Mute

Chapter 3

   "Why don't you talk?"

   You know how many times I'd asked myself that? More times than I could count. I mean really- there has to be a reason. So one day I decided it was time to figure it out. Granted, I'm no psychologist, and I'm definitely not good at analyzing myself. I mean, you should see how many times I've thought that I would love to have something, but I've ended up hating it. Don't even get me started on the Beanie Baby crisis of '14. I ended up with a roomful of Beanie Babies and no sleep. How could someone sleep with all those stuffed animals in the room, just waiting for you to fall asleep so they can come alive? 

   Yeah, I know I'm weird. I think I've watched Toy Story one too many times.

   But this was something I should be able to figure out. So I ripped out a page in my notebook, flopped down on my bed, and wrote out a list of questions with a glittery gel pen. I wrote out "Why Can't I Talk?" on the top of the page, underlined it, then scribbled down the questions. It took a while, but then I was done, staring at my list of questions to myself. I decided to take them one at a time, writing down the answer after I'd read the question.

1: Am I too afraid of people to talk?

   A little. I'm more afraid of being judged than I let on. But I like to think that if I started talking, my fears would disappear and I'd become a queen bee. And I wouldn't have a lack of things to say. With all the sarcastic comments I think to myself every day about other people, I'm pretty sure that's a no-brainer.

2:  Am I afraid that I don't know what to say?

   I hesitated, then wrote "No" again. Sure, I'd probably have a hard time talking to some people, like Arnold Poindexter, the school nerd. He's so proud that he got named after the original Arnold Poindexter- who was a character in some weird nerd book I'd never heard of. And he's a total math freak. I've got nothing against him (he's practically a genius) but whenever anyone tries to talk to him, he starts jabbering excitedly about the Pythagorean theorem and equidigital numbers. Who- besides geniuses- knows that kind of stuff? But now I've rambled. Back to my questions. I dangled my feet over the edge of my bed and ran my finger down to the next question.

3: Am I afraid that if I talk, I'll get too attached to people?

   I stopped short, as a memory flooded me, my mind flashing back to a scene from four years ago.

      I was 12 and your typical teenager/still kid. I mean, I was a real mix. Blonde pigtails... and mini skirts. Jumpers- and high heels. Bead bracelets and shorts shorts. Need I go on? And I was happy. I lived in Virginia, for crying out loud, and my family went to the beach all the time. Yeah, I said "my family". I had a family. An adoptive family, but a family nevertheless. My mom had given me away as a baby, and I'd never seen her. But my family felt like they were blood family. Awesome dad, amazing mom, and- slightly- annoying big brother. He was only a year older than me, though, so it almost seemed like we were twins. People asked us all the time if we were. I loved my brother so much. We'd stay up night after night, whispering secrets to each other and munching on Oreos we'd smuggled from the pantry.

     I was still a quiet kid. I'd speak when spoken to, but not much after that. It was only when I was with the people I deeply loved that I'd really open up. My mom joked that I was both an owl and a sparrow, hooting quietly around people I didn't know, but chirping excitedly when I was really comfortable. And I told them everything. Whenever I discovered something new, like why dolphins chatter, or what makes the wind blow, they were the first to hear, because I knew they loved me and cared about me. Looking back on it, I didn't really have any friends outside of my family, except one girl named Sydney. I knew her pretty well, and we hung out a lot. I really liked her, but still never truly opened up to her. I just said what I needed to say to keep her as my friend. I guess my family felt like enough to me.