Page 8 of Deafened By Silence
“Oh you know me, soldiering on.” There isn’t a truer truth in the universe than that. My mom is a soldier. For as long as I can remember, my mom has carried herself as effortlessly as an angel, despite the hellish hands she’s been dealt throughout her life. Through every winter without heating or every Christmas without presents, she filled our hearts with her warmth and gifted us with her laughter. “And how’s my darling boy? Excited to start college?” I crouch down before my knees have the chance to give out, pulling my beanie lower over my forehead.
“I started already, remember mom? But everything’s great. Classes are easy enough, everyone’s really friendly and there’s a basketball game at the end of the month.” My mouth fills with acid, the lies pouring out with far too much ease at this point.
“Oh, lovely! And you know I’ll be in the front row cheering you on. I’ve always been your number one fan.” I can hear the smile spread across her face. I stuff my fist into my mouth, choking back the sob trapped in my throat.
“That’ll be great, I’ll save you a seat. I have to go, I have ball practice early,” I mutter, unable to keep up this charade any longer.
“Of course Jellybean. But before you go, do me a favor and check in on Clayton. I don’t like the crowd he’s hanging out with. He needs his big brother to keep him on track.” Tears spring from my eyes, wetting a trail to my chin.
“I’ll talk to him, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you Jellybean.”
I end the call before she can hear the crack in my voice, a sharp hitch that slices through the back of my throat like broken glass. A following guttural sound wrenches free from my chest, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and I press a fist to my sternum like I can hold myself together with sheer will. Cold air rushes from my lungs in short, panicked puffs, fogging up the night in front of me, blurring the world just enough to pretend I’m not coming undone.
But I am. The wall I’ve spent months building, brick by stubborn brick, silence mortared between the cracks, is crumbling under the weight of his name. Jeremy. My mom may not remember much, but she would never forget her son, my brother. Just hearing her say it is like stepping on a landmine I planted myself and forgot to mark.
I can’t squeeze the sides of my head tight enough to erase the mental image of Jeremy from behind my eyelids. The broad frame and features we share, our pitch black eyes and full lips. His easy smile and the blonde locks he secretly dyed the same shade as mine. Mom struggled to tell us apart most the time, and that was before the dementia set in.
Her words play around my mind on an endless loop.‘He needs his big brother.’ Damn if that isn’t the truth. I lost him and my future in the same night, unable to mourn him properly until I was alone in a darkened cell. The downward spiral only worsed from there. I was drowning in a void of failure. Refused to eat or sleep. I existed in a hidden hole in the ground, serving my time until I could return home.
But such a time would never come, and I had no home to go back to. Mom’s illness took her frighteningly fast after Jeremy’s death, her mind pulling her into a retreat where he not only still lived but is thriving. She’s stuck in the summer before he was due to start at Waversea Academy, making us all proud as the basketball playing protégé he was.
It was due to her confusion that I ended up here. She thinks I’m him, and there’s only so many times I can tell her he’s gone. So the logical thing to do at the time was to take his place. Study hard, prove I’m not the fuck-up I’ve always been and live out Jeremy’s future in his place, achieving the goals he didn’t get a chance to see through.
For a while, I was able to trick myself into feeling closer to him. But now I feel like a fraud. I’ll forever be stuck in my brother’s shadow. No matter what I manage to accomplish, no matter how much I prove myself, in my mom’s rare moments of clarity she will still see me for what I really am. The waste of space who is responsible for his brother’s death.
Chapter Six
A light tap touches my shoulder, Addy giving me another nudge to get up. I swat her away, putting my roommate back on snooze for another ten minutes. True, it’s already past lunchtime but I’m still adjusting to a steady routine. Luckily, everyone was gifted free periods this morning for some ball game which has put education on hold for a day. Art students are decorating, the marching band is performing alongside the cheerleaders and other dance majors, and anyone who doesn’t like sport can use the time to study in peace.
Remaining curled up in bed with my phone, I put an old-school playlist on, playing it directly into my implants whilst I scroll through Waversea’s school app. The home page displays main news, which apparently consists of upcoming sports rallies and a huge party at the end of year that is already being planned. There’s a section for each subject containing resources from lessons, a forum for general questions and the option for profiles to anonymously connect under screennames. I’d spent far too long on mine, but eventually settled on simplyReadmylips44.
