Silence Speaks Louder

Emilee gazed out the picture window with no particular thoughts in her head; a slight breeze lifted a few leaves from the trees just outside and swirled them into the air. She took a deep breath, and then slowly raised her right hand, holding the bow delicately between her fingers. A moment later and it was placed on the violin neatly resting just below her chin, poised to play.

Her heart flooded with an immeasurable sense of joy at the first pull of the bow across the strings. Oh, if only hearing people knew what it was like to feel this alive! Sometimes it was so difficult for those with perfect audition to understand how you could know something was beautiful-sounding without ever having heard it. But Emilee did hear it--she did, no matter what the others said. It was just in a different fashion than they perceived. The motion from the fine hairs of the bow gliding across the strings sent out stirring melodic vibrations that she could feel through her whole body. Low tones were deeper, heavier, moodier, while the high tones were lighter and blissful.

Emilee had read in symphonic reviews that listening to a concerto from a single violin could inspire sorrow, tenderness... passion... heartache. Well, playing the violin instilled the same sentiments in her heart. She wondered if those music critics knew that was possible? What the instrument did to her would be something of a phenomenon to them, how she had grown to love it so much.

And the best part? For a few, infinite-seeming moments, she wasn't just some deaf teenage girl, she wasn't just playing the violin, and she wasn't just Emilee. She was something beyond a name, something beyond her self. She was feeling, and she was the music--and to put it simply, she was happy.

The trouble was, frustration lay at the base of these emotions. There was always a little sliver of pleasure that she was never able to grasp from playing the violin; because whether or not one considered how Emilee feel emotionally, the fact was that she was still deaf. She couldn't hear, she could only feel. And it was inarguable that the two senses, though they had similar intentions in some respects, were essentially seperate wholes of their own. Never one in the same, never the full experience.

So back and forth, the violin cried a melancholy melody, true sounds unbeknownst to Emilee's unhearing ears. But the emotions welled up inside her all the same, the way tears might in the corner of an eye--heavily, and threatening to spill over in torrents at any moment. She would enjoy what she could for the time being, and only hope that one day she would somehow find a way to enjoy the deepest parts of the music.

It wasn't until she pulled the bow across for the last time that she realized she had been holding her breath.

[&silence]

Emilee loved car rides. They were empty of conversation-- mostly because her mother couldn't sign to her while driving, and it was uncomfortable--for both parties--to stare in one direction at a person's lips for a long length of time. But Emilee made good use of the senses that she did have, and watched the scenery fly by. It didn't matter if it was flat, grassy land or the sidewalks of suburbia, she gazed out the window and tried to concentrate on what abilities she still had. Just thinking and feeling.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a building that looked exactly like all the other buildings surrounding it in the industrial complex. Emilee sighed and turned to her mother, who, it seemed, had started to talk to her.

"Do you want me to walk you inside?" she was saying. Emilee shook her head.

"I can handle it alone." Mrs. Taylor considered her daughter curiously. Sometimes, on even the simplest of days, the girl was a msytery.

"I know you can." She leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "I'll pick you up at seven."

Emilee entered the Center for Hearing and Speech a little warily, for she had no idea what the expectations of her new job were going to be. She felt a high tone, like something metal hitting glass, as the door shut behind her, and sure enough, there was a bell dangling from the frame. Emilee found it ironic that the center would use a sound to annouce the arrival of patrons.

A petite woman with mass of voluminous dark curls and a genial smile caught her eye through a large window that seperated two rooms. She came round to the other side with questions, and not judgement, in her eyes.

"Hi," she said amiably. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Emilee."

"Oh, right, right. I spoke to your mother on the phone, you're my new aide. But--" She looked confused, and glanced at Emilee's ears, as if they would tell her something. "I thought you were deaf?" The woman paused. "I hope that didn't sound rude."

Emilee sighed inwardly, but strangely, she didn't feel as irritated as she usually did when the subject arose.

"It wasn't. And I am," she affirmed," but I can read lips. I was able to hear long enough to learn how to speak, for the most part." Emilee hoped she had kept the notes of resignation out of her voice--something about the woman made her want to make certain she didn't offend. She was too nice.

The sign language teacher smiled.

"That's remarkable... I don't think I've ever seen a case quite like yourself. Well, my name is Denise and I guess I'll be your boss--though I'd rather you just consider me a coworker and friend on a mission similar to your own." She flashed a larger smile at her new aide, displaying an even row of white teeth.

Mission? Emilee wondered-- but then she realized Denise probably meant helping the children, so she smiled. This woman seemed so genuine and selfless--it was a little intimidating. Technically, Emilee was there because it was the only job she could hold, but Denise really was passionate about her cause.

"There's some paperwork regarding your employment that needs to be filled out." She glanced tentatively towards the blue painted door just behind her. "Would you like to take some time to get acquainted with the children you'll be working with?"

