I speak in Silence

3

February 9, 2018

I have been on a mission trip to Mexico, and I have travelled across the states previously in my lifetime, but never had I been to such a place as this. 

There was not a single asphalt road in existence here. Dirt roads went on and on for miles on end. Old, run-down buildings and trailer homes dominated the land, and there was only one commercial gas station I could name within twenty miles of this place, a Racetrack. Boarded windows on houses were extremely popular in the area, along with grass that could have probably reached up to my knees.

Everyone looked at me as if I were some strange creature from a foreign planet. They could instantly tell I was not from here. From just observing my surroundings, I could tell I definitely did not fit in with the demographic.

I crossed my fingers on my steering wheel, praying to whatever God might exist that I simply plugged in the wrong address; however, after checking the email sent to me by Dr. Orzo again and again, I could not argue against this being the correct place. I am certainly not a racist, I had a few black friends in college, but I could not help but feel a bit of discomfort being here.

"You have reached your final destination," Siri had said. Despite her monotonous, soothing and boring tone, the words sent shivers down my spine. The house I parked at was not the worst one in the neighborhood, though. The garden was well-kept, and garden gnomes guarded the front lawn. Water poured from a water spout to power a minuscule model of a watermill, and surrounding the porch were bunches among bunches of beautiful flowers. Gardenias, chrysanthemums, orchids, you name it, this woman planted them.

From the flimsy white shutters of the house, I saw a weary, dark woman looking at me, as soon as our eyes met, she abruptly closed the shutters. With several clicks, the door unlocked, and the woman opened the door and looked at me.

Recalling that she was mute, I, in sign language, greeted her. She stood back seeming slightly shocked. She signed back at me in greeting as well, and welcomed me into her house.

Her house... have you ever seen that show, Hoarders? Well, she could have been a contender for it. This woman seemed to have never thrown a single thing away in her entire life. However, she still managed to maintain order with all her things. Everything was in neat piles, allowing for amiable space to walk through her house.

The woman had mountains of magazines and newspapers from Cosmopolitan to National Geographic, dating all the way back from as long as 1973. It seemed that she was a collector of sorts, or perhaps, all sorts. She collected things from local street art to coins and stamps. Her kitchen was cluttered, yet clean and orderly at the same time. The floorboards squeaked beneath my feet in certain spots, and the house almost seemed to be its own band. Between the squeaky floorboards, the noisy old air vents, and the humming of the refrigerator, some music could be found within this humble abode.

Ennay directed me into her patio. The patio was a screened-in enclosure, the rickety wooden floorboards squeaked even more piercingly in this particular area of the house. An easel stood stoutly towards the sun with an unfinished painting. In this painting, a man was playing a saxophone and music notes spilled out from the bell of the instrument. Ennay scribbled on a note and laid it in my hands "This is my music."

When Ennay took her midday nap, I decided to leave the house and experience its... culture. I had not eaten since I had arrived in Bratville, and I was starving. As I drove down the dusty roads, an appetizing aroma infiltrated my nostrils. The scent was smoky and delicious, reminding me of Sunday afternoons when the neighbors would come over to eat and drink, when my father and my mother were still happily married and we were a big happy family... The smell of barbecue.

I parked my car. As I approached the establishment struggled to push the heavy wooden door open.

"Hello, and welcome to Guppy's!" The man hesitated upon seeing me and stammered, it seemed as though he'd never seen anyone like me in his life. "M-may I help you?"

"Yes, can I see your menu?"

Quickly, and almost a bit frantically, he grabbed a menu and gave it to me. "W-would you like a table, ma'am? How many?"

"Table for one please, and I'd like to order the pulled pork sandwich."

"Of course, we'll have that ready before you know it." His thick southern accent was most prevalent, and his voice was deep yet cordial.

I took a seat on a torn cushioned booth, and felt the air wooshed from it once I sat down, my exposed thighs clung to the material. Only one fan worked, and it turned very slowly, the air was stuffy and the place was hot. In a table to the far right of me, a what I assume was a couple was enjoying a what I assume was a date. The woman was scrawny and ill-looking, but the man—although, not my  physical typical type at all— I could not help but notice how attractive he was. His arms were strong, his beard was well-groomed and his hair well-cut. He turned towards me and parted his plump, soft lips into a glistening smile and waved his wonderful dark palms. The woman seated across from him, however, squinted her eyes at me in disdain.

The waiter set a mouth-watering dish in front of me and puzzled, "You're not from here, are you, Miss?"

"No, I'm from Michigan, actually."

"What brings you here?"

"I'm meeting a long-lost relative of mine who happens to be a resident of this town. Her name is Ennay, the one without a last name."

The waiter's eyes grew wide "Ennay... I know who she is... I would leave right away if I was you."

I began to feel concerned. I, myself, did not have much information on her background history. For all I know, she could have been a serial killer or a spy. "W-what's wrong with Ennay?"

"If you haven't noticed, the woman can't say a word. For as long as we all have known her, that woman has never said a word. We thought that perhaps she had transgressed against God and He had punished her, but no amount of church services or donations could ever bring back her voice. Then, we thought she must be demon-possessed, but no priest has ever been able to knock the demon out of her. She must have done something truly terrible to have earned eternal silence."

I could clearly see this man was misinformed on Ennay's case. "Well, sir, she has a rare medical condition—"

"But God can heal any medical condition unless He doesn't want to! He has healed my uncle Bern of stage four cancer, he has even risen people from the dead, but you're tellin' me that he can't make a mute woman speak again?"

I was simply dumbfounded by this man's claims, but did not want to spark an argument. I realized this was a small town, and in small towns, gossip spreads faster than wildfire. I at least wanted to make a decent first impression. I took a deep breath in, "I'll take my meal to go, please." The waiter sighed a kind of I-tried-to-warn-you sigh and fetched the bill and a to-go box. When he returned with the items, he handed me a business card.

"If Ennay does anything weird that makes you uncomfortable, contact this man."

The man on the business card was the town's priest.

"Thank you, but I don't think I'll need it." That was the day I realized why I was here. Not just to take care of Ennay's medical needs, the woman was rather independent, but I was here to stand up for her. To speak up for her when she cannot do it herself.