{"id":4207,"date":"2020-04-03T11:55:18","date_gmt":"2020-04-03T15:55:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/?p=4207"},"modified":"2021-07-13T12:42:53","modified_gmt":"2021-07-13T16:42:53","slug":"seeing-voices","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/seeing-voices\/","title":{"rendered":"Seeing Voices"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Seeing Voices<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

By Olivia Smit<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Skylar Brady has a plan for her life\u2014until a car accident changes everything. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Skylar knows exactly what she wants,\nand getting in a car accident the summer before twelfth grade isn\u2019t\nsupposed to be part of the plan. Although she escapes mostly unharmed, the\naccident has stolen more than just her hearing from her: she\u2019s also lost the\nclose bond she used to have with her brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When her parents decide to take a\nhouse-sitting job halfway across the province, it\u2019s just one more thing that\nisn\u2019t going according to plan. As the summer progresses, Skylar begins to gain\nconfidence in herself, but as she tries to mend her relationship with her\nbrother, she stumbles upon another hidden trauma. Suddenly, she\u2019s keeping as\nmany secrets as she\u2019s struggling to uncover and creating more problems than she\ncould ever hope to solve.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

There aren\u2019t any streetlights on country roads. I lean my forehead\nagainst the glass window of our family<\/a> minivan as the fields blur past and\nwonder how I\u2019ve never noticed this before. The dark road stretches calmly out\nin front and behind us, field upon field of corn swaying past the window, with\nno stark pools of lamplight to mark the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My thoughts dance lazily from one idea to\nthe next as the van hums along, my parents talking softly in the front seats.\nIt would be nice to run out here. I let my eyes drift shut, and as I slip\nbetween waking and sleeping, I imagine the feel of loose gravel under my\nsneakers, the gentle shushing of corn stalks rubbing together, and the sun warm\non my skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and my\nbreathing is even as I strike out for the hill, one foot in front of the other.\nAnd then, before I\u2019ve even realized that I\u2019m dreaming, the scene changes. I\u2019m\nat home now, running down the road by our house with my older brother, Mike,\nand suddenly I know exactly where this is going to end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wake up, Skylar<\/em>. I try to shake off the dream before I\u2019m caught reliving my last\nhearing moment over and over again. I need to wake up before the headache\nstarts. Before my family notices that something\u2019s wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre we there yet?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the backseat, my younger sister\u2019s voice\nshrills through the amplifier of my left hearing aid, and my eyes fly open, my\nhand going straight to the left side of my head and the small plastic casing\nburied beneath my hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mike twitches beside me, but when I glance\nacross at him, he\u2019s looking the other way. My twin siblings, six years old but\nconvinced they\u2019re almost twenty-five, lean over my shoulder from the backseat,\nand when Sara keeps talking, her mouth too close to my ear, I jump away from\nthem, fingers scrabbling to turn the sound on my hearing aids down. Even after\nalmost eight months of wearing them, it still takes me a few seconds to find\nthe volume button, and I feel a migraine begin to throb somewheree deep inside\nmy left ear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot yet,\u201d Mom says, turning around in the\nfront seat to answer. Her voice is a low hum in the back of my head, but it\u2019s\nstill light enough outside that I can see her lips to piece together the rest\nof her sentence. \u201cRemember, Aunt Kay\u2019s house is how many hours away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t look to see what the twins say in\nresponse, rubbing the ache behind my ears that comes after a day with my\nhearing aids in. As I dig my fingers a little deeper, the hook that tucks\naround the top of my ear shifts to the side, the plastic caught on a stray\nhair, and tiny pinpricks of pain sprinkle across my scalp. Forget this. I pull\nthe hearing aid out of my ear and then reach for its mate before dropping both\ninto my lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRight.\u201d Mom\u2019s lips move soundlessly as she\nholds up six fingers\u2014it\u2019s a six-hour trip. Bits and pieces of the next sentence\ndrift away from me, but when she holds up one finger, then bends it halfway,\nit\u2019s clear that we have only half an hour left to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I feel, rather than hear, my older brother\nsigh from the seat beside mine, but when I glance across at him, his eyes are\nclosed. He has his headphones on, his toe tapping along to the beat of whatever\nmusic is playing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMike,\u201d I say, almost choking on the silence of the\nwords leaving my mouth. It\u2019s funny, losing your hearing\u2014you always expect the biggest\nsurprise to be when you can\u2019t hear what\u2019s going on in the world around you, but\nfor me it\u2019s more shocking to miss the sound of my own voice. I can still feel\nit, deep inside my chest, but sometimes I feel trapped there, like I\u2019m spinning\nand spinning within the confines of my ribcage, and no matter how loud I shout,\nno matter how deeply my voice vibrates in my throat, it can\u2019t get out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\nbrother doesn\u2019t open his eyes, so I nudge him with the edge of my right foot,\nbumping my cold toes against his shin. \u201cHey.