Ellie says almost nothing to anyone. But for four going on five, more is expected from her. The mother is worried about her non-talking, thinking it will grow into something bigger, more dangerous, while the dad says, ‘Give her time’ and later still, ‘Give her more time. Four years is nothing in the world of talking.’ The mother is not so sure about that but waiting is easier than doing something and so for the time being they wait and watch and if Ellie does chance a word or two they are quick to reward her with a smile, telling her ‘Very good.’ Chocolate ice cream for everyone. Just the other night, they caught her muttering in her sleep—senseless utterings that could mean almost anything or nothing–and yet it brought tears to Mom’s eyes.
The doctors have already decided that it’s a problem with her hearing but the mother insists—which she almost never does—that Ellie can hear just fine, thank you. “When I call her name she will turn and look my way.” The doctor, who is not a doctor for nothing, says ‘Yes, but then again, maybe she is simply feeling a shift in the air,’ showing the mother with his hands what a shifting in the air looks like. The mother is not sure about this shifting-air philosophy but nods anyway.
The only thing Ellie’s afraid of is the neighbor’s large gray cat, Charlie. Of course there is absolutely nothing wrong with Charlie except for his large grayness. Nobody knows how old Charlie really is but if largeness is, in some way, an indicator of age, he is old, and often grouchy. Ellie doesn’t dislike Charlie, she simply thinks he is too large for his own catty good. If you were to ask her, she’d say something like this but chances are she won’t talk about it. When she is around Charlie, her wide eyes say it all.
Meanwhile, Ellie’s silence continues to worry everyone but Ellie. How will she survive? Ask questions? The world will eat her alive, etc. Still, for the time being, Ellie’s world is Charlie along with TV and cartoons with assorted animals dancing, singing, all of which makes her wonder, secretively, if Charlie, given half a chance, could hum a tune. This makes her smile, and if the mother sees this she can’t help but ask, “What?”
And so, Ellie’s unwillingness to speak continues, and there is talk of therapy, of getting her right. But this calls for money that they don’t have. There has to be another way. On the other hand, there is talk that there’s no need for expensive help because Ellie knows exactly what she is doing.
“What do you mean?”
“Just the other day I opened the door ever so gently, and there she was singing along with her dancing bears, and her words were clear and loud, but then that creaky part of the floor gave me away and she immediately stopped. What do you think of that?”
“Well, she’s a sneaky one alright.”
“That’s it? How about giving her a good talking to? This silence game of hers has gone far enough.”
As luck would have it, somebody, somewhere finds the money to send her to therapy in Salwa. Ellie, if asked, cares nothing for this therapy business. The therapist, who looks like somebody’s grandma–except for the tattoo on her wrist, something about Jesus–is kind, patient but relentless. She will wait for as long as it takes to hear Ellie utter a word, a phrase, a complete sentence is even better. It is the waiting part that Ellie dislikes. She has a long, complicated name, does the grandma therapist, but answers to Jen. In essence, the money is being spent on Jen waiting for Ellie to finally surrender and say, “I’m tired and wanna go home.” With Jen saying, “Very good.” Smiles all around and maybe even a sip of apple juice as a reward.
Ellie has decided that, occasionally, biting is sometimes better than not talking. As a rule, they are not terrible, break-the-skin bites, but enough to jerk your head away and glare at her. And she will look at you, one of those questioning, ‘What?’ When the therapist hears about this biting business, she cannot help but smile, saying, “Not bad.”
“What?”
“Yes, not bad. At least she’s opening her mouth.”
And so thanks to chocolate ice cream and sips of apple juice, Ellie learns to talk. Years later, with Charlie only recently having been run over by one of those early-morning garbage trucks, Ellie can talk and talk. In fact, there’s no stopping her these days. Her teachers complain about her being a chatterbox, while her friends think she is funny. On the other hand, Mom and Dad cannot help but remember her early non-talking days and now they have become the quiet ones. Now, it’s all about Ellie’s weight, thanks to the chocolate ice cream and apple juice, not to mention that she has decided that fried potatoes with cheese are her favorite foods. Finally, there is talk that the neighbors are shopping for a new cat.
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash.
