There Is No Silence Without Noise

There is no silence without noise.

Even in the early hours Brussels Airport was one of the busiest places in Belgium. People were queuing up, trying to get quickly to the ticket office. Even though there still was another school week, you could spy some parents with very small children running behind them. People were pushing trolleys loaded with suitcases and most of them were trying to find their way through the crowd.
Amidst the hectic chaos, a girl arrived accompanied by her parents, both looking grumpily straight ahead and trying to avoid eye contact. They stopped walking to check their flight information papers.
“Where do we have to go to?” asked the girl nervously. She was carrying a black bag containing her ballet shoes and dance clothes.
“The third office on the left side. We’ll have to wait for another fifteen minutes until it opens.” Her father replied. “I can’t wait till we’re on the plane. I bloody hate waiting.”
He turned and marched away, joining the queue. The woman and girl tried to keep up. The girl sighed, her father wasn’t known for his patience or keenness on adventure. Those character flaws were costing him his marriage. She silently knew about it. They were only going on this journey to build up her career as a starting professional ballet dancer. At only fourteen years old a Russian company had shown interest in her and she was on her way to audition.
“Mina, are you coming? We’re only doing this for you, you know.”
She had been dreaming and that’s why she hadn’t joined the queue yet.
“Have you brought everything?” her mum asked. We’re immediately going to the audition room.”
As an answer Mina rolled her eyes.
Her father sniffed. “Which clothing have you packed? I hope it isn’t too revealing. You know I don’t want any of that.”
That was her mum’s cue to start arguing again. In hushed voices they whispered angrily. Since her father was Islamic and she was starting to become a woman, he didn’t like her wearing anything too revealing, which was kinda problematic if you were a ballet dancer.
The ticket office had opened up and the queue was starting to thin when it was their turn.
“Your ti…”
A deafening explosion pressed them to the ground, crashing everything. That’s when the noise stopped and there was only silence. Mina looked around her, not registering yet what had happened. That’s when she saw her father lying on the ground. His image was only something ever seen on television, when they filmed areas at war. Blood was streaming out of multiple wounds and a part of his leg was torn off. She tried screaming, but didn’t hear a sound. She didn’t know if she just couldn’t manage it or if she couldn’t hear anymore. She looked around, but saw only flashes. People pushing each other, trying to get out. More blood and flesh. More chaos than anyone could imagine.
A sickening feeling started to build in her chest, blurry-eyed she scanned the hall for her mother but couldn’t find her. Mina tried getting up, but couldn’t move her feet. Her gaze wandered back to her father, to the torn off leg and she saw a large piece of ceiling lying next to him. It had crushed him.
Mina closed her eyes as vomit came out of her mouth. She tried sitting up, rocking herself back and forward. She still couldn’t hear a sound and the silence was deafening, driving her to the brink of going crazy.
The hall was almost empty now, except for the bodies and lots of broken glass. Empty-eyed she stared at nothing and everything all at once.
A man came running towards her, but she barely registered him. He seemed to speak to her, but his words were lost. Her consciousness was giving up, eyes flickering shut and her mind going even blanker. She welcomed the emptiness.

Days passed in a blur, a combination of waking moments and the ever welcoming moments of oblivion. The feeling of pain had finally caught up with her. The agony of the various wounds couldn’t be compared with the realization of what really had happened. She sometimes saw nurses giving her pitying looks and her mum's face flashed in and out of sight. At one moment Mina caught her staring at the news, not realizing her daughter could be awake. It showed an Arabic looking man, face obscured by a white hat. Realization started to hit her, Arabic as in Islamic, as in… just like her?

She tried getting up, but panic held her back, oblivion caught up with her again, protecting her.
It took a while but the waking hours started to get longer, until oblivion was only an unrealizable dream. The noise had finally caught up with her, deafening as it was.
“Are you hungry?” A smiling nurse put a tray loaded with hospital food in front of her.
“Is she awake?” a different voice asked. Moments later she realized it was her mother’s.
“Yes, she is.”
“What’s wrong? Can’t she hear us?” The stress was clearly audible in her mum’s voice. “Will she be able to hear again? She’s a ballet dancer, she needs…”
“I think,” said the nurse immediately, “she can hear us, but she’s in shock. At this moment her brain is protecting her. “
“Will she ever talk again?”
At that moment an official looking man entered the room.
“Sorry to bother, but I’m Serge Dubois, police. We met a few days ago.”
“Of course… Yes, I remember.” Her mum answered.
“Where were you when the explosion happened?”
I was standing next to them. I was thrown on the ground, I got up but I couldn’t see them. I was pushed outside.”
So her mum had left her. This was even harder to process. She had left them to die.
“I couldn’t find them,” her mum stressed.
“Of course, it’s understandable. If there’s anything you need, do let us know.”

Weeks passed and Mina moved to a different ward. Her wounds had healed, but the psychological emptiness didn’t. It got worse. She couldn’t start to process the ugly truth. Her father’s death, her mum who hadn’t had the reflex to protect her, the Islamic killers, who had chosen their faith as a reason to kill. In her mind she saw people watching her accusingly.
“You’re Islamic, you could be a possible killer,” their eyes seemed to say.
No sound had left her lips even though she was alert and the doctors and nurses were doing everything they could.
“Look the sun is shining. Don’t you want to go outside?” a nurse, she had seen daily, said on a summer day. She looked at her expectedly, like she was going to answer.
“Shall I push your chair outside?” The nurse got hold of the handles of her wheelchair, went to the escalator, pushing her in. At the ground floor they got out, leaving the hospital behind them.
Outside the sun teased her skin, warming her flesh. Mina turned her face to it. Her lips started to quiver. Tears, long held back, were finally welling up. The nurse noticed, smiled and put her mouth closely to Mina’s ear.
“See, all hope isn’t lost to the world. Where there is sun, there is warmth, there is love,” she whispered.
Tears were streaming over her face and in that moment she finally let go of her sadness, her anger and her fears. She was finally free again.