Mary Without Sound

2: You Have to Get Used to It

“What do you mean, she doesn’t talk?” I frown. “As in…she can’t?”

He shakes his head.

“She won’t.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “She’s done this before. In college...” He shakes his head again, but doesn’t finish the story.

“Why?”

“Matt, I know you’re doing us a favor and all, but…that’s for her to tell you.”

“Which she won’t,” I dryly point out. He shrugs again.

“Sorry,” he offers again, running a hand through his hair. “She OD’ed…she doesn’t have anyone else anymore. Besides me. I’m sorry.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“She’s not into the hard stuff anymore.”

“Are you sure?” I ask cautiously.

He’d mentioned he hadn’t seen her in a year.

“She overdosed on anxiety pills. If she was still doing hard drugs and wanted to kill herself, she wouldn’t be here right now. Trust me.”

I bite my lip, thinking.

“I know I didn’t ask you to babysit.”

“But…” I egg him on.

“But she used to be like my sister. And I barely know who she is anymore.” He pauses. “Not since…”

“I know, I know, you haven’t seen her in a year.” Then I think of something. “What if she tries to…you know…” I ask, still hesitant.

“She won’t,” he immediately states. “I promised not to tell her parents where she is. If she even-”

“Her parents? Jesus, Justin. How old is she?” He rolls his eyes.

“Same as you. I’m not asking you to babysit,” he repeats.

“How do you know she won’t try?”

“I trust her,” he says firmly, and that appears to be the end of the argument. “She can afford half the rent. I don’t know what she’s been doing for the past year, but she was working in photography and filming music videos the last time I saw her.”

The pause in conversation is yet again graced by Mary’s presence, as if she was waiting for us to stop talking about her. She passes by but doesn’t look at us as she heads back to my guest room.

“I can stay for awhile longer. If you want. I know it’s weird,” he sympathizes.

“She’s going to be living with me, right?” I reason. “I’ll have to get used to it.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Justin was right.

It’s weird knowing someone else is in the apartment but at the same time not.

She’s only left the guest room twice since this afternoon.

Once for a glass of tap water and another for a smoke break.

I hesitantly go to knock at the door, to see if she’s hungry or needs anything, I don’t know.

Maybe I’m just too bored for my own sanity.

I don’t know what to do with myself lately.

There’s no response, so I knock again, louder.

She still doesn’t answer.

I push the door open very slowly, in case she’s changing or something.

But she’s not.

She’s sitting on the floor, her suitcase only half unpacked, but she’s looking through a box.

More specifically, the box that holds memories I don’t want to revisit, ones I shoved deep into the depths of the guest room closet so I wouldn’t be tempted to remember.

She holds up a smallish black box, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Uh…that- that’s nothing,” I quickly lie unconvincingly.

I take it from her, throwing it back in the cardboard box with more force than necessary then shoving it back inside the closet.

I’d forgotten I left it in there.

I’d meant to sell it so I’d never have to see it again, but I never got around to it.

She raises an eyebrow.

It says yeah right and whatever at the same time.

“I’m about to order some pizza…” I change the subject.

Her eyebrow stays arched.

I stay hopelessly confused.