Silence So Loud
Chapter #1- Introduction
I was on my way back from gymnastics; we had just finished state regional last week, and I came in 1st in 3 different categories and I just mastered my double full-back on the uneven bars. I throw my bag onto the kitchen counter, and sigh at the bottom of the stairs, letting the cool air conditioning embrace me.
On the whole ride home, with my car-pooler, and best friend, Izzie, I fantasized about the steamy hot water running down my back, my cool, mango conditioner on my pale blonde hair.
I bound up the stairs, heading straight to my room, where I dive onto my pale yellow quilt, kicking off my old sneakers. I quickly strip off my baggy old Boston Red Socks hoodie, and holey grey sweats, and finally, my dark blue leotard. I slip over toward my closet, and pull out a towel.
Once it’s wrapped securely around my chest, I slip down the hall to the bathroom, where, naturally, my brother, Danny, is occupying it. Hockey must have ended early today. He’s sixteen- two years older than me.
“Danny, hurry up! I have to shower too!” I call, as I bang loudly on the door. I can just picture the satisfied smirk on his face on the other side of the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” He called back, his voice smug.
I scowl, and stomp back through the hall to my room, where I exchange the towel around me, for my soft bathrobe sit down on my bed, and pick up my ancient copy of Little Women, my all-time favourite novel ever since I saw the play on Broadway a few years back.
Time passes, and before I know it, I glance up at my digital clock; its bright blue numbers now glow 7:45 ...I got home at 7:00. I sigh. Danny’s probably been out of the shower for at least a half hour minutes. I toss my book onto my dresser, and pad over to the bathroom, my bare feet slapping quietly against the hardwood floors.
With a slight flick of my finger, I lock the door behind me, and let my bathrobe fall to the tiled floor, pooling around my feet. Just as I’m about to turn on the water, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My pale, muscular figure bent awkwardly over the bathtub, blonde hair spilling onto my back.
But, right at my spine, I catch a glimpse of a dark, yellowing bruise, opposite to my belly button. I get up, and turn around, twisting so that I can see my back reflecting back at me. All down my spine, shoulder blades, and even my hips, are purple, angry-looking bruises the size of quarters.
Naturally, I’m used to bruises, since I train 6 days a week, 4 hours a day, all gymnastics. Bruises are normal for me, so it’s no biggie, but I’ve never had so many, all at once, so big. I’ve done really well this week with my training, hardly ever falling; and certainly not enough times, or hard enough to bruise like this.
But, not wanting to stress myself out, I shrug it off, and force my eyes away from the mirror. It’s probably from all that extra training I’ve been putting in lately; 2 private lessons a week, since last month. My body isn’t used to being pushed like this. I turn back towards the tub, where I slowly turn the knob, and hot water blasts out of the shower, and I pull the curtain closed, as I let the hot water soak into my ever pour.
I just stand there for a minute, letting the steamy water relax my muscles.
This is a big luxury for me, since usually not wanting to waste water, l take short, 3 or 4 minute showers. I breathe slowly, taking in the burning water. Finally, I sigh heavily, and force my hand to twist the knob, the water slowing, slowing, and the stops. I step out of the shower, and quickly wrap up in my fuzzy, white towel.
I run my brush through my freshly conditioned hair, and briskly pull it into a tight ponytail. After drying off, I slip on my bathrobe, and glance at the time on the clock we keep on our wall. Its 8:00 and I’ve already had dinner, (McDonald's on the way back from Gymnastics) so I open up my drawer, and pull out a toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste.
I squirt some onto the toothbrush, and hold it under some cold water for a few seconds, then quickly start scrubbing the toothbrush over all of my teeth. I spit loudly in the sink, then gargle with water, and wipe my mouth on my towel. I can taste blood in my mouth, the rusty, salt-like tingling on my tongue is unmistakable, and I gargle again, and sure enough, the bright red blood is in the water when I spit into the sink.
I pull a tissue from the box on the counter, and press it against the part of my gum that the blood-taste is most strong. I hold it there for a little while, tenderly rubbing the cut on my gum with the soft tissue until I can no longer taste it.
