Voiceless

Voiceless

It was quite unexpected the day she showed up on their steps.

No advanced warning; no letters, nothing to apprise them of her arrival.

She traveled far to reach their home arriving both bedraggled and dirty. Her small stature spoke of nourishment her body had missed. Tender Aunt Bertha wanted to cry but held back her tears, instead taking Melanie into her arms. . When they asked her what happened, why she had traveled to see them, all she could do was to gesture while uttering a pitiful whimpering sound. Some trauma had taken away her ability to speak.

They just did not care. This was an answer to a long forgotten prayer.

It was over three years ago, yet they never forgot what had taken place. “It’s like God’s giving us a chance”, they would tell her, “to have the daughter we were to have for ourselves."

They tried to fill her life with happy things. Strawberry Shortcake and Lil’ Crissy dolls. Smiley face stickers and the world of stamp collecting. Plenty of food, for Aunt Bertha was an excellent cook. Anything to brighten her eyes and erase the previous times. Even when they enrolled her in Shady Oak Middle school, she still didn’t break free from the shell. The kids were encouraging, sometimes, but you always seem to end up with one un-popped kernel in the popcorn bowl.

Sometimes Aunt Bertha would find her staring out onto the countryside, as if lost some memory. She wondered what was on the poor child’s mind.

Now that she was a pre-teen, she wanted to go out on her own. She wrote out her intentions on a small napkin and gave it to her aunt.

“Aunt Bert”, it read, “I want to go to town. I can pick up the groceries that you need. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Her small stature and lack of speech caused Aunt Bertha to be a bit overprotective. She shared these thoughts with Uncle Willy.
“We can’t always protect her, Bertha, he said.” “She’ll be alright. Just leave her in the Lord’s hands”

So, she listened to his words, knowing that the child had proved quite resilient and watched her as she headed into town.


It was like a waltz on a Sunday afternoon. The land around her seemed to dance and sing with each step she took in the blustery morn. The blades of grass sparkled with light; the trees moved in chorus and she couldn’t help to skip and twirl on her trip into town.

She could not believe she lived in the beautiful countryside. Little squirrels scampered up and around the tree, while the exaltation flew overhead, crying out in the wind.

“I’m happy here!” she thought with a smile, sighing softly to herself. “I am glad to have found my aunt and uncle. They try so hard to keep me safe, loved and I am glad for it.” She scarcely thought of the time before she lived with them these days.

It was as if she could not remember.

She didn’t even know why she was unable to speak. It felt natural. “Maybe I never spoke?” she would think to herself. Maybe I was born this way. I don’t know…I just don’t know!”

Thinking about these things always made her feel weird, nervous inside. She took a deep breath of the warm country air and began to feel a release from the tense feelings. “Just try to be at peace, she told herself. Don’t think about things you cannot change.”

Keeping to the innermost side of the road just as she had been instructed to do, she remembered her aunt’s words. “Now, no dilly dallying! Just get the groceries and come on home.”

Silently humming, she scanned the road around her. There was a large metal container, tossed off on the other side of the road, along the grassy area. “I wonder what that is?” she thought to herself.

It was an abandoned refrigerator. A Frigidaire, if she was reading the writing right. All that was legible were the faded letters “Frigid” along the front of the door. The crest was scraped, the colors dull; the handle of the door tarnished and worn. It probably was a nice refrigerator once before its former owners dumped it where she stood.

The door was slightly ajar, the air inside reeking of aged rust and mildew. She pulled on the door, its rusty hinges not wanting to budge , wanting to get a bit of light into the space. As she held the handle, she felt a sharp pain in her head. It was as if touching the door handle brought her into a state of déjà vu’.

There was a kitchen, with worn wooden flooring and torn linoleum. There were dishes in her hands. Her hands were soapy. She was washing dishes. There was a blur of faceless people. Pointing down at her. A hand grabbed her, and the dishes slipped out, shattering all over the floor. Tears. Her eyes were running with tears. The hand – a big hand – came down, knocking her to the floor, against the refrigerator. She looked up at the door of the refrigerator and saw the crest. ‘Frigidaire makes the best fridges’…at least that’s what the jingle said. The voice - muffled – shouted at her. Grabbed her face, she couldn’t pull away. Her lips were held…”Stop…stop…stop!” She was saying…trying to resist…to pull away. Then she stopped.

Her voice. She just heard her voice. She’d just spoken… well screamed really. Her vocal cords worked, though she’d been frightened, meant she could still speak.

It had startled her so during the memory that had not realized the scream.

Her chest heaved with anguish over the fear she had felt. She looked around. She was alone in the field – with the refrigerator. She took a look inside.

It wasn’t completely empty. There were still items that once had been food left to rot. Peering within, her eyes alighted upon a jar with pickle mash, a well-scraped jar of mayonnaise and a small box of old Valentine’s Day candy.

At least she hoped it was candy. Her curiosity, which got the best of her at times, was pulling strongly now.

She pulled her cardigan tight around her mouth, as she bent inside to pick up the box. Shaking it lightly, something bluntly rolled around. “Well, if it is candy, they didn’t leave much!” she said brightly. She stepped back from the fridge and set the box down in the grass. Ants and crickets scattered away in irritation at her intrusion into their space.

“Well, here we go,” she said, hoarsely, her vocal cords resisting her attempts at speech after all of this time.

She lifted the lid, and jumped back in shock at the contents inside. A finger, with a ring outlaid with a single diamond, lay mottled and decaying, on the inner wrappings of the container. Attached was a tag that read in jumbled handwriting, “To CiNdY. From my heart with love –your lover boy.”

Blood flooded through Melanie’s veins as she ran away, screaming soundlessly into the mid-noon day.

She headed down the road to the country store; gesturing wildly to the first person she met. The cashier, Carl, a kindly older man, looked at her in slight amusement.

“What’s wrong, little lady?” he asked, watching her whimper and point. She tried to drag him outside but he pulled back on her arm. “Now, look!” he said sharply, “what is the business here?”

Her eyes rolled in panic. He didn’t understand her. “If you didn’t come here to shop, then I’m going to have to call your parents!” he said with finality.

She stopped, her arms hanging limply at her sides. “Mmph!” she said pointing to some groceries and headed over to shop.
The last thing she needed was her aunt and uncle to think she couldn’t be trusted. But the finger in the box? Who could she tell? Then she thought the person whose finger it was a part of is probably beyond help.

She dejectedly brought the staples to be rung up. Carl, the cashier, tallied everything up and said, “That’ll be $10.74.” Melanie looked at him and pulled the money out. “What’s wrong, honey?” he said with a smile, “cat got your tongue?”

“Now, Carl,” responded another cashier from two aisles over, “don’t you know that this is Bertha and Willy’s girl? She’s a mute. She can’t speak, you know?” he gestured to his throat, nodding his head as if he should have known this.

“Ooooh!” replied Carl, looking embarrassed. “Sorry about that, young lady. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

Melanie nodded silently, and headed back home to Aunt Bertha and Uncle Willy. She only wished she had not been so curious. That she had not seen the finger. Now, her voice was gone.

Voiceless again.