift all at once. Instead, there was a noticeable sharpening of sound as soon as the door had formed. Abuela had been so happy, and the cheers made her wince, but it hadn't been as loud as it could have been. Over the next couple of weeks, her range and sensitivity had expanded throughout Casita and then farther. When she started hearing the villagers, she'd been confused before she'd realized what was going on. That pleased abuela even more. She had a very powerful gift, and while it wasn't growing flowers like her cousin, it was useful. And "silence" began to fade from her vocabulary.

The loudest noise she had ever heard before the silence had fallen was Casita falling to pieces around her. Stones crashed, tiles smashed, glass shattered, wood splintered. Then, as she was forced out the door by Casita's rippling floors, she saw the beautiful glow of her door fade before it disappeared into the falling roof. And then everything suddenly went quiet. She could still hear her tía Julieta screaming for Mirabel. She could still hear the crash as Casita crumbled into rubble. She could still hear her mamá crying in horror. She could still hear it, but it was like it was muted, far away. And then everything settled, dust obscuring the full extent of the damage, and for the first time in sixteen years... silence. Deafening, all-consuming, mind-numbing silence. And it had terrified her.

Even now, over a week later, the suffocating silence continued to bother her. But the worst part for Dolores was her own voice. She never realized just how quietly she spoke until her hearing returned to normal levels. Now she found that she could barely even hear herself. And if she couldn't hear herself, how could anybody else? So she was alone in the ever-present quiet, unable to speak above a whisper and getting lost in the too-faint, yet too-loud noise around her, rendered speechless by the loss of her gift.