LOSING YOUR VOICE. . . it's traumatising.
Your voice was who you are. It was what people normally recognized you for. You used it everyday and it defined you more than anything else, in my opinion. Your voice was your strength. One word could change everything and one word could destroy everything. Your voice had so much power.
And now I'd lost it.
Losing your voice was like losing your identity.
It's been around a month since I lost my ability to speak. By this time, everyone in the neighbourhood — including the Grants — definitely knew that something was very, very wrong with me. I knew Mom wouldn't tell anyone, but they probably had figured it out by themselves. Even if the Thing wasn't the first word that would pop up in their heads, at least sickness or disease would.
By now, I didn't really care. All I kept thinking about was me — how I was losing myself piece by piece. And how I couldn't do anything about it.
"Wanna write a letter?" Oliver suggested. Ever since I started using the Talk Phone, people have been treating me so sympathetically. I hated it. Even the other Grants were being nicer, I could tell. (If you asked Jake for a favour and he actually did it, you knew something was different.)
Oliver was the only person who treated me like I was the same. Like I could still speak, write, walk. Like I was the same Emily.
I nodded.
________
J U L Y 9 , 2 0 1 1
Hi. Oliver is awesome and I worship him with all my life.
Sorry about that.
Anyway, today is officially summer vacation! It's kind of sad that I'm not going to go anywhere. I'm pretty sure you're not going to go anywhere, too, so we can be miserable together?
If everything was normal, we'd be in that camping sight you were obsessed about. A tradition remains a tradition, am I right? We used to stay up until morning, when the fire was long gone and the air got hot again. I didn't think I would've survived the wilderness if it weren't for you.
As you know, using the Talk Phone is becoming second nature to me. A lot of people gave me weird looks, and I don't blame them, actually. I'd do the same if I saw a person in a wheelchair with the Talk Phone in front of them. The glasses looked kind of weird on me at first, but I've gotten used to it. I think.
Don't laugh at me. I know that once you imagine me wearing glasses, you'd burst out laughing.
Okay. See you.
________
"Why do you even call it the Talk Phone?" Oliver muttered. "It doesn't even look like a phone, it's more of an iPad — "
"TALK PHONE," the machine answered.
My voice was now robotic, and seriously, you couldn't even tell if I was happy or sad or angry. I could only express my feelings through words, not expression. Even if I said, "Hey! Get outta my way!" The machine would still say it as if it was bored or was teaching an algebra lesson. Plain emotionless.
Maybe it was the perfect fit for me after all.
You might be wondering what it was like to use a machine to talk when you were speechless. Well, this was the short and easy way to explain it:
The device was called AAC, which was short for Augmentative and Alternative Communication. But AAC wasn't exactly as catchy as the Talk Phone, was it? Apparently not.
Usually the person used their hands to type the message, but that was going to be complicated, since my fingers were now sensitive when it came to stuff like writing and typing. We had to find another option. Dr. Grey found the perfect solution: eye-tracking.
Yes, yes. It was a thing. So, what I had to do is just point my gaze at the letter, spacebar or the enter button. It took a while to form a real sentence, but hey, at least I got to speak. There was also buttons for "YES" and "NO." The other catch, though, was that I needed to wear glasses.
No, not your average glasses. These glasses sensed every movement of my eyes, and through the connection to the Talk Phone, it was able to interpret the information. It picked out the letters and would eventually come up with a sentence.
Oliver nudged me, but that move basically sent me from leaning on the right side to the left. "What do you want to do today?"
"I DO NOT KNOW."
"We can't just stay in the house. It's too depressing!"
"THANKS FOR THE VOTE OF CONFIDENCE."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't use that attitude on me, Woods. Come on. Let's just take a walk around the neighbourhood. We haven't done that in a while."
"I CANNOT WALK."
"Attitude!"
After a little more grumbling, we were on the edge of the streets, enjoying the fresh air.
It wasn't empty but it wasn't crowded, either. Some people were just chilling in front of their porch; kids played in their little gardens; others rode bicycles, passing us along the way. For all eighteem years of my life, I'd noticed that most Mayfair residents didn't go anywhere during the summer holidays. On January, though, it would look like the whole place was deserted.
Mrs. Melrose, who usually came to my aid when I was in need of help (feeding tubes and showering business — don't ask), spotted Oliver and I and gave us a big, heart-warming wave. Oliver waved for us, and I hoped my little smile was enough to tell her that I was grateful for her affection.
We passed Mr. and Mrs. Pike, Leelah and her little brother Mason, Patrick, Mr. Howard and Joanne. They all addressed us with wide smiles and genuine joyful expressions. Even Leelah and Mason came over and started a conversation with us. They didn't seem weirded out by the Talk Phone — actually, they looked actually fascinated by it.
"Why are you using an iPad to talk?"