Another tap on my shoulder becomes a full shake and the covers are whipped off me. Uh oh, I’ve triggered Addy’sdomineering side. Hiding my grin, I grab some clothes and head for the shared bathrooms down the hall, leaving her to fuss over my unmade bed.
Over the past few nights, I’ve spent more quality time with Addy than any other person in years, and it feels amazing. Addy has told me about her childhood, family, hobbies and her love for musical theatre while I soaked in her vibrant personality. She also warned me she won’t be around much due to her busy timetable, but to message if I need anything. Technically she’s only studying drama, but has taken on various extra classes in singing, dancing and set design to boost her resumé.
I shower and change, stretching my arms and back several ways for a ripple of satisfying cracks to pop along my spine. After throwing on a quick layer of make-up and mascara, I emerge in my ‘I don’t listen to assholes’t-shirt and ripped black jeans, my stomach growling on cue. I take the time to push my aids over my ears, the receivers snapping onto my scalp softly before I cover them with my hair.
I’ve made the decision that I will experience campus life the way everyone else does. Even if only for today. Sharing pizza and laughing with Addy has given me a glimpse of the life I could have had if it wasn’t for the accident. But more than that, it has made me wonder if instead of being strong like I thought, I may have been shutting the world out. In convincing myself I don’t need emotional connections, I might have been holding myself back from being happy.
“Ready?” Addy asks, her body language much more impatient than her tone. I smile guiltily and nod, taking her arm after she’s locked our dorm room door.
The sun is shining brightly outside, penetrating the clouds to brighten the pathway and mirror my mood. A glistening layer of frost coats the central fountain like thousands of tiny diamonds forming an outer shell on the sandstone. The courtyard is almostempty with the odd person milling in and out of the library. The books beyond the closing door beckon me as I pass, but I resist. Just. Today is for pushing the boundaries I’ve grown comfortable hiding behind.
Thankfully, the lack of other bodies continues into the cafeteria. I line up, rubbing my hands over my jeans to fight the chill from them. Selecting our options from the length of the back-cafeteria wall, I spare a glance around at the unusually empty hall. Trays sit stacked beside a silent buffet, the lingering scent of coffee and grease the only sign of this morning’s early rush. Sunlight continues to spill through tall windows onto vacant benches and polished floors. The Waversea’s spared no expense on their latest renovations, although I expect that’s usual when converting a public school into a private one.
I stumbled across many articles about it when researching my college options. Apparently it was a huge scandal over a decade ago. Thousands of students were forced out if they couldn’t afford to pay the new fees and their years of hard-earned grades suddenly meant nothing. Now, only four people a year are awarded a full scholarship. I hate to think of myself as lucky, but without the life insurance left to me by my parents, I would have been stuck at the state college down the road from our old house. But in turn, I wouldn’t strive to be a clinical scientist in audiology if it weren’t for the loss of my hearing so it’s all swings and roundabouts.
Devouring a heavily iced bear claw and grabbing a coffee to go, Addy and I head directly towards the dome-topped building in the distance. Every streetlamp and fence beyond the courtyard is dripping with the college colors of yellow and black, banners hanging all-around of the elite Waversea Warriors. Many of their players go pro straight from graduation, the academy’s reputation opening doors for them which others could only dream of.
Addy’s arm is looped through mine again as we fall into step, her long legs pulling me faster than I’d normally go, but I let her lead. The closer we get to the stadium, the more students flood in from every direction, laughter and shouts ricocheting between the tall buildings like echoes trapped in a canyon. I can feel the thrum of the crowd under my Doc Martens before we even reach the main doors, a low, vibrating pulse that hums along my spine.
The second we step into the stadium, the atmosphere slams into me like a wave. A sharp whistle bounces off every surface and the speakers overhead rumble out the latest pop remix. The collision of sound that feels too wide and too fast, even with my implants turned low.
I flinch. Just once. Just enough that Addy squeezes my hand and checks on me with her eyes. I nod again, more firmly this time, and shake out my shoulders as if that can loosen the nerves curling around my ribs. I can do this. I need to do this. I need to be normal.
The whole stadium is bathed in gold light, banners draped from every beam, crowds already gathering in the stands even though tipoff isn’t for another twenty minutes. We spot seats halfway up the bleachers, angled just enough for a clear view of the court. The floor is polished to a perfect gleam, reflecting the lines of the hoops and the oversized ‘W’ in the center like a mirror trying to convince me that this place is beautiful instead of brutal. It’s not working.