\u201d In hindsight, maybe I shouldn\u2019t\nhave taken my hearing aids out, but the relief is palpable, the aching\nsensation in my ears already fading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat,\nSkylar?\u201d Mike opens his eyes, and when I\u2019m met with a glare, I catch myself\nleaning back, widening the distance between us. Why is he angry? I motion to\nhim that he should pull his headphones off, which he does, although with one\nsharp movement that\u2019s probably a warning sign not to bug him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\ndo you remember about Aunt Kay?\u201d I\u2019m trying to make conversation, forgetting I\nwon\u2019t be able to hear the response. Whoops. Mike won\u2019t care, though\u2014he and I\nhave always understood each other, almost as if we were twins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\nhas a big house in a small town and never answers her phone,\u201d Mike says, face\nturned to me so I can see his lips, but his eyes on his hands. He pulls his\nheadphones back up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\nface stings, almost as though I\u2019ve been slapped. I play my question to him over\nin my mind, wondering if I just phrased it wrong. If I had used different\nwords, would he have acted like himself? Is it my fault Mike has practically\nbecome a stranger?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before\nI can get too lost in this depressing spiral, Mom puts her hand on my knee,\ntapping her long fingers up and down on my skin to get my attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\ntook them out,\u201d I say, holding up my hearing aids before she can ask. \u201cThey\nwere giving me a headache.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre\nyou looking forward to seeing Aunt Kay again?\u201d she asks, enunciating clearly so\nI can read her lips. Mom doesn\u2019t miss a thing\u2014even if she\u2019s in the middle of\nanother conversation, she\u2019s always listening to us in the background, picking\nup the loose threads of a conversation even minutes later. It\u2019s uncanny and,\nsometimes, exhausting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nguess,\u201d I say, glancing out the window then back to Mom again. \u201cAll I remember\nis from when we were kids and she played tag with us after dark after\nThanksgiving dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd\nshe sat at the kids\u2019 table instead of eating with the adults,\u201d Mom says, an\namused smile playing across her lips. She\u2019s right\u2014I remember that, too, because\nshe ate the brussels sprouts I was hiding under my mashed potatoes and never\ntold my parents I didn\u2019t finish them myself. As Mom turns to say something to\nDad, I look out the window again. The country roads have changed to small\nhouses, and then storefronts begin to slide by\u2014a Main Street grocery store, a library,\nand then a small caf\u00e9 flick past before we get stuck at a red light, waiting to\nturn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My\nphone buzzes against my hip, vibrating in the pocket of my shorts, and when I pull\nit into the palm of my hand, I find a message from my best friend waiting for\nme.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janie:<\/em> How big is your aunt\u2019s\nhouse?? Send pix! Miss u!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nsmile in spite of myself, fingers hovering over the keypad as I try to decide\nhow to reply. Finally, the light turns green, Dad makes the turn, and then\nafter a quick right, we\u2019re on a street driving directly toward the water\u2014I can\nsee it, right out the front window. My text back to Janie is short, because I\njust want to keep looking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still driving\u2014text u later. Wish u were\nhere!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a\nmoment, I send another text.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

have you seen Gavin?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I want to ask if he\u2019s said anything about me, but\nthat seems like it would be going a little too far. My heartbeat picks up\nsimply from the act of typing in his name, and I turn my phone off, glad Janie\ncan\u2019t see the blush on my face. We\u2019d always been best friends\u2014and we\u2019re not\ndating now or anything, but before we left, I thought things were heading in\nthat direction. Of course, now we\u2019re halfway across the province on the shores\nof Lake Ontario for the summer, so who knows. Maybe I\u2019ve lost my chance\ncompletely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\njump when Sara taps my shoulder from behind, her lips moving too fast to track\nin the dark that has fallen outside the car windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHang\non,\u201d I say and wedge the speaker back into my ear, waiting for the four\nsuccessive beeps that mean I\u2019ve rejoined the hearing world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re\nhere!