Silent Voice

Chapter 10 - I Remember

Claire remembers...

Trigger warning for a parent hurting a child, hospitalization. Skip to the next section if you want.

"She's a nightmare child! Uncontrollable!" Mrs. Brown said.

It's not your fault.

"I shouldn't have to deal with this," Mrs. Brown spat. "I need to get rid of her."

It's not your fault.

...

The sun hung low in the sky, and little Claire's stomach was making noises. She had been left home alone for about 2 hours now, and she had climbed on all the kitchen counters, but none of the cabinets would open. The cabinets hadn't opened right ever since Claire got into the peanut butter, and her mommy had screamed and yelled, and her parents had argued a lot.

Nobody had told Claire that peanut butter didn't belong on the floor (Claire thought it would be fun!), but the pain ringing in her ears afterward had left a strong impression.

But one mistake was all it took for privileges to be lost forever. And Claire had lost the privilege of independent access to food.

So when Claire heard the sound of the garage door, she quickly climbed under the table and sat there. There were a lot of things that had made her mommy upset, and sitting under the table wasn't one of them so far. And Claire wanted Mommy to be happy.

Mrs. Brown shut the door behind her. She was humming. Humming! Humming could mean she was happy!

Mrs. Brown set an orange bottle on the counter, and it rattled. Claire climbed out from under the table. She reached for the bottle. It made good sounds! She and her mommy could make the sounds, and hum, and dance maybe! Mommy never danced, but that's okay. Claire could teach her.

But Mrs. Brown just scowled and swatted Claire's hands away. "Don't touch that!" she snapped. "I'm busy!"

Claire sat on the floor and waited while her mommy did things on the kitchen countertop. (Claire couldn't see what was going on.) So Claire looked out the window, at the birds and the bright clouds, wondering why do the sun and clouds copy each other when the sun goes down? Who starts it? And why do they only go like yellow, orange, red, and purple? Why not green, ever? How do they choose?

Claire had often wondered about questions like these. But since she couldn't talk, and no one had tried teaching her other ways to communicate, she could never ask.

Mrs. Brown set a bowl of applesauce on the floor in front of Claire. "Eat," she said. "You hear me? EAT."

Claire stared at the applesauce. She was supposed to sit at the table when she ate. And hold a fork or a spoon. And have quiet hands, no wiggling or playing allowed. If she didn't, the food would be taken away.

"Now what? Doesn't she always eat like an animal?" Mrs. Brown muttered.

"Animal" was a thing Claire had seen on flashcards, but not in real life. She was supposed to touch that flashcard on command. Only, her hands sometimes grabbed the wrong flashcard, because she would try and try but her hands wouldn't work right. Then the therapist would sigh and write things on the secret clipboard, and then Claire would have to do it over and over again. Claire didn't like flashcards.

Mrs. Brown put a spoon in Claire's hand. "I'm surprised she doesn't just gobble it down, now that she's allowed. It's not like she'll be eating anything after this, anyway."

Claire's stomach made a sound, and she spooned some applesauce out, trying to please Mommy, but spilling it on her shirt. (Claire's hands didn't always do what she wanted.) She froze, waiting to be scolded, but nothing happened.