Loud Silence

Chapter Two

I watch the trees pass by from outside the passenger window of Violet's car. The last I saw of them, their branches were dead and bare, the ground still slightly covered in snow. Now, young leaves cling to the top, and little flowers sprout from the green grass, bringing life back to nature.

I have been asleep for most of February and March, awakening mid April, just in time to witness the season that brings growth back to earth.

We stop in front of Violet's house, a cozy two bedroom, with a small front yard and a spacious backyard. Although not the best part of the city, it was a safe enough neighborhood for someone like her to live alone. This is the only house I have ever called my home.

The year I turned eighteen, I did not leave my aunt's house. I could not have left my sister behind with that beast. It was a dreadful eighteen months and eleven days. She was no longer collecting her caregiver funds for my part, but knew that I had stayed behind for Violet, who would eventually leave when she turned eighteen.

She worked us like animals—even more than usual—beating us as much as her physical strength has allowed her. I had to continue paying her the allowance that she had received in order to stay, but not permitted to use anything inside her house. Violet and I held on to each other every night—crying as we counted down the days until her birthday.

We never told anyone our circumstances, even the lawyer, a long time family friend of our parents, who was in charge of our trust funds. He's never asked, but we've always felt like he knew, deep in his gut, that something was wrong, something far beyond the death of our parents. But what would he do if we had told him? We would end up in the system, bouncing from foster home to foster home, mostly likely separated, our lives unbearable without the other.

He had done what he could, pushing the funds through and finalizing our paperwork the same day of Violet's birthday. We bought this house the very next day. It was our escape. Our destination. Our light at the end of a dreadful tunnel.

I remember how strange it was, being able to lie together in our living room in complete silence. We each had our own bedrooms! We were allowed to lounge anywhere in the house, and there was no scowling, no broomstick coming at us, no slaps across the face. We had finally found our safe haven.

Yes. I feel safe here.

Entering the front door, I realize I had nothing with me. Everything is still at the other house. Tim's house.

"We moved all of your things here. It's all in your old bedroom, Jas," Violet answers my unspoken thoughts, as she often does.

"How did you know I was thinking—"

"Intuition," she answers with a shrug and content smile. "I figured you should take the master bedroom back so you can have more room for you and..." she doesn't finish the sentence. "I didn't mean to—Her things are in there, too."

I drop down on the soft, fabric couch as we enter the living room, already feeling the drain of energy. I can't go into my bedroom now, not ready to be alone there, and definitely not stable enough to see my baby's belongings without her presence.

I can picture her little rompers and the matching shoes that I had carefully picked out. All the tiny bows and headbands that I would place on her to take countless pictures, Mommy's proudest photography moments. It is all too much for me to process at this moment.

Violet places herself next to me, draping her arms around and laying her head on my shoulder. Nostalgia. We stay like this for what seems like an hour, neither of us finding the stillness unsettling. Silence is comforting to us. Silence speaks truth. Silence exposes all.