\u201d Sara shrieks from behind me, and I cup my hands over my ears, turning\nthe sound down another few clicks. \u201cWe\u2019re here, we\u2019re here, we\u2019re here!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nhungry,\u201d Aiden says from the seat behind Mike, his voice muted and faraway\ncompared to Sara\u2019s. \u201cAnd I have to go pee.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust\na few more minutes.\u201d Mom\u2019s voice is miles away, too. \u201cBut look at the\nneighborhood. Isn\u2019t it beautiful?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bungalow\ncottages slide by the windows, beach houses with balconies next to little\ncolored cabins; each one has tall, open windows, like they\u2019re trying to see\npast the other houses to the lake. Our minivan crests the top of the hill. And\nthen it\u2019s all spread out below us, the moonlight tracing a path across the\nwater straight to the beach. Aunt Kay\u2019s house is at the end of the street, with\nwhite siding and blue shutters, and one window right below the point of the\nroof. It\u2019s big and sprawling, but adorable, and I fall in love with it in a\nheartbeat. I can tell that Mom loves it, too, by the way she lifts one hand to\nher mouth, the other one reaching for Dad\u2019s arm. I can\u2019t see her lips, so I\ndon\u2019t know if she\u2019s spoken, but if she has, I\u2019d be willing to bet it was just a\nsigh, or maybe Dad\u2019s first name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Almost\nbefore the van has stopped, Aiden and Sara are out the side doors, followed\nclosely by Mom. Dad parks and turns to Mike, who pulls off his headphones again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\nyou and Skylar help me with the luggage?\u201d He squints at the two of us. \u201cAnd\nhave either of you seen my glasses? I had them just a moment ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re\non your head,\u201d I say, as Mike gets out of the van. I wait for him to glance at\nme so I can roll my eyes in Dad\u2019s direction, but he doesn\u2019t look up, doesn\u2019t\nsay a word to anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo\nthey are.\u201d Dad pulls them down to the bridge of his nose. \u201cImagine that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mike,\na suitcase in each hand, marches past with his eyes on the ground. As Dad\nreaches for the last two, I waver in between car and house, and then something\nmoves\u2014just a shadow, really\u2014in the corner of the porch. Arms crossed against\nthe evening chill, I tiptoe forward, peering into the dimly lit space. Without\nMike to talk to, I feel awkward in my own family, lost, almost. Dad says\nsomething as he passes, his voice snatched by a gust of wind, and then two\ngleaming eyes appear in the light from the doorway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome\nhere, kitty,\u201d I say as my eyes adjust and the crouched figure of a cat is\nvisible, the white patches in his coat standing out. He pads across the porch\nto me right away, pressing his head against my hand when I reach out to pet\nhim. I\u2019m leaning forward with two hands to lift him into my arms when Sara\nappears in the doorway. The cat flinches as she yanks the door open, but he\ndoesn\u2019t run away, and I scoop him up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome\non!\u201d Her voice is just barely audible under the obnoxious crackling of the\noutdoor air against the speakers that rest behind my ears. \u201cAunt Kay isn\u2019t\nhere, but she left waffles in the freezer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d\nI follow her into the hall, shifting the cat to my left arm so I can exchange\nmy hearing aids, which have begun to ache behind my ears again, for my phone on\nthe way by my backpack. When I press the home button, it lights up, four new\nmessages waiting for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nsmile in spite of myself\u2014probably the whole gang back home clamoring for\npictures of the house and of Golden Sound, the cute little beach town where my\n\u201cmysterious aunt\u201d lives. If I\u2019m lucky, there will be one from Gavin, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nwander down the hall, sliding my phone into my back pocket so I can bury both\nhands in the cat\u2019s soft fur. The wood floor feels stiff beneath my feet, and I\ntiptoe in case the boards are creaking. Aunt Kay\u2019s house is full of wood; the\nfloors, walls, and even the beams of the ceiling are rich chestnut in colour,\nand smooth to the touch. I follow the glow of light into the kitchen. The twins\nhave already pulled the waffles out of the freezer and spread them across the\ntable, counting to see which ones have the most blueberries. Mike and Dad\ncontinue to load the front hall with luggage, and Mom climbs the stairs,\nprobably to search for our absent aunt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAiden,\nSara,\u201d I say, rubbing the cat\u2019s ears, \u201cjust take the top ones.