I speak in Silence

5

February 12, 2018

On my way to Ennay's home, I saw him again. He waved and held his hand in a "hang ten" position to has ear, symbolizing a cell phone. I then remembered I had his phone number written in a note in my purse. I paused for a moment and thought to myself, maybe I could use a little tour, just to, you know, get to know my surroundings a bit better, although, deep down, I knew it would lead to something more than a tour.

I arrived at Ennay's well-kept driveway. There she was, watering a flower, her hand on her back. There was something so beautiful about Ennay, she was a woman who refused to age. I admired that she was unapologetically herself throughout everything in her life. While she might have lost her voice, her personality was something that nothing could ever take away from her.

"Good morning, Ennay" Ennay jumped and spun around to see it was just me, "Sorry for scaring you... need any help?" I pointed to the garden. Ennay nodded and passed me a pair of dirty, worn out gardening gloves and pointed to a weed, making a pulling gesture followed by a thumbs up.

Pulling weeds reminded me of a moment in my childhood. When I was about eight years old, I really, really wanted a doll, a customized American Girl Doll, to be exact. All my friends had one of their own, and they all looked exactly like them. They could dress them up, get them puppies, they could do anything and everything one! I wanted a mini me as well, I begged for one for Christmas, but my mom said there was a tight budget for it that year, and if I wanted one, I'd have to get the money myself.

Most girls my age set up lemonade stands for money while the boys did the neighbor's yard work. The boys usually got more money from pulling weeds and mowing lawns than the girls did selling lemonade, so I decided to do some yard work.

Most neighbors turned down my offer, since they already had a boy doing it for them, but there was one lady who paid me to pull their weeds. Her name was Diana, and she was exactly the kind of woman you would think of when you heard the word "feminist". Her hair was short with hot pink streaks, her skin was as pale as the snowfall in Michigan. She lived with her wife, Monica, who was more conservative and quiet to counterbalance her ferocity.

Diana and Monica supported my little eight year old landscaping business as much as you could support any 8 year old's landscaping business. She turned down every boy's offer to do her yard, and called me every Friday evening to mow the lawn and pull her weeds. She told me that was a great example of what "woman power" meant.

One day, there was a weed I just could not pull out. It was thorny and deeply rooted to the ground. She came out and saw me struggling, rather than pulling it herself, she shouted "You can do this Ashleigh! You just need to believe! You are a woman! You are strong! Show this weed who is boss!" Feeling strong and powerful, I removed my gloves and rugged at the roots with my bare hands. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I did not realize the pain I was in until after the weed was ripped out, and my hands were drenched in blood. I cried, and had to get stitches on the palm of my right hand, but I did get that doll. I hadn't pulled a weed since then.

I encountered yet another weed such as that from so many years ago. Fortunately, this one did not have any thorns, and I wasn't as cocky. I pulled and pulled at the weed, although I was stronger now, this one was a lot harder to rip out. I tugged and pulled arduously when I noticed Ennay, in the corner of my eye, silently snickering. She then pointed to a tree that was connected to this "weed". I felt incredibly dumb after that.

After her garden was tended to, I checked up on her, took her blood pressure, and she prepared our lunch. I offered my assistance, but she insisted that she cook. Sometimes, I wonder why I am here for her in the first place. She gets around easily by herself, and she is in fairly good shape for her age. As much as I appreciate the less amount of work that I have to do, I do feel somewhat useless sometimes. At times, I think she is even better off than I am.

I had never really known any of my grandparents, except for my mother's mother, Nona, who reminded me a lot of Ennay. I only got to see her during the Holidays, but those would be the best days of my first eight years of life. My grandma, Nona, had always given the best gifts. Whenever she was in town, I knew I'd be in for a very special treat. She was probably my favorite relative—quite possibly—my favorite person in the whole world.

On my ninth Christmas or so, I remember my Nona did not attend our Christmas festivities, nor did she the next year, or the next. I wondered what happened to my Nona, but my mother assured me that she was fine, that she was just having fun at home. She told me Nona had joined a retirement center and was having fun with her other old friends. I begged my mother to let us join her but she would not acquiesce to my persistent begging. I decided that I would try to go back to tending lawns until I learned something.

It turned out, my grandmother had not been celebrating Christmas in a retirement center. She had been in bed rest the entire time in a nursing home in Florida. My mother had a falling out with her, and my mother refused to call her. According to Uncle Terry, my grandmother was ill with Parkinson's, and had not heard a word from my mother or me.

The last time I saw her was In Easter, but there were no bright pastel colors, no egg hunts or chocolate. Everyone was dressed in black that overcast afternoon as Nona's casket was lowered into the ground. Only my mother, Uncle Terry, Grandfather, and Aunt Jacklyn were there. Because of my grandma, I decided that I wanted to get into geriatrics.

The moon was visible over the evening sky. Ennay was fast asleep and my shift was over. I did not really know what to do with my free time. The town did not have much to offer, especially not at night. There were no clubs, no 24/7 open McDonalds. While there was one bar in the town, its hours were finicky as it depended on how long the owner wanted to keep it open. I figured I would just go back into my room and read a book.

Down the dirt road my trusty little car drove. Although it still did not look like most of the cars in this town, it had lost a bit of its luster. I parked my car in the twelve-car parking lot, and fumbled in my purse for my room key. The motel was not the best, the exterior walls were supposed to be white, but they are so grimy to the point where you cannot tell what color they were supposed to originally be. I think there is probably some mold growing in the air vents, the room smells musty and feels very stuffy, and nothing ever seemed properly clean. The bed was rock solid, and springs stabbed me in the back as I tossed and turned at night. However, I reminded myself, it could be worse. I was just grateful that it had hot water, a bed to sleep on, and—although very, very slow—some WiFi.

When I entered my room, I put my keys back into my purse, when I did I felt a small slip of paper. I assumed it was a receipt, and without much thought, I pulled it out to throw away. I then looked at it and saw a phone number written across it, with the name Joseph written above it. Then, I remembered. I remembered his sly, mischievous charm, his splendid stature, and his clear complexion. I pondered, "should I call him?" I grabbed my pen and fidgeted with it a bit.

Maybe it would be fun.

Click.

This place is kind of boring.

Click.

Maybe there's more to it that he can show me.

Click.

I think I'll call him.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the numbers with caution. As the phone called, my heart pounded, and my stomach fluttered. I hadn't felt this way in such a long time.

Click.

It was... nice. Then, the call went to voicemail.

Click.

With the sound of the beep, my heart sank.