Sluggishly, I make my way back to my room, where I hang up my bathrobe, and slip into my favorite, bright yellow fleece pyjama pants, along with a plain grey tank-top. My cat, Daisy, slinks into the room, her body low to the ground, and she lets out a miserable cry, accompanied by the soft tinkle of the bell on her collar. I sigh. Crap. She’s in heat again. I honestly don’t see why my parents won’t get her spayed, putting her (and us, honestly) through that every month.
Her smoky grey fur, soft and fuzzy, and her ears, mouth, and tail a chocolaty- brown. Her bread is a Rag doll, which I guess is because if you pick her up, she just melts into your arms, and doesn’t fidget with you. She just kind of goes limp, and let’s you pet her.
I grin, as she jumps lightly onto my bed, and pick her up tenderly, scratching her behind her ears, as I hold her, her head resting in the crook of my arm, her tummy facing the ceiling.
She purrs, her voice raspy from being in heat, and nestles into my arms. My fingers trace her collar lightly, the silver fish design stitched into the soft pink thread. My thumb reaches her tag; the cold metal sends a shiver down my spine- but the good kind.
We had to get Daisy a collar last winter, when she decided she liked to go outside. Now during the summer, she often brings moles and small rabbits up to the front stoop, a “present” for me- her loving owner.
I have a dog, too, but he’s more Danny’s than anyone else’s, like Daisy is more mine than anyone else’s. Our dog, Deuce, a welsh corgi, is tan and white, his stubby little legs make him look stocky, though he’s not fat. He follows Danny up to the bus stop every morning at 7:00, when he catches the bus, and waits there every afternoon at 3:00 when he returns.
Since I train a total of 24 hours a week, (6 days a week, 4 hours a day) I have a private tutor on Monday through Friday, from 7:00 to 2:00. Then, I go to gymnastics from 2:30 to 6:30, and I get home at 7:00, in time for dinner. That’s a total of 7 hours of school; the same amount a kid at public school gets. My tutor, Jimmy, is 48, single, handsome, in that old -kind of way, and graduated from Clemson at age 25, with a teaching degree.
With all the job cuts here in North Carolina, it was difficult for him to find a job that met his desires, so he hunted out a job as a private tutor. He came across us, and looked over the ad in the newspaper, and online.
Yep. That was 6 years ago, and I loved him at once. Not literally, but he was like a second father to me; he was part of the family! Even Danny liked him; and it’s hard to impress Danny. We all took in Jimmy at once, with his clean- cut shaved chin, dark, tousled chocolate brown hair
I grinned, as soon as I opened the door, and he looked down at me through the thick- lenses of his glasses, and smiled back. “I like him.” I declared, as my parents appeared at my side, and they began shaking hands with him.
“Lacy! Did you do your homework?” My mom calls upstairs, I roll my eyes. “Yeah, mom.” I call downstairs. She tries to be a perfect mother; the ones you see in the 60’s movies, with the apron on at dinner, the whole family gathered ‘round the table, as she reveals a stunning turkey with stuffing surrounding it on a giant plate. She got pregnant when she was only 18, with Danny, and 20, with me.
My parents, you see, they were madly in love, and got married a year after Danny was born, and went to the Bahamas for their honeymoon for 2 months (Danny was staying with my dad’s parents), where my mother got pregnant with me, and spent the whole 2nd month of their honeymoon with odd cravings, and morning sickness.
My mom loves me, and she’s a good mother; no, an amazing mother. But sometimes, she just doesn’t have a clue. But, when I went downstairs, to kiss her goodnight, she got a nice good look at my shoulder blades, which showed some of the worst of the bruises.
“What is that?” She exclaimed, bouncing upright from her chair, as she examined the bruises.
My mom’s a nurse at the local Huntersville Paediatric Hospital, so she’s used to treating this stuff, and goes into full Nurse-Mode. I shrug away, pulling my arm into my chest. “It’s nothing. Probably just working myself too hard on the vault.” I reply weakly, using my best excuse; the vault is my worst category in gymnastics.
“Well, I want to take you into the doctor’s office, just in case.” She insisted, as I roll my eyes again. “Mom, really, it’s nothing. I don’t want you worrying over nothing.” I assure her calmly. “Look, I’m just really tired, okay? I’m going to go to bed early.” I reply, and this isn’t a complete lie; I am tired….
Actually, a lot more tired than I usually am at this hour (8:00), but I figure it’s nothing, and retreat up to my room, where I let myself burrow under the warm Egyptian cotton sheets, drifting off to sleep.