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\neither can\u2019t hear me or pretend not to, still rummaging through, pushing\nwaffles across the thin layer of dust that lines every flat surface in this\nhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGross,\nyou guys,\u201d I mumble, sitting down at the table, but the protest is feeble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\nchoose their dust-covered waffles and slide them into the toaster, arguing over\nwho gets to push the buttons. I\u2019m sitting with my back to the doorway, so it\u2019s\nonly when they both stiffen and look behind me that I realize someone else is\nthere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey,\u201d\nI say, turning to see Mike standing in the threshold. Aiden, Sara, and I are\nall varying shades of ginger, but Mike has hair like our mom. It\u2019s dark brown and\ntousled, sticking up on one side where his headphones were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey,\u201d\nhe mutters without meeting my eyes, his backpack dangling from one hand. His\nlips are stiff, and after the one-word greeting escapes him, he rubs his thumb\nacross the lower half of his face. It\u2019s an unconscious movement, the same way\nsomeone will compulsively rub their own cheek if they see a stray crumb on\ntheir friend\u2019s, like he knows I\u2019m watching him speak, and he\u2019s trying to wipe\nmy gaze away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid\nyou pick your bedroom?\u201d I try to sound casual, but everything feels too stiff\nand polite. I can\u2019t even figure out how to talk to the people in my own family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\ndon\u2019t care. You can pick.\u201d Mike reaches past me and snags the milk jug out of\nthe open fridge before nudging it closed with his foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\ntry to figure out where to take the conversation next, but by the time I look\nup to ask what his plans are for tomorrow (still lame, I know), my three\nsiblings are chattering away to each other, faster than I can follow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\ncatch Sara saying, \u201cHow many times do you think \u2026 \u2026 ?\u201d but miss the rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aiden\nlaughs at her question, whatever it was, and then rattles off a reply, turning\naway from me so I can\u2019t see his lips at all. I think of my hearing aids, buried\ndeep in the pocket of my backpack. It\u2019s too late to get them now. I have to\nsettle for interrupted lip-reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2026 \u2026\nlast night, when \u2026 \u2026 and Aunt Kay \u2026 \u2026 !\u201d Mike wipes his mouth with the back of\nhis hand. He seems to have no trouble finding more than one word to use when\nhe\u2019s talking to the twins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSkylar?\u201d\nAiden tugs my hand, and I tear my frustrated gaze from my older brother to my\nyounger one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\ndid you say?\u201d I blink\u2014hard\u2014and focus on his lips. I\u2019m not a great lip-reader,\nbut even though I don\u2019t understand every single word that is spoken when I\ndon\u2019t have my hearing aids in, usually if I grasp the context, I can put the\npieces together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere\nis Aunt Kay?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nsimplicity of the question makes it easy to smile back at him. \u201cI don\u2019t know,\nbut I\u2019m sure she\u2019ll be back soon. I\u2019m glad she asked us to come and visit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMe\ntoo,\u201d he says, and then pulls free of me and runs back to the table, where Mike\nhas taken pity on the breakfast-for-dinner endeavors and is putting the freshly\ntoasted waffles onto two paper plates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their\nthree heads are bent over the table together, Mike totally focused on filling\nevery single waffle square with syrup, as per Sara\u2019s instructions. I try to\nconvince myself that I\u2019m happy as I watch the moment take place, that the pang\ninside my heart is one of affection and not of pain. All I can think is how perfect\nthey look, huddled around the table without me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And\nthat\u2019s when Sara\u2019s flailing arm catches the glass syrup bottle and sends it\nsmashing down, glass shards and brown liquid oozing across the floor. The four\nof us freeze, and by the way my siblings\u2019 heads turn toward the doorway, I know\nthey hear footsteps. I\u2019m expecting my parents to be exasperated or upset with\nus for making a mess after barely five minutes inside, but instead, they\u2019re\npreoccupied with a piece of paper Dad is holding in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen\nto this,\u201d he says, not even looking down at the floor\u2014Mom has to put her hand\nout to stop him before he walks right across the kitchen. Sometimes I think she\nhas a sixth sense when it comes to looking out for my dad, since she always\nseems to know when to step in and save him from himself. Now, his glasses\ndangle from one hand, the handwritten letter held close to his face with the\nother. He\u2019s been reading aloud, judging by the attentive look on Mike\u2019s face,\nbut whatever he said can\u2019t be good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\nis it?\u201d I ask, and the cat pads through the kitchen doorway, ears pricked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy\nsister\u2014\u201d Dad starts, and then stops, staring at the note in front of him. He\nfinishes his sentence, but the note obscures his mouth, making it impossible\nfor me to understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\nmoved to Africa,\u201d Mike says, so startled that he actually makes eye contact\nwith me as he\u2019s speaking. \u201cThree weeks ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n