Breaking Silence

    I knocked on the burgundy door, that seemed two feet too tall and then took a step back. I must've stood there for five minutes, debating on whether or not I had gotten the time wrong, anxiously wringing my hands. I hated this nervous habit, which I had acquired at a young age. The kids at my school would constantly pull at my clothes, giggling like it was an inside joke and I would just stand there, fiddling with my hands. Apparently thrift store clothes weren't the latest trend back then.
    Finally, a woman with creases in her forehead and artificial, bleach blonde hair opened the door. I awkwardly extended my hand. The woman glared at my hand for a couple seconds and her gaze felt cold. Finally, humoring me, she shook my hand.
"Mm-yes and you're Elisabeth?" Still glaring at me over her golden rimmed glasses, she stepped aside. As I entered, she shut the door behind me.
"This is the entrance hall and to your left is the kitchen." The hall was modern, with marble floor and pale walls. Every couple of feet, there was a large vase, each one holding different patterns of various colors. As I looked to the left, I was greeted with more marble on the countertops and light wooden cabinets. The polished steel of the oven glinted in the fluorescent lights. This house felt more like an elaborate art gallery than a home.
We continued through the house, traveling passed the leathered chairs and flatscreen tv in the living room, to a hallway. There were four doors, two were guests rooms, one was a bathroom, and we came to a stop in front of the last one.
"This is Charles' room, you'll spend most of your time caring for him in here." I nodded as she opened the door and revealed a room that looked out of place from the rest of the house. It was relatively small with baby blue walls, the carpet was a nice contrast from the cold marble that filled the rest of the house. Across from us was a bed with plaid sheets and I could make out the small shape of a body in them. Inching closer, I saw the man's face. He was nearly bald, a thin layer of grey hair was laid atop his head. His eyes were sunken in and grey, and the skin on his face drooped.
For a second I was slightly alarmed, caught off guard by his appearance. I must've been gawking because Abigail cleared her throat. Horrified, I steeled my face.
"As you may have guessed, this is Charles, my grandfather." She gave a small gesture towards Charles. "Hm, he should be up by now."
Abigail made her way to Charles, gently shaking him awake. "Charles," she said coldly, "Charles- get up please, Elisabeth is here."
I watched as the frail man stirred and his hazy eyes appeared. He seemed to mimic the same cruel gaze his granddaughter had the whole time I was there. We all stared for a couple minutes, I guess I was waiting for Charles to surrender some sort of greeting.
I mustered up a smile under his steely stare. Abigail cleared her throat once more.
"Yes, well I guess we should go over daily routine and compensation." She turned to me. "You will arrive everyday at 6am. No earlier, no later. When you arrive, I will leave and you will prepare Charles' first meal of the day." I glanced toward Charles and found him scolding at the window to the right of him. "You do know how to cook, correct?" She looked me up and down.
I winced, "Yes, I do..." It just isn't very good.
"Right, so you will prepare all his meals. Lunch is to be served at 12:30, and dinner at 5:30. In between you will help him with trips to the bathroom. I will return at about 9:00 each night, at which time you will be dismissed." She paused for a moment, then leaned forward, "Do you understand so far?"
I stuttered, flustered by her condescending tone, "Yeah, I understand."
"Okay, you will work every weekday. On Fridays you will be paid 850 dollars by me directly for your work. This amount will be subject to absences."
I nodded to show I was following.
"Alright, well I guess that's all. Any questions?"
"Um, I don't think so."
"I'll leave you to it then," she looked around for a second and then glanced back at Charles. "Oh," Abigail directed toward me, "and Charles has asthma. It shouldn't be an issue but just in case, there's an inhaler in the drawer of his bedside table." And with that she left the room, leaving Charles and I to ourselves.
I clapped my hands together, wondering what I should do next.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" I waited for a response, but instead all I recieved was a blank stare. "Charles?" For a second, I panicked. He looked dead, actually dead. His body was limp and his skin pale. But his eyes, they were the most haunting. Great, I scolded myself, it's the first day and you've already killed him! Petrified I stared into them and then, to my relief they blinked.
The relief subsided to terror in seconds. What was wrong with him? Could he not talk? Why would he ignore me? Surely he couldn't hear me or couldn't speak. But then again, I doubted that Abigail would forget to mention her grandfather was mute.
Thoroughly weirded out, I quickly exited the room and made my way to the kitchen. I mean, his silence about his hunger wasn't gonna stop me from fixing my own food.
Usually, first days are exciting but this one was fairly uneventful. The only thing odd, was the fact that Charles remained silent. However, I decided to brush off this small detail and refused to let it deter me. He was old. Old people are grumpy, right?
For weeks, I continued with the job, carrying out the same actions everyday. It felt as if I was stuck in a time loop. The only thing that kept me positive was the thought of my own place. Once I got enough money, I would get an apartment void of any roommates. Maybe then I could pursue a more satisfying job. But for now I would just have to endure the seemingly never-ending silence.
I slipped through the crack in the door, juggling a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. The bowl was smoldering against my hand. The bowl was sat down hastily on the bedside table as I turned to hand Charles the water. Over the week I had observed the fact that if I asked him something enough times he would surrender a grunt.
"Morning Charles," I sighed, handing him the glass. He grunted, like I figured he would. And that concluded the extent of our communication. So, with that I returned to the main living room. I was starting to consider this job a luxury, I mean I practically got paid to watch things on this gigantic TV, eating this amazing food, on this fluffy couch. It was amazing. And at the rate I was being paid, I would have my own place in no time.
