Open your Mouth for the Mute

#MyHandmaidsTale

I stared at the thick, wooden door as it slammed closed milliseconds before. The door is locked by a heavy duty padlock. He's harsh, almost inhuman. He barely feeds us; and when he does, it's usually cold gruel and hardtack. This room alone can barely fit all seventeen of us--girls and women. There used to be twenty-two, but five died from sickness--and God knows what. There are no windows in this room, no insulation. It's hot and stuffy in the daytime and freezing in the night. Occasionally, I see rats scurrying around.

We're a group of females with no freedom. We're locked in this room like animals in their cages.

A girl is crying in the corner. Her wailing is shattering my heart into a million fragments. She is rocking herself on the creaky bed, trying to soothe herself. I don't blame her; my first night here, I cried for hours until I ran out of tears.

"Your crying will solve nothing," a voice called out. Her voice sounded gruff like someone attempted to suffocate her. The other girls and women were tossing and turning in bed, irked by the lamenting girl. Their complaints just made me aggravated.

"Show some compassion." I snapped.

I heard the gruff-sounding woman snort in contempt. "Why don't you go help her then?"

That's exactly what I was going to do. Reaching under my bed, I pulled out a book, tucking it underneath my arm. I tiptoed over to the girl's bed and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, cowering from my touch. I settled myself on the side of her bed.

"Hi," I spoke soothingly. "What's your name?"

She didn't respond to me, only glancing at me briefly. She backed away cautiously and curled herself into a fetal position.

"Hey," I scooched closer to her. "It's okay. You're safe here. Can you tell me your name?"

She hiccuped and looked at me with teary eyes. The girl shook her head, using her forefinger to point to her ear. Couldn't she hear me?  I wasn't that far from her.

I raised my voice a little and repeated the question. She shook her head again. This time, she pointed to both of her ears with more emphasis. I suddenly realized that the girl was deaf-mute.

I nodded to tell her that I understood what she was signaling to me. My knowledge of sign language was limited; I took a class back when I was in high school. That was a long time ago.

I spelled out my name to her: A-D-I-R-A, Adira. She looked at me with surprise. My name, I added. She nodded to me, signing: J-I-L-L-I-A-N. Her name was Jillian.

I handed her the book. For you, I signed.

Jillian accepted the book and smiled timidly. She raised four fingers to her lips and released her hand in an arc.

Thank you.