"Sure." What else was she going to do?

"In that case, you can just go on--" The thud of short-striding footsteps interrupted Emilee's ability to focus on Denise's moving lips. A moment later, a little boy dashed past her and nearly collided with Denise.

"Oh, and I'd like you to meet my son, Franklin." The boy wrinkled his nose as she spoke.

"I'm Frankie, Mom, not Franklin." He tossed the last word out with an amusing amount of contempt.

Sorry, Frankie," Denise corrected herself. She looked back at Emilee apologetically. "I bring him with me because he likes to play with all the kids. Many of them are about his age." She mussed the little boy's hair affectionately. "And I think it's a good experience for him. The rest of my children are almost grown, but they were exposed to this setting at an early age as well."

Emilee nodded understandingly.

"Anyways. Feel free to go into the room and talk with some of the kids." Denise patted Emilee's arm in a motherly fashion. "I'm sure they'll love you." And with that, she left the lobby through another door in the back.

Frankie looked up at his mother's new aide shyly, then darted through the blue door and out of sight. Emilee, intrigued, followed.

It was a large, brightly lit room decorated in vivid primary colors--probably to lighten the atmosphere of frustration, Emilee reasoned. To a person with normal hearing, the room might have seemed just a little more than strange; the eerie silence in a room full of children was enough to worry any adult. But even though there were no sounds coming from the occupants of the room, they were just as energetic as their peers would be. A couple of boys were in the corner playing with die-cast racecars on a floor rug shaped like a motor speedway; over to the left, two girls were digging into a box of dolls, minute-sized dresses littering the carpet around them. They signed words back and forth to one another, and from what Emilee could see, the story was that the dolls were going to a fancy ball. Another small group of both genders sat in a circle in the middle of the room, taking turns playing some sort of clapping game.

One little girl caught Emilee's attention. She was sitting at a round table on the opposite side of the room and looked to be about ten years old. Though there was a book held up in front of her, she wasn't reading; instead, she rested her chin in her hand and observed Emilee curiously. Emilee smiled at her, a little unsure--but sure enough, the girl smiled back and waved. Emilee felt a small surge of confidence and crossed over to the table, taking the empty chair across the table.

Hi, the girl signed, looking timid and reserved. I'm Ayla. What's your name?

Emilee, Emilee signed back. What are you reading? Ayla turned the book so the cover was facing front: The Scarlett Letter. Emilee couldn't help raising her eyebrows, but tried to do so good-naturedly.

Nathaniel Hawthorne is a great writer. But do your parents know you're reading that? It's for much older kids. The girl shrugged halfheartedly.

My teacher said I should read it, even if the subject is a little inappropriate. I get bored with the dumb books we read in class... fifth grade is really boring. So is TV. This is a lot better. Ayla was impressing Emilee quite a bit--and she reminded her a little of herself, too. It was going to be difficult to remember that she was only ten.

Why are you here? Ayla signed. For a girl who initially seemed shy, she was surprisingly bold. Are you deaf, too?

I'm going to be working with Denise to help teach you all more sign language. And yes, I'm deaf. Ayla frowned.

But I saw you through the window. You were talking to--

Emilee felt a lock click into place and turned over her right shoulder. Denise had come into the room and closed the door behind her. She beckoned to her aide with a flick of her index finger.

"Be right there," Emilee called in response. When she faced Ayla once more, the girl looked utterly mystified.

I thought you said you were deaf? How come you can hear her, but I can't? For a second, it seemed Ayla let her defenses down, and her lip quivered. It was Emilee's turn to be confused. What was wrong?

Emilee raised her hand to her should to sign back. All she got out was I used to be... before a red rubber ball flew in between the girls and bounced off the tabletop. She looked at Ayla, not sure what to do, but picked up the ball and headed over to where Denise was standing.

"So. What do you think so far?"

"Uhmm." Emilee chose her words carefully. "What can you tell me about the girl I was just sitting with?"

"Ayla?..." Denise trailed off for a moment, in thought. "She's a sweet girl. A year ago she developed Autoimmune Inner Ear Disease--the doctors didn't catch it in time, they couldn't keep up with how fast it progressed. She's been completely deaf for about six months now." The woman tilted her head to the side, thinking again. "She's exceptionally bright, and as I'm sure you've noticed, she signs like she's been doing it her whole life. But she struggles with the fact that she can no longer hear. She could talk if she wanted to, but I think that she refuses to because it upsets her that she can't hear her own words."

The amount of love and concern that was visible in Denise's eyes touched Emilee's heart. She was so passionate when it came to helping the disabled children... Though she'd known the woman for less than an hour, there was a sense she gave off that practically inspired one to do good. Because, more than anything, she cared about the well-being of these kids and would do anything to help them.

And Emilee wondered if she would ever have something that special to offer these children.