I still hadn't decided if I was going to keep this job after I got a place of my own. The only real reason I stayed with this job was because it paid so well, but I figured that once I got settled and was no longer living with my roommates, maybe I could find a more enjoyable job. One where people actually spoke to me.
While I admired the marble floors and leather couches, it was pretty lonely. The wide open space of each room amplified the feeling of emptiness. Besides the money, I took this job to help someone, to make a connection. When I was younger, my mother would tell us stories of her class. How some of the students would come back to see her after a couple years. That was something I wanted, to make such a strong impact on someone, that I'm still on their mind after years. I wanted to connect and as much as I kept telling myself that Charles would open up, I knew he wouldn't.
Emerging from my thoughts, I noticed a noise break the silence. It started to get louder until I could clearly make out the sound. It was wheezing and I quickly realized what the source was. Charles was having an asthma attack.
Bursting through the door, I went straight for the bedside table. I rustle around in the drawer, shakily searching for the inhaler Abigail had briefly mentioned during my tour. Overwhelmed by Charles' gasps, my clumsy fingers struggle to get the inhaler. Finally, it's in my grasp and I practically throw it at Charles. Trembling and still gasping, he raises it to his lips.
I take a couple seconds to compose myself, taking a deep breath and reaching to close the drawer. I'm about to, when a bright picture catches my eye. Slowly, I raise the photo to my face to get a better look. In the photo, I can clearly see a younger version of Charles. He looks like he's nearing 60 and his arms are around a woman who looks to be the same age. They are both grinning, something I never see Charles do.
"Put that down!" said Charles still catching his breath. He has to brace himself, as he rises too quickly from the bed. I'm in shock. Charles just said something. "Damn it, I said put it down!" He slowly stumbled towards me, snatching the frame from me. Once he had it, he rubbed the frame and stares at it.
Quietly, I ask, "Who is the woman?" Charles looks back up at me and I can see a hint of confusion cross his face, before it returns to its usual sneer. And with that, I feel that will be the extent of our first conversation. He starts to return to his bed and I grab his elbow, but he immediately pulls away. Hugging the picture to his chest, he lays down in his bed.
I stood there for what seemed like minutes, watching him as he gripped the frame. Finally, he seemed to notice my presence once more.
"Get out!" He screamed, his face turning a bright red, spit flying from his mouth. Startled, I rushed to the hallway. Raising my hand, I could see that I was trembling. It seemed so small, yet so significant. Charles had just said his first sentence to me, granted it wasn't a very pleasant conversation but he still spoke. And that woman... who was she? In the picture they had seemed very close. But, the reaction was what got to me. I cursed at myself, angry that I had pried.
In the following hours, it seemed as though nothing had happened. For the most part, everything returned to normal. Handing him his breakfast plate, I quietly said, "Good morning..."
Without even looking up at me, he took the plate and began eating. I took that as a dismissal and let him be. I hadn't even been gifted a grunt. Part of me felt bad, I looked at something that seemed to be very personal. Then it hit me, the silence wasn't a result of his hatred for me. Although, after tonight it might be. Nervously, I wrestled with the idea of an apology. Eventually I mustered up the courage and biting my lip, I entered his room.
"Charles?" He looked from me to the plate of eggs I had just handed him. "I-I'm really sorry for prying, I shouldn't have." He stared at me for a couple seconds, sneering. But after a couple seconds his facial expression dissolved.
"It was taken in China." He muttered, looking down at his hands. He sighed looking at me, "And if you must know, that woman's name is Anna." I glanced at the drawer, wondering if he had moved the photo to a new hiding place.
"Go ahead," he nodded at me solemnly. I opened the drawer and picked up the picture. He reached for it and carefully I handed it to him.
Looking at the picture, he chuckled, "She begged me for years to take her there." We sat for a minute in silence. I glanced at my hands, unsure of what to say or if I should say anything at all. "When I finally agreed to go, she was ecstatic. She insisted that we take a picture every couple of feet." And for the first time in the three weeks I had worked with him, Charles grinned. The corners of his eyes creased. The facial expression was contagious and I found the corners of my mouth rising.
I didn't want to ruin the moment and though I knew part of the answer, I had to ask, "What happened to her?"
The question seems to have a dramatic effect on him almost instantly, his face falling. He sat there for a second, tracing the frame of the picture. I watched him, feeling guilty.
He cleared his throat, "Heart attack." The word hung in the air. Then in a sick twist, he gave a sardonic laugh. "I thought it would be me, you know." His eyes were red, but I couldn't tell if he was crying.
"She was the one who watched what she ate. She took care of herself."
"How long has it been?"
"Two years next month." I watched as a single tear fell from his face, hitting the picture frame. "After she died, Abigail insisted moving in," He snorts, "so that she could 'take care' of me."
I walked over and sat next to him on the bed. He looked up at me which is when I saw his guard fall completely. Tears rapidly streamed down his face. Gently, I put my hand on his shoulder and sat there while he cried.
I've decided that I'm gonna keep the job. Charles is finally starting to open up. The other night, I was in the kitchen fixing his lunch when he snuck up behind me. Usually he doesn't even have the motivation or strength to use the bathroom by himself. But the other night, he sat down at the kitchen counter and pulled out a book. While the gesture may be small, it speaks volumes.