When I got into my dad’s car, he gave me a small smile. “How did it go?”
Buckling my seatbelt I leaned my head against the window and waited for my dad to start the car and drive us home.
I closed my eyes feeling tired. It had been a long time since I’d been around so many people. Who knew socializing –if you could even call it that—could tire someone out.
The rest of the drive home was quiet. My dad didn’t try to pursue any more of a conversation and I was pleased with that. It felt awkward listening to him ramble on and on about what ever crossed his mind.
When we arrived home, the same routine happened like every time. I went up to my room and my dad went somewhere else in the house.
Instead of flopping onto my bed like I did almost every other time, I went to my window, which was now nailed shut, and looked out at the six acres of property my father and Leigh owned.
To say it wasn’t magnificent would have been a lie. It was amazing. The backyard had a pit dug into the ground for bonfires that my dad liked to host; the patio was decorated with steal furniture that was now wrapped with a tarp because of the upcoming cold weather; there was a tiny garden to the side that Leigh had grown herself. She had filled it with vegetables of all kinds.
That was the living part of our backyard, what stretched for the rest of the six acres were trees. Huge old trees that had been there for over a hundred years, they were taller than our house.
Right now all the leaves on them were turning yellow, although some still clung onto being green. It was a beautiful sight and one I never got bored of seeing.
Downstairs I could hear my dad rummaging around in the office, throwing papers around and slamming drawers. He sounded frustrated, and I did my best to ignore what he was doing. I had the eerie feeling that I was the reason he was feeling so frustrated, and I could feel something pulling at my heart.
It wasn’t easy for me to not talk to my dad. For years I had gone to him with any concerns I had or if I just wanted someone to talk with. Now I couldn’t even speak to him. It hurt me as much as it hurt him.
The doctors had said it was a figment of my imagination that I couldn’t talk. I could talk but I was telling myself that I had lost my voice. It was my way of coping with the pain I was going through. I didn’t believe them though, my dad did.
For months he and Leigh tried different ways of getting to me to utter a sound. They would play my favorite songs hoping I’d sing along; they would ask questions; tell jokes; they even tried scaring me once by having Leigh jump out of the closet when I walked in the door. None of it worked. I didn’t hum, mumble, squeak, scream or utter any other noise.
This was frustrating to them, but there was nothing they or I could do about it. I was mute and I couldn’t change that. Not for my dad, not for the doctor, not even for myself. Nothing could or would make me talk.
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Sorry for the short chapter. Next chapter will be longer and better, I promise.
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Falling Colors
Teen Fiction"The unfixable; the shattered; the torn; the broken. They all come here. It's my job to remake them, because once its broken there is no going back to the way it was. It must be remade." Six individuals. Six unique stories. Five exercises. One...
