Sounds Of Silence

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

I knew I was in the hospital, but everything felt like some bizarre and twisted dream. I felt hot. Then cold. Then hot again. My body ached—all of my joints, my neck, my head. And whatever didn’t ache, throbbed.

Whenever I opened my eyes I saw shadowy faces hovering over me. Sometimes it was Mom and Dad, sometimes Brenda. Maybe other times doctors and nurses. It was when I opened my eyes and saw no one, just the room, dark, that I felt alone and frightened.

One word kept coming into my mind. I’d heard people around me saying it, sometimes loudly, mostly in whispers. Meningitis.

At times the dream turned into a nightmare. Monsters would attack, biting and stinging my arms. Once, while I was curled into a ball, I was stung down at the bottom of my back, close to my rear end. The pain shot through my body like fire racing through my spine.

Most of the time my body felt drained, as if all my blood had been sucked out and all that was left were heavy bones under wrinkled, sagging skin.

When I opened my eyes, the sun poured through the window into my hospital room. Flowers, balloons, and fruit baskets sat clustered together on the table. Mom slept in the chair by the window. Had she spent the night?

“Mom?”

Something felt strange. I couldn’t hear the sound of my voice. My heart beat hard inside my ribcage. I could not hear the sound of my voice. “Mom?” I said again. No. I heard nothing.

Had I talked to anyone since I arrived at the hospital? I wasn’t sure—it was all so hazy. I felt tired and weak. My dry and scratchy throat felt rusty from neglect. Maybe I was still asleep, still dreaming.

I tried again. “Mom? Mom, can you hear me? Mom?”

She woke with a start and jumped up. Her pillow fell to the floor. She rushed over to my bed. I could see her lips move. She smiled, cried silently, ran her fingers through my hair.

She thought I could hear. She had no idea I was clueless about what she said.

I poked a finger in each ear in search of cotton balls, or earplugs, in search of whatever had plugged them up, but found nothing. If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have laughed. What was going on?

“Mom?” It was a test. I knew I was talking, could feel the vibration in my throat and jaw.

Silence.

She backed away from the bed, as if something frightened her. Her lips kept moving, faster now. Her eyes got wide while the rest of her face crinkled up, the way she looked when she saw a spider on the kitchen countertop, but I still couldn’t hear a word she said.

“I can’t hear. I can’t hear you.” I tried to sit up, but dizziness settled me back against the pillows. “Mom!” I was about to fall out of bed. I grabbed the railing and clamped it with a white-knuckle grip.

She looked panicked and started snapping fingers near my face. I just kept shaking my head. “I can’t hear it.”

She ran toward the door and darted out into the hall.

All this activity was like watching television with the sound off. Where was the remote? I needed to turn the volume up, but there was nothing to reach for or press.

Whenever I swam underwater, my ears would fill up, and all I had to do was rattle my head from side to side to clear them and everything would be all right. I slapped at the sides of my head, attempting to shake out whatever it was that was keeping me from hearing. I was still doing this when my mother returned dragging a doctor along by the sleeve of his white coat.