"IT IS NOT AN IPAD," the machine spoke with that robotic voice.
"But it looks like an — "
"IT IS NOT AN IPAD." If the voice could sound angry, now would be the right time.
Leelah and Mason eventually understood and ran back to their house, still excited with that bubbly energy around them.
Once we got tired of just walking around, Oliver suggested we go to the park. It was a normal day for Mayfair; kids milled around, old couples sat in benches, and people in-between laid on the grass. There wasn't much teenagers here, if you noticed — I think I'd seen some my age, but either they were as quiet as Tom or they already had their own kind of gang.
Oliver led us to an open, safe spot and after making sure I was comfortable, he laid down on the grass, just like the others. I pressed a button on the side and the back of my chair started to lower down, and not long after, I was kind of laying down with him, but still sitting.
Did I tell you that I got a new wheelchair? Well, I did. It was all brand new, filled with a pillow headrest, a handle and some buttons that were pretty useful. The small handle was for me to move the wheels on my own — I could push it forward, backwards, left, right, even diagonal, and the wheelchair would move with me. There were also two buttons; one to lower the seat and one to bring it up.
"Woods?" he murmured, closing his eyes.
"YEAH."
"Do you ever get scared?"
It took me a while to respond. "OF THIS." Weirdly enough, there weren't any exclamation or question marks on the Talk Phone. It wouldn't be much of an affect, anyway.
"Of everything," he said, more serious now.
I slowly turned my head, trying to read his expression. Honestly, my head and neck were probably the only ones not in danger of paralysing. "OF COURSE I GET SCARED. I AM SCARED EVERYDAY."
"You don't have to be." When I looked again, he had already opened his eyes and was looking at me.
I turned my attention back to the kids who were playing together. "WHY ARE WE EVEN HAVING THIS CONVERSATION."
"Because you're getting worse," he stated. His voice sounded closer, which meant he was probably sitting up by now. "And you're handling it pretty well. Too well, actually."
"MAYBE I AM JUST LIKE THAT."
"Or maybe you're a good liar."
Okay, we both knew I was a bad liar, but I did get his point. Why did he always try to ask these kind of questions? Everyone else just seemed to leave me alone. I mean, it wasn't like I was complaining, but interest sparked me — why wasn't he like everybody else?
"You know you can talk to me about anything, anytime and anywhere."
I was about to close my eyes, but that would mean I wouldn't be able to speak. I kept my eyes opened, adjusting the glasses. "THANKS."
"Always a pleasure to help a damsel in distress, Woods." I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't really see me. "You look good with the glasses, by the way. I might get used to it."
"SHUT UP."
After laying down and basically wasting the rest of the day, we went back to the Grants' house. If Mom suddenly found me missing from the living room, she would probably check next door. It was becoming my second house, anyway.
Tom, Jake and Jessie were out. Mr. Grant was sitting on the couch, watching a news channel or something. Mrs. Grant was in a desk near the kitchen, working on some paperwork.
"Where's Raph?" Oliver asked the same time I was going to.
"In his room," Mr. Grant answered swiftly. "Doing college homework, I guess."
It took me a while to process the fact that none of them was asking about the Talk Phone. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Did they know? Did they have their own suspicions, or did the neighbours discussed the matter?
Did Oliver tell them?
Whatever the reason, it was long gone in my mind. I spent my remaining hours watching — for the first time in forever — Sherlock, in Oliver's room. Don't ask me how I got there, I just did.
It was nice having something so normal happen in my life. A few months ago, I stopped watching my favorite show. When Oliver surprised me with the DVDs that he took from my room, I wasn't mad at all. I was relieved.
"ARE YOU GOING SOMEWHERE THIS HOLIDAY." I asked during a Sherlock-John Watson scene.
"Nope," he replied, without looking at me. "Andre and Raph already in college. Soon, Jessie's going to go, too. Then it'll just be the three of us, and we don't think it'd be much of a family holiday anymore."
Oh. Well, that made sense.
When I went home that day, I was feeling great. Happy. Maybe it was the stroll in the neighbourhood, or the break in the park. Maybe it was the Sherlock marathon. Whatever it was, it made me happy.
My happy mood kind of dimmed down when Mom came home. It wasn't because of Mom, but it was her question. I wasn't mad; I was quite confused. Curious.
"So, I just want to ask you a question," she suddenly asked.
I waited. She waited.
"Do you like the Grants?"
"WHAT." What kind of question was that? "OF COURSE I LIKE THEM." I actually loved them. "WHY."
"Nothing." She smiled. "I'm happy you think so. I think they're great, too. All of them are."
Despite the weird question, I smiled back. They were great. All of them were.
After this, it's the last chapter of the second stages. Things are going to get rough. The last lines was a little hint. Think you can find out what's going to happen?
Oh and I'd like to thank again to EVERYONE who's reached this far. You are a